Ryker Villegas

NO ENTRY

Joseph King

NO ENTRY 

Chuckles

Chuck had no idea where he was. He was lost in the spinning whirlpool of memories. Ghosts drifted around him, swirling in and out of focus as he fought to be heard.

"Where am I? Who are you people? What am I doing here?"

The spirits ignored him and continued to move like rose petals in the wind, drifting aimlessly around until they reached their final destinations. Chuck covered his ears, desperate to drown out the sound of pitiful screams that reverberated through the halls of the cave. Everything was too much and he squeezed his eyes shut, sinking to the floor and curling into a tight ball. He could feel uncomfortable pressure that came with thousands of feet stepping over him but he did nothing about it until something grabbed the back of his sweater and yanked him up. He flailed blindly as the invisible force pulled him into a small alcove and pushed him against the rocky wall. Chuck took a deep breath and gulped as the mysterious ghost looked him up and down. Chuck could see that he was a tall man with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. An oversized tank top hung off his lean frame and a pack of cigarettes stuck out of his jean pocket. The man grabbed a cigarette and lit it, the smoke floating around the tiny room. Chuck coughed and shifted uncomfortably under the stranger's gaze.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," the man said, his voice deep with a bit of an Irish brogue. "Folks call me Ciggy. I'm guessing you're new here so you don't exactly know how things work." Ciggy took a drag of his cigarette and pushed a hand through his hair.

"Nice to meet you. My name is-"

"No," Ciggy interrupted, "we don't do names here. Reminds us of when we were alive. You got a nickname?"

"Chuck," Chuck said. It was true, a while ago Claire had decreed he didn't fit his name and had henceforth began using his middle name. Chuck didn't really mind, he never enjoyed his real name all that much.

"Sounds like a real name," Ciggy muttered. He took a final drag of his cigarette and smushed it out. Chuck took a deep breath. If he was going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well make some friends. He smiled and stuck out his hand.

"Well nice to meet you, I'm Chuck," Chuck said. Ciggy looked at the hand and wrinkled his nose.

"Why are you smiling? We don't smile a lot here."

"Because I'm happy." And it was true, Chuck was. He had obviously gone wherever he was supposed to go, Claire was alive, and it seemed he'd made a new friend. He chuckled softly to himself as he pictured him and Ciggy holding hands and running through sunlight meadows. A new friend indeed. Ciggy raised an eyebrow.

"Happy, in Purgatory? And laugh in' now are we?" He seemed to ponder for a minute before his eyes lit up. "I'll call you Chuckles then." Chuckles, what kind of a name was Chuckles? "That's what the others'll call you too," Ciggy was saying. He turned, and gestured for Chuckles to follow him. "Come on, Frenchy and Cowboy will love to meet you."

"Where did you say we where exactly?"

"Purgatory. I hope you don't have anyone waiting for you up there because it's going to be a while. Might as well make yourself comfortable."

"Wait, who are Frenchy and Cowboy?"

"You'll see," Ciggy said. "Just you wait. Come on, I don't want to keep them waiting." He reached out his hand and Chuckles took it, grateful that he had found at least one friend in this godforsaken place.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"Don't worry about it. And stop asking questions, it gets really annoying really fast."

Excitement flooded his veins as Chuckles was escorted down the hall. An actual chance to come back to life! This is your chance, don't blow it. The spirit escorting him stopped at the entrance to a clearing and pushed him foreword. Chuckles stumbled and fell, landing next to a beautiful lady dressed in white. He picked himself up and brushed himself off, hurriedly apologizing to her. She smiled, and her laughter seemed to light up the whole meadow.

"It's quite alright, Chuckles. Do you know why we've brought you here?"

Chuckles nodded and swallowed dryly. The woman smiled again and gestured to a tree at the edge of the meadow. A man dressed all in black stood under it, chewing on a piece of hay as the grass around his feet withered and died.

"Death and I have a contest, but before we begin we need you to make a decision." She motioned toward Death and he stood upright, grabbing the arm of a spirit standing behind him and pulling him toward Chuckles. Chuckle's stomach dropped. It was Ciggy. What the hell was he doing here?

"Your friend also has a reason to live," Life continued. "You have a choice, let him live or take the opportunity for yourself. We'll give you a few minutes to decide." Life and Death walked off, leaving Chuckles and Ciggy alone. Chuckles turned toward Ciggy and raised an eyebrow.

"So I assume you have a good reason?"

"Yeah," Ciggy nodded, his face fused with sadness and regret. "I have a little sister up there. She needs me, man. She doesn't have anyone else to take care of her." Chuckles swallowed dryly. Shit! He needed to get back to Claire, but she didn't depend on him like Ciggy's sister did. Wait, what was he talking about? He'd been waiting for this moment for months! But Ciggy had been there longer than he had, and he helped Chuckles when he was in need. But wait, Chuckles might never get this chance again, but did Ciggy really deserve this more than he did? And then it hit him. Of course Ciggy deserved it more. He'd been waiting longer, and his sister needed him. And it wasn't like Chuckles actually deserved this opportunity. He had been impatient and selfish, too caught up in his own feelings to care about what it might do to Claire. She had probably moved on with her life now, and who was he to disrupt it when e had already caused far too much damage.

"Chuckles?" Life asked, reappearing next to him. "Have you made your decision?" Chuckles hesitated, still a bit unsure.

"Let's hurry this up, we're on a schedule," Death grumbled, and Life shushed him.

"I, uh... I think he should get it," Chuckles bursted before he could stop himself. Ciggy looked incredulous for a split second before he returned to his resting bitch face.

"Wonderful choice," Life grinned, and Death scowled and slunk away.

Chuckles felt a bit lightheaded as he said, "Good luck, Ciggy." Life laughed and nudged Ciggy toward him.

"Oh don't worry, he's not going in your place. In fact, he doesn't even have a sister, do you?"

"No," Ciggy shook his head, "but what you did was very nice. Stupid, but nice." Wait, so...

"It was a test?" Chuckles asked. Life nodded.

"Yes, and you passed." She smiled, and pinched Chuckle's cheek. "And I think you're going to be a favorite of mine."

Nicky De Santo

Dominic let loose a sigh of relief. He was bent over the railing to the Rialto Bridge and looking out over the canal. It was pretty at this time of night and the city was slow moving enough to feel its breath of life. In the darkness, he listened to the sound of water lapping and the faint laughter from local passerbys in the streets as they smiled about anything and everything. At almost 2 a.m. of night, most businesses had closed and the only places open were local bars and clubs that lit up the black waters beneath him. He caught their reflection in the gentle waves and for a moment, the water under the bridge appeared to be golden. The warm glow radiating from street lamps had kept Venice shining and it guided steady streams of people home throughout the night. Most tourists had packed it in at around eleven, and the ones out now were party-goers and drunk couples looking to get lost under the stars. Even in the freezing temperatures of December, the city was alive, playing music from street corners while rubbish collection boats floated off in the distance.

A sudden blast of winter air whipped off the canal and Dominic felt its harsh lash against his ears. His hands had already gone numb a while ago but he paid little attention to it. He was listening to the steady rhythm of music that sounded American and ignoring the stiffness in his face and the phone buzzing in his pocket. He'd been receiving messages for the past ten minutes and he'd heard all the pings from missed phone calls and voicemails that he hadn't bothered with. Majority—if not all of them—were business-related matters and he'd respond to them later. For now he needed a break from all the alcohol and ass-kissing of people at parties he couldn't care less about on a normal day. They all started the same and ended the same: he and Gino would invite potential partners and shareholders out for a few drinks, they'd get a bit tipsy and share stories dancing around what anyone actually wanted to talk about, then it was a schmoozing fest where they exaggerated their successes until the last five minutes where just before everyone went home, the proposition was either accepted or declined. It was a tedious cycle and one that grew stale after the first few times. He was always surprised when he remembered their names or faces since all businessmen were the same. The whole lot of them. They were all just as manipulative and entitled as the guy standing next to them, faking charisma and working people around the clock. He shook his head, some of them would make better politicians, he thought to himself.

"You should answer your phone more often," said a voice.

He didn't need to look to see who it was, he knew it was Gino. He knew that voice like the back of his hand and as it was, the man had a distinctive voice. It was low and smooth, and he spoke in a Milanese dialect that was coherent in comparison to some. But that wasn't what had made it distinguishing, rather, it was the tone he used. It was silvery, sometimes honeyed, and Dominic couldn't tell when he was being groomed for something and when he wasn't. Gino was always like that, though, and he'd learned to roll with it—was how most businessmen talked anyway.

A small chuckle fell from his lips. "But answering my phone means I have to interact."

"Only you, Nic," Gino leaned against the railing. "So why'd you leave early?"

"Well, no point in staying unless I want to watch you flirt with yet another shareholder."

"Aw, don't be jealous. I'll flirt with you too if you want."

Dominic snorted. He glanced back at Gino and saw him staring as he moved slightly toward him. They were standing side by side on the bridge and a wave of memories flooded through his head. It was just like the old days, before the partnership. Days where it was less about business and more about hanging out outside, talking, joking around. It almost seemed like a foreign concept to him now and for the most part, their friendship had become more professional, more business-like. They didn't joke as often and their conversations had become consumed by business strategies and paper pushing. Though, he supposed that was to be expected. He liked the solid work bench stuff and Gino was the visionary—always onto the next big idea, the next deal. He didn't think he could remember the last time they'd had a casual conversation, if they'd had any at all these last couple months.

"Thanks, but you're not my type," he replied. A pause. "Honestly, I kinda just needed a break."

"Gets tiring, huh?"

"A little bit."

There was a split second of silence and he could feel himself being assessed and then dismissed with a nod. Gino said, "Something else bothering you?"

"Nah."

"Come on. I know that look, Nic," his voice rose. Dominic would swear his soul was being stared into and for a moment he found himself wanting. Calm and collected, Gino continued, "You can talk to me. We're friends."

We were never friends, Dominic thought as he downed another shot of whiskey. His shoulders were tense and he was hunched over the bar, trying to not to reminisce about the things that hurt him. That was what sucked about purgatory, he had too much time on his hands to think about and reflect on his mistakes—all the small missteps that put him here. The only highlight of it was that bars weren't crowded in purgatory and there was no hangover afterward. Ghosts didn't need to eat or sleep, and everything was low maintenance. No responsibilities, no obligations, he could do whatever he wanted so long as Life or Death didn't need to get involved, which they already had, but he wasn't thinking about that now. Currently, he was fantasizing about pushing Gino off of a roof and watching the bastard fall and have his head split open. Or maybe he'd get impaled by something sharp and have it pierce his heart—that seemed more karmatic, didn't it?

He downed another shot, trying to wash out the bitter taste in his mouth as he heard the door open. A quick glance at the entrance and a young man came strolling in. He was in his early twenties, and maybe there was an edge of mystery in the way he walked but Dominic wasn't paying much attention. The rest of the bar suddenly felt emptier which wasn't saying much, but still the atmosphere of the room felt off somehow. On most days, purgatory was half empty and the lost souls wandered the real world like it meant something when it didn't. Everyone knew it. But he supposed he couldn't blame them either. Purgatory was boring, it wasn't as bad as hell but it wasn't rainbows and sunshine either. Insanity was looking in the mirror and no how many times you did, the same person was staring back at you.

Letting out a sigh, Dominic poured another glass. Maybe the new guest would want a drink. He said, "Parli l'italiano?"

He flicked his gaze at the man in question who didn't respond, instead taking a seat in the stool next to his. Part of him wasn't sure why he'd bothered asking when he was Sicilian at best and more likely Spanish or something along those lines. He looked the part—dark hair, tan complexsion, big and expressive eyes that radiated warmth. He was a handsome one and Dominic held himself back from sighing again, this should be interesting. There was a moment of silence between the two of them and he wasn't sure he'd been heard until the man cleared his throat.

"No. ¿Habla español?"

"Eh lo siento, hablo muy poco español," he replied. A pause. "Do you speak the English?"

"Yes."

Dominic drew himself up straighter and slid the glass across the table, hoping the man would take it. He hadn't had a drinking buddy in a while, and especially not when purgatory hadn't come equipped with a google translate—it wasn't heaven, after all. The bottle of whiskey sitting on counter was almost empty and he could tell by the look on the man's face that the shot wasn't going down the hatch any time soon which was fine. More for him.

"What is your name?"

"Emilio."

"Well, Emilio, you are quite the challenger," he said. He spoke carefully, seeing where this conversation wanted to go. "So tell me, why should you get to live over me?"

Emilio blinked, his eyes widening in shock and Dominic shrugged. There wasn't any point in not being straightforward, and this could only end in two ways according to what the challenge entailed. Both of them knew it, it was better to just get straight to the point when friendship was a sham and he wouldn't be giving this man a second thought when he was either burning in hell or bashing Gino's face in with a rock.

"What?"

"You heard me," he continued. He drummed his fingers on the counter, giving Emilio only a cursory glance before taking a sip of the whiskey. When he set the bottle back down on the table again, he turned toward him, a small smile playing at his lips. "Why should you get to live over me? Give me the right answer and I'll let you kill me right now."

"What? What do you want me to say to that?"

"A anything," he replied. He said slowly, "See, the reason I want to live is to get back at someone. There is nothing worse than thinking you know the world and your closest friend, only to find out you know nothing at all. Do you know what I mean?"

There was a distinct bitterness in his tone and he hadn't bothered to hide the venom. The warmth of the whiskey on his lips had faded and he felt cold again. Sometimes no matter how hard he hit the bottle, the feeling was still there and a small sigh had escaped his lips. He wished he was drunk, it would've been better.

"No, not really. I just wanna see my family again and my boyfriend because I left a bunch of words unsaid and I—"

Dominic stood up. That was enough. It didn't matter at that moment how Emilio died, he had something to live for, people to go back to. He'd said the right answer and quite frankly he thought he had the wrong one.

It was true, he and Gino had never been friends but he wasn't angry about it, not really. He just thought he was and truthfully, what life was there worth living if you had none, to begin with? 

Avery Emerson

NO ENTRY

Antonio Enriquez 

Time is meaningless when one is dead. Antonio finds that being a ghost is simply a perpetual state of wandering and observing. Travelling is one of the many perks. Ghosts can go wherever they want, thus he is able to visit places that he could only read about when he had been alive. Of course, wandering gets lonely, and he isn't the type to mess with the living. He had tried it at one point, slamming a bunch of doors as a drunk man used the public bathroom, but the action required so much energy and he had felt immense guilt when the man became so scared that he slipped on his way out with his fly still open.

Because of this, Antonio always, always finds himself back in Bulacan. It isn't the same, certainly, but he has found that change is absolutely constant and has come to terms with it. It took a few decades, of course, but he's accepted that he shall remain the same creature walking on this earth as the world around him changes. At least, that's what he hopes - that he'll take the same gentle traits he had before he died.

Besides, his country is free now, a fact that fills him with a sense of pride knowing how he had been part of the fight, that though his name is lost to history, dwarfed the likes of distinguished people like Rizal and Bonifacio, he had followed what he believed in and he is able to see the results.

He sleeps, sometimes, or at least pretends to (he has found that ghosts cannot really sleep either).Really, his eyes are just closed, but somehow it reminds him of when he is alive. The entire pretense makes him feel more human. Images flash inside his head then, memories of the fields in Bulacan, the revolution, and sometimes just plain visions which he cannot decipher. He likes to pretend they're dreams.

He dreams tonight.

There is a woman, someone unfamiliar. The pale, almost see through quality lets him know that she is a ghost, much like himself. Her beauty is frozen in time, like his youth, but her chocolate colored curls have lost their shine and her eyes speak of sadness and regret. It comes as a surprise when she turns to him, and says, "Will you let me have it?"

He stutters. Confusion fills his head - never has he encountered another ghost in his dreams. "I'm sorry?"

"I have a baby," The woman starts, a sweet smile spreading across her face slowly, "I had one, at least. I love her more than anything in the world."

At that, Antonio grins, "I understand. I love my family too, my sister especially."

"So you do. I suppose that makes this more difficult." She sighs, weariness marring her gentle features.

"What? I- I'm afraid I don't understand." There's dread at the pit of his stomach, coiling around like a snake. This doesn't feel like a normal dream, and Antonio vaguely wonders if ghosts can experience nightmares as well.

"There is a vial that shall give us another shot at life. Unfortunately, only one of us can have it." The woman replies.

Just like that, a silver vial appears out of thin air, floating as though taunting the two of them. Antonio sucks in a sharp breath, the news taking him by surprise. He thinks about what would be waiting for him should he get the vial. His family has long been dead, Josefina with them. It pains him that they never saw each other as ghosts, but perhaps it's for the best.

His descendants, however, are alive and plenty. They know of his brothers and sisters, but not of him. He is forgotten but for his name; Antonio, the brother who disappeared and never came back. He wants to meet them, and shower them with the same love his own family gave to him as he was growing up.

He wants to tell them what he has done, why he left. A tiny, selfish part of him wants some sort of glory, the recognition and respect that comes with fighting. It is not a very pleasant feeling, and Antonio tries very hard to squash it like a bug.

He looks back at the woman, beautiful despite in her death and sadness. "You want me to just give it up?" He tries to keep the cold tone from his voice, but it ends up making his voice go lower.

"I - well, yes. Becau - I j-just want to see my baby," She begins, and there's so much pain in her voice, so much that it hurts Antonio himself.

"I want to see my family too." He reasons. I want them to remember me.

"Please," tears fall from her eyes, beautiful, pearly drops staining her pale cheeks, "I died before I could hold her."

"I promised my sister I'd come back." Antonio mumbles, however he knows Josefina is dead. But, oh could he let this woman steal his chance? Giving away thay vial would mean more years of loneliness, of aimless wandering and dreaming. He blinks, realizing something. This is a dream, nothing more, nothing less.

It's simply another illusion, one his mind made up.

"Please." The woman pleads again, sobs muffled by a hand pressed to her mouth.

It's a dream. That's what he tells himself as he lets the woman take the vial. Nothing but a dream, he thinks when his eyes burst open and he feels as though the air has been knocked out of his lungs, even though he hasn't taken a breath for more than a century.