#winlockpress

Sarah Walker just wanted to sleep. She'd gotten exactly six sweet hours in the last three days, so she felt her dream of dreaming only fair. AP Exams and spirits disagreed. Exams were over, but the spirits? Sarah sighed and sat up.

Spirits are assholes. "Follow me," whispered the weak will of a dry creek. Again.

It was the least she could do, really. Her folks new house was pretty nice, she had to admit. The fake creek they'd put in after the real one was a pretty shame. Now? The boughs of a great ghost tree blocked the living room TV - just to her, of course. So while her dad watched Fox News "to track the enemy mind"? She got bark. Moss. Scent. And lots of visits from half-remembered days, long past.

She'd tried not to care for years. She'd read. She'd jogged. She'd taken the wrong medicine, before she got the ones she needed. Then, in an act of great submission? She'd gotten into botany, biology, local history, and old architecture. And on nights like this when her eyes had gone pink, her round hair had a pillow dent in one side, and Herbert Hoover haunted her half-awake mind?

She followed the mist-white deer out past her back yard. 

Deer Creek was dying. Sarah Walker took notes - the deer showed her fake arrowheads and real old graves. It led her bare feet too close to javelina hollows by shoddy contractor's bike paths. It took her down where its shape-mother died, over 30 years ago - a perfect shot from a perfect view. A good ghost for a creek.

Sarah Wallker put ink to flesh, as the spirits begged  - Moleskine, in her case, the acid-cleaned flesh of some tree she'd never met but still loved to smell. She'd scan and blog her records later. That soured her mood and kept her up late again, uneasy. After all, she was becoming Twitter famous. People cared.

She choked down a Xanax at the thought of having fans. Fans!

But the ghosts of old eyes had their needs. She had a sweet, listening soul and the means to keep old tales alive. Even echoes fear being forgotten. But Sarah?

Sarah Walker couldn't wait for just a little silence. However she had to get it.

Prompt: via winlockpress, who wants me to work for their money...Pshaw!

A deer, white and misty, flows through your closed window. “Follow me.”

"I am tired," he said, as he scrolled, liked, and Twittered evermore...