I'm Looking Through You -Mclennon

Chapter 8

Paul

This was to be Paul's second disappointment of the day, he just longed to see John again, but hope for that was slowly draining away.

He approached the fractured window, out of which, Paul could see the very street he had strolled down earlier that day. The scene below appearing even more dismal than it had when he had been a part of it, with the sun now setting and long shadows stretching across the dimly lit street.

Somehow, that didn't stop him from being mesmerised by it all and taking a perch atop the rickety old stool which gave a loud creak, filling the empty atmosphere.

Paul decided that if he could, he would spend the whole day in that very seat, observing the rather bleak world, spread out before him. The walls encasing him gave off an addictive feeling of ancient despondency and longing.

In fact, the dreamer was so caught up in the haze that he didn't even notice the light strumming had started up again behind him.

But then it got louder, as if trying to get his attention, edging it's way to the front of Paul's brain. Then suddenly it clicked and he was snapped out of it, the haze disappearing like a hand brushed through smoke.

He whipped round and right there, stood with a shit eating grin on his face was the ghost boy himself.

"Give you a fright eh Princess Paulie?" John winked, waiting for Paul to deny it immediately. But in truth, he had indeed, quite obviously jumped out of his skin.
"ahh no uh you see-"
"Just like a princess, at the top of your palace starin' out of a window. Waiting for your prince ey? Oh don't look at me like that luv, you're quite stunning really, I could just paint ya."

Paul blushed profusely, getting up abruptly and moving away from the offending object. John shrugged and took his place, resuming his playing.

"You're good." The music had a strange way of flowing when John was playing, it rang around his ears and seemed to resonate through his entire body, despite being played so gently. Paul thought the instrument might break if treated any harsher. Rather like a porcelain doll.

"Ah, a lot of practice I've 'ad." John spoke in a quiet sing song voice, making Paul shiver. But then a rather amusing thought occurred to him, causing a snort to escape at the concept.
"You sound like Yoda from Star Wars."
"I'm sorry, what?"

Paul cursed himself for being that dumb, of course John didn't know of that, he was dead long before. That thought hit Paul like a sack of bricks, imagine dying before that masterpiece was released. He was sure John would have loved Star Wars, being a personal favourite of his. "Oh nothing."

"Okay." John practically whispered into the still room.