Power in Pudding

At first, it was limbo, a place in a different plane of existence fabricated only for me. I wandered through its city for what must have been years. The faces of its citizens were impassive and faded, there was only a faint outline that implied any personality. I would scream in their ears for attention, but nothing ever came of it. Not a single soul ever glanced my way. I was invisible in an emotionless world. My mind was numbed from the ineffable boredom that was forever a constant. I would dream, wish, and even beg for the smallest hint of diversity. 

Sometime in my drifting days, pity was taken on my deadening soul. Spontaneously, with no warning, the apathetic city was gone. Fully melted back into nothingness and the only sign it ever happened is the memories I carry. I was thrust back into the world I once roamed before my limbo. Everything was the same, yet everything was different. Faces were there and they were rich with emotion. The city is abundant in vivid colors and the simplest objects have character. It gave me solace I never thought I would feel again. My body sagged in relief, and I rushed over to the nearest person but to my dismay, they reacted as if I didn't exist. I was filled with a visceral anger by the powerlessness rooted in my being. After being trapped in limbo for what felt like ages, I still have no ability to alter my surroundings. 

Standing in the middle of a bustling street I watched a multitude of people pass. I disgruntledly covered my eyes with my shaking hands, but my translucent body did nothing to shut out the world. I let my thoughts wander as I observed my skin faintly changing colors to match the vibrant city around me. Seeing my body adapt to its new environment made me come to a conclusion. I’m never going to accept powerlessness again. I’m going to control every single world I fall into, starting with this one. I’ve been given a second chance and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem, but before I even begin to think of a plan, fortune comes to me in the form of a young woman.  

“Miss. Kingsley?” A little voice asked, reaching for the woman’s sleeve. I lower my hands in sudden consideration. Is it possible that I just happened to come across someone with connections to a King? With a deep sigh, I shove back my fury and focus on this opportunity. If I am to gain control, I must learn from the person with the most of it. 

Miss. Kingsley is dressed in a bubbly floral skirt that reaches her ankles. While my knowledge may be limited in this realm, I know bright fabrics and long skirts ordinarily suggest wealth. Along with that, the woman carries herself with an air of confidence rarely seen in peasants. Behind her is a long rope held up by 20 children. That aspect in particular catches my attention. 

I watch her lead a lengthy line of kids toward a building labeled Highwood Elementary. I thank whatever higher being has blessed my luck and trail Miss. Kingsley as she kindly answers the flooding questions the children ask. As we enter the building, I observe how the bystanders regard the woman with respect. Pre-teens goofing off lower their heads at her steady glares and kids, barely younger than the ones she’s leading, wave in her direction with adoring smiles. While she may not be king, this woman has enough respect to control a considerable portion of these people. She can be the first stepping stone in my journey. 

In my excitement my feet leave the floor and I float besides my target as she leads all the kids into the school and a classroom inside. She commands the children to sit at their desks and they quickly obey her words. I gaze around the room as Miss. Kingsley begins the day by handing out a few papers labeled Bellwork. Once all of the children are occupied, she sits at a large wooden desk near the front of the room. 

I meander up to Miss. Kingsley as she leans back in her seat. Her arm comes close to my leg, and I feel the warmth coming from her. A small twinge of jealousy becomes apparent as I watch her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. I vividly remember my own time living and breathing. I remember the rush of anxiety speaking in front of a group, but also the comradery afterwards. Most predominantly, I remember the feeling of having subjects kneel before you. 

Almost absentmindedly, I placed my hand on top of Kingsley’s. A soft buzzing overtakes my hand as I watch it go through hers. The woman slides her hand back and rubs at it. The action, no matter how small, makes me stutter. For the first time in what felt like centuries I made an impact on someone around me. Drunk on the feeling, I draw nearer to her. The buzzing gets louder, and she shivers. I’m practically on top of her when something shifts. In a split second I blink and open my eyes to a new life. The environment becomes evocative, and a fond feeling fills my chest when I look at the children. A heart I didn’t know was still operational, skipped a beat when the desk in front of me became tangible. Astonished by this revelation, I inspect my hands that appear thin and feminine, something they usually do not. My eyes shoot downward, and I finally realize that I’m no longer in the body of a ghost, but of Miss. Kingsley herself. 

A gasp escapes my throat as I feel the pulse in her wrist. I’m absolutely elated to feel the air going in and out of my lungs. While basking in the feeling I suddenly realized every eye in the room was on me. 

“Miss. Kingsley, are you okay?” A blonde girl asked from her desk. Her frizzy hair did little to hide the fact that her big eyes are on me. Me! 

“I feel splendid,” I replied in the voice of Miss. Kingsley and the girl’s face shifted into a smile. 

“Otay!” She chirped and continued working on her paper, as did the other children. I simply stare at them in shock, marveling at the fact I had all their attention. I momentarily forget common sense and abruptly stand up. I stumbled slightly from the weight I now have to carry. Being a ghost has its abnormalities, one being that I don’t have to put much effort into standing. I steady myself and try to connect with my past memories of battling gravity. A soft giggle takes my focus, and I notice a few of the kids are once again looking up from their work. 

“Children, I have decided there will be a change of plans,” I announced, projecting my voice. After a couple confused glances I ask, “Miss. Kingsley, is the leader of you all, is she not?” 

A chorus of little voices pipe up, “Why are you talking like that? I’m not finished with my work! Yeah! what are we doing?” All of them abandon their pencils except a boy with glasses who looks less than thrilled. 

“Well then, all of you may kneel before me and receive your orders,” I declare while proudly looking over my new subjects. A small fit of giggles overtake them but they all oblige. They have horrendous form and a few only sit before me but I do not mind. It reminds me of the early days when I was alive. Mainly the ragtag group I pulled together to initiate my overzealous plans of dethroning the current king. “I vow to rule over this realm starting with all of you.” 

“What’s a realm? Will we still have recess? I’m hungry.” The children say in a barrage of words. I ignore all of them except the last. 

“You’re hungry? Well, I’m ravenous! We shall overtake the cafeteria in order to declare dominance!” I state with spirit, letting the memories of my past take the reins. The room erupts in high pitched cheers. I take it as my cue to snatch the rope Miss. Kingsley had been using earlier. The children instantly know my intentions and they all move to hold onto a section of the red rope. I fling the door open and pause. I have no idea where the cafeteria is, but I can’t have my subjects doubting me. Bearing that in mind, I confidently step out of the room trailed by the kids. 

A nagging voice pipes up after I take a left, “Miss, that’s not the way to the cafeteria,” I glance back to see a boy with thick black glasses walking at the front of the line. I recognize him as the boy from earlier who was the only one upset with the change of plans. Having a weak link may cause issues later on. 

“Perhaps you should take this journey on your own then,” I bluntly suggest. The boy seemed perturbed by this and pushed up his glasses. He was so taken aback he didn’t notice as I subtly changed directions onto the correct path to the cafeteria which was currently empty. Without missing a beat, I stride to the door labeled “Kitchen”. 

“Miss, we aren’t supposed to go in there.” The boy stressed after tugging lightly at the rope.

“I say we can, so it's fine,” I console but my statement is less than assuring as I walk into the door with a thud. A few of the kids look concerned but most of them just cackle. I stared blankly before realizing my stupidity. I’m in a body now, I can’t just walk through walls. Ashamedly, I yank the door open and pull the kids into the kitchen. I watch their curious eyes widen as they take in their surroundings. “Go my subjects! Take what you must and leave nothing to waste!” I command, dropping the rope. The braver kids jump at the opportunity and begin nosing through the cabinets lining the wall. Others look slightly lost while the nagging boy looks up at me with distaste. 

“We are breaking the rules!” He says while throwing his hands in the air for emphasis. 

“I am your leader so what I say goes. Currently, I have given no such rule,” I explain. The child stares dumbfounded while a few quiet murmurs break the silence. Before he can speak a loud whoop interrupts him. Two boys are holding up cups of chocolate pudding like a trophy. Every kid smiles, even the nagging boy, at the thought of the treat. “Let us take these treasures back to our base! Grab as many as you can!” The room transforms into chaos as all my subjects push each other to collect their share of pudding. There is shoving and even tackling. I smiled to myself at the thought that I influenced the insanity. 

The grin stays as I lead the bickering kids back to my room. Their hands are occupied with an immoderate amount of pudding cups which leaves the red rope I carry dragging on the floor. Along the way, we catch the attention of an older teacher. She stared slack jawed as my kids walked past, faces covered in chocolate. I pay her no mind and take them all back to the room. My happy subjects all find their desks without me asking and devour their snack. I let them have some time to themselves and saunter back to my desk. 

A firm knock interrupts the moment. In the small window on the door, I see an older gentleman looking in. Upon seeing the man, my subjects shrink in their seats and try to whip off their faces with their sleeves. Noticing the mood shift beyond my control, I stand to fix the abnormality. 

“Miss. Kingsley I’ve been told you let your students into the cafeteria and stole all of the chocolate pudding. Is this true?” The man asks in a gruff tone of voice. 

“It is, and what of it?” I ask with an upward tilt of my head. My subjects are eerily quiet as we await his reply. 

“I have no clue what has gotten into you, but I cannot let this stand. Mrs. Mercury will be taking over your class for the remainder of the day while we have a talk in my office.” A short woman moves to stand next to him to wear a similar disapproving expression. 

“No.” I state. 

“Excuse me?” 

“We will not be doing that.” 

“Miss Kingsley, I am shocked at this behavior, and I implore you to-” I don’t hear the rest of his sentence as I forcefully close the door in both of their faces. With a quick assessment of the room, I take the heaviest looking shelf and drag it in front of the door, effectively blocking others from entry. I turn around ready to give commands to my subjects, but instead of listening to me my students create a caterwaul. 

“Her eyes! They’re red! I’m scared! Mommy!” They screech. 

“Quiet!” I order to no avail. Many of the kids are hiding behind their desks and hugging their friends with equally terrified expressions. 

“Hey! You-” A scorching pain erupts in my side. With a shout, I fell to the floor looking at the cause. The boy with glasses is standing above me holding a wooden cross that’s covered in stickers and paint. 

“Christ compels you!” He shouts above the noise. Another bout of searing pain begins behind my eyes. I can’t get another word out as he repeatedly chants the phrase. In a moment of clarity, I reach up to snatch his weapon but my hands go innocuously through the cross. The boy’s shoulders sag in relief when he notices his teacher opening her eyes and having them be an ordinary color. 

“Josh? When did I get on the floor?” She questions the boy. Once she notices the assorted expressions of shock and relief on her students she fully comes to attention. 

“You had a ghostie in ya! Josh saved us!” A little girl chimed in with the same amount of cheer I first saw standing over my original body. This time instead of my war hardened rival, it’s in the face of a child with snot and tears drying on his cheeks. Though, identical to my last experience, when the color fades I awake to an apathetic city painted with the wear of time. 

In the end, it was limbo, a place in a different plane of existence fabricated for my foolishness. I wander again through the empty city, entertained only by my regret. I finally grasp a lesson I failed to learn on both of my excursions to the land of the living. The only question left seems to echo in the abyss. Will I get another chance?