What? Yes, this is a short story. It should be about three chapters long. 'S for a class thing I have.
He didn’t know where he could possibly be, or why the sound of waves tickled his ears. The boy had no idea what the soft, grainy stuff that scratched his skin was, but it certainly wasn’t his bed. For a while, he even debated wasting the time to get up. It was probably just a dream, anyways.
“Yo, dude. What are you doing on my island?”
It was a high, croaky voice, full of silly inflections and stresses on random words. Nothing about it could possibly be sane.
“Your island?” the boy asked, standing up wearily.
“Yeah, my island, stupid. Mine, mine, mine very own. What’re you doing dirtying it with – yourself?”
“Well, I—” he stopped, staring at the little white sheet-looking thing that floated in front of him. The top of it was pulled up in what the boy imagined as a scornful smile.
“What’s ya name, dumb-dumb-stupid face?”
“I… I-I… I was… I’m- S-S-Sam.”
“Sam, eh? Well it certainly suits someone as stupidly imbecilic as yourself.”
The sandy-haired kid blinked furiously, waiting to wake up.
“What now, dumb-head? Got some sand in your stupid eyes? Haha, perfect. I love my sand.”
Weird, perfectly round blue eyes appeared a little below the dome of the weird sheet-thing. Arm-ish-looking objects stuck from odd angles from its ‘sides’, and a miniature black hole served as its mouth, sucking sensibility into nothingness.
“N-n-no, I just don’t have a cl-clue as to wh-what you are. Some sort o-o-of weird white m-m-m-mouse?”
The thing brought a ‘hand’ to its mouth, as if in yawning boredom.
“Do mice fly, you dumb little kid? No, no they don’t,” it answered itself, not waiting for Sam to reply.
“Yeah, but this isn’t exactly like—”
“Reality? Like heck it is. I dunno how ya got here, but you’re leaving pretty dang soon or not at all, stupid dumb idiot.”
Sam bit his lip, thinking hard for a second.
“B-but… then what? You can’t be a bird, you don’t have any wings. And you’re t-too…”
The thing frowned, rolling its huge blue eyes.
“Fat? Just shut up. No, I’m not a bird. I’m a – I’m a ghost.”
Sam laughed, only it turned out as more of a choking cough. The little, chubby white thing was a ghost? Yeah, right.
“Mmmhhmm. You’re a ghost.”
It seemed to be trying to decide if he was being sarcastic or not, and Sam was fishing around in his cargo pants for something.
“Alright, dumb-dumb. So you don’t believe me? Well, then… prove I’m not - stupid.”
“Prove you are.”
“Prove I’m not, imbecile.”
“Prove you are.”
“Prove I’m not, idiot.”
“Fine!” Sam gasped, pulling a crumpled-up soda can out of his pocket. “Here. If you were a ghost, this would go…”
He stopped as the can spun through the 'ghost', landing with an almost mocking shhfftt on the grainy sand.
The ghost chuckled – a grating, whistling sound that echoed off the reefs and cliff sides with a mean eeriness.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid kid. Nah, I’m a ghost. The ghost of… Leichschneider Manderbden!”
Silence.
