In High Spirits, Part One

by Truh

It has begun, the rewrite of my previous little series 'Ghost of a Chance' involving a ghost and her living companion. I hope I do a bit better this time around, so for now I'll only post a small chunk of the rewrite and see if you all think I've improved any compared to the original.

The rosebushes that lined the hills of the quaint little graveyard were mostly red and black. Even by walking around the parameter of the bushes one couldn't spot a single bloom of a different colour... But one little girl knew better. Though she had plenty of scratches and little injures that would have to be tended to later, little eight-year-old Chrissie had finally found her prize: A rose with frost-blue petals.

She simply adored these rare little gems among flowers and would spend a good amount of time pulling out each thorn before tucking it behind her ear. All the graves she passed on the way out were carefully tended to, each swept of the leaves the Autumn weather was bound to spread and each with lovingly selected flowers placed on the headstone.

"Chrissie!"

The shouting voice of her mother from far-off would pull her attention away from her observations, unfortunately for a moment too long as she didn't see the gnarled tree root she was fated to walk right into. As she crashed into the earth with a gentle thud, she would sit up and be thankful she wasn't hurt but soon she would look on with fright when she noticed where she'd landed.

She was sitting in a pile of what used to be faded brown tulips, right before a large marble grave that seemed to be many times larger than most of the rest of the headstones. She'd look over the inscription that loomed over her head with curiosity.

Here lies Beatrice Mendeleev, a bright spark and a loving daughter. She shall be missed. 1991-1998

Though she hadn't learned years such as these in school yet, eight minus one was simple and she would gasp as she realized the girl buried here hadn't been much younger than herself when she died. She felt terrible for destroying the offering that had apparently been left her so long ago. With more than a little reluctance she would reach for the flower behind her ear and gently lay it before the headstone, getting up and heading home as the pain of her cuts finally began to set in.

Sometime later when night had taken hold of the city, the town, the graveyard, a chill wind would pick up and and a pale young girl would be sitting before the marble headstone, her knees held to her chest as one hand would reach out to pick up the blue rose and observe it. She'd turn the stem of the rose over and over in her hand, causing the flower to twirl.

"How thoughtful of her..."