What did you like or not like about this story? What can i do to make it better? Are there any things you would have changed, added, or taken away from it? Is it not descriptive enough? Does it make sense?
Brooke didnt get it. she got to the bookstore right on time. She even got to the right aisle, which isnt too easy in the pitch black darkness of a bookstore at two in the morning.
Wait, it is two twenty-five A.M. isn't it?
Suddenly a shadow stepped out of the book aisle. Like, literally out of the books. the shadow just ignored her though and walked by. Maybe the man was blind?
Wait, what was a grown man doing at a bookstore in the middle of the night?
Brooke decided not to call him back-he might've been a security guard or something. Brooke didnt want to be kicked out, and have to be dragged to the police. It took alot to sneak in here.
That was when he stepped out from the bookshelf himself. He is the whole reason Brooke was even here tonight. He approached Brooke, happily.
"Well, good morning." His voice was just a beautiful as ever.
"Where have you been? This place might as well be haunted." Brooke teased. "Why'd you want to meet here again anyways? Oh and you never told me why you were in the basement the other day, when we met."
He shrugged and simply replied: "Well, I like it here. I spend lots of my time in the basement here... Plus, it's not like a can leave this place to not be haunted. I mean, i'm the main ghost here. What would the others do?"
His tone was teasing, but Brooke could see the questioning in his eyes. The longing for her to take him seriously.
"Ghost? Stop messing around. Are you ever going to tell me your name?"
"No. There is not a need for you to know my name. I am dead, Brooke. I'm a ghost.
Brooke backed away from him ever so slightly. She began repaying what He had said last time they met: "Brooke could you ever love someone with a secret they couldn't tell you? Or someone who couldn't give you the life you want?"
That was when Brooke ran. She ran out of the bookstore, and continued at a ran till she was home. But she could not run away from the memory of his bookstore, or him.