What am I about to tell you might be the craziest thing you might read. And maybe I am insane too, I mean who wouldn't be after everything I've known? But you see I used to be a so normal back then—okay, maybe not so normal. I mean I used to like stuffs like wizard, magic and stuffs, but come on, I was young, and imaginative, and young, oh I mentioned young twice, scratch that. Anyways yeah, this is crazy. Not unless if you consider the strange viruses that kill hundreds of people a day, and extreme changes of weather like snowing in desserts normal.

 

So yeah, the world is ending. And maybe, I am the only one who has an idea why.

 

My name's Chris. I used to live a normal life. Well maybe before I met her, or maybe before they met each other.

 

So maybe I'll start from here. The day I met her.

 

It was summer, at Saint Monica Academy. It was a pretty big school at the outskirts of town. It was like a Harvard local version. Everybody who has money, brains and wants to keep a low profile goes there to study. I wasn't on that three categories though, or yeah, okay maybe I was in the brain category since I got there pretty much from an academic scholarship. Saint Monica, has four building, one was just recently built about a year or two before I enrolled. The three were old ones, the Arts Department, The Science Department, the Mathematics Department. The new one the Library situated north to the Arts Department.

 

The biggest building was Arts Department. It has over nine floors, a hundred and one classrooms and seven galleries. It was just massive. Unfortunately, you see with that hundred and one classrooms not even half of that number is used. Some are just there, not used or never been used. Students are really few you see, so the number of the classrooms were more than enough for everyone. And the galleries, only two of those were functional.

 

So there were rumors. They said that there was a ghost on the sixth floor gallery. That gallery was situated on the right wing of the building, and only four of the ten classrooms that were on the same wing are used. They said every after school, it was reported that the run-down room changes into a simple yet old English style room, and there was a girl who would appear sitting on the couch there, and sometimes would even invite you in.

 

“So did you come in?” I asked Vanessa who was just telling me her experience on the run-down sixth floor gallery.

 

“Are you insane?”
 

“Probably.”

 

She sighed, “Of course not, that's a ghost were talking about!” she exclaimed throwing her hands up in the air, “I was damn lucky to have been able to run. She might've chased me and ate the shit out of me.”

 

“Language.” I said as I look back on my notebook sitting on my desk. “And besides, how did you know she's a ghost?”

 

She paused and I stare again at her. Of course she doesn't exactly know. “I just...know.” she replied.

 

You see the problem with these rumors are they are overly exaggerated and people tend to believe it...too easily. So what do you do with this kind of situation? I tell you my friend, this is where one you should shrug your shoulder and say, “Whatever”. And two shove the idea out of your head, because that is practically just a rumor—just a freaking rumor. And lastly because if you don't you'll probably get yourself in trouble.

 

But you know why I know what you must not do?

 

Because I did all of the opposite. Well, blame my curiosity, teenage hormones whatever that caused me to climb up to the sixth floor on afternoon that day. Though only few students used the classrooms on that floor it was cleaned everyday. The hallways, everything, well yeah except the galleries. I heard that the galleries were rarely cleaned, well for one no one will use it.

 

The class just ended and it was awfully quiet that hour. My footsteps and the faint cheers of the students from the tracks were the only noises. I continued to walk towards the gallery. And when I reached the gallery I felt my body froze.

 

It was a normal gallery. I mean normal there was nothing in there but things that were practically covered in mantle to prevent dust from sticking to whatever is underneath it. I sighed thinking again. Maybe it's just Vanessa's imagination. Or maybe she's just sleep deprived, after all we were in such a hectic schedule the week before, exams and projects.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

I jump out of my skin from shock as I turn to the source at an impossible speed. And then there she was. She wasn't tall, not that beautiful either. But I could swear there is something about her that was strange. My body backed away from her while she stares at me for like forever. Then she walks pass ignoring me. She steps into the gallery and pushed open the window. Her mocha colored hair sways with the wind. The voices of the students cheering got louder. I stared at her as she stood by the window. Her dark chocolate colored eyes, was the thing that was strange. I couldn't tell exactly why but I just know.

 

Looking at her more intently I felt this strange feeling in guts that she is not real. Something in my head was screaming things along that line. But she looks so real.

 

“Are you lost?” she asked cutting my trance. I blinked the thought away while telling myself that this is a great chance to prove ghost does not exists.

 

“I-I N-No I mean!” I replied.

 

She chuckled and looked at me. “Then what brought a freshman here?” she asked.

 

“Would you believe me if I said I was curious?” I replied. She laughs again before shaking her head lightly.

 

She then walks towards one of the large mantle covered object before pulling the mantle off revealing a blue leather couch. Then the doing the same to the other objects I finally came to realize what was Vanessa talking about. It was indeed and old English style room. But it was already there, it didn't magically appeared. “So how about sitting? Do you fancy a little chat from your senior?” she said before folding the mantles and tossing it somewhere in the corner of the room. I noticed the painting hanged in the room were faces of people, all of them were painted in bright colors.

 

“Did you...paint those?” I asked before sitting on the couch.

 

“Yeah, pretty much.” she replied before sitting across to me. “I'm glad you didn't run off.”

 

“So you really aren't a ghost?”

 

“I thought you'd know by now I am not.” she replied.

 

“S-Sorry.” I apologized. She's definitely human, I say.

 

“You heard the rumor too?” she asked leaning on the back of the couch. I nodded. “I see.”

 

“Uhm, I...went here to prove them wrong though.” I replied in a low voice.

 

She laughed, “Well will you look at that, Mr. Ghost Buster may I know your name?”

 

“My names, Chris Weston.” I answered.

 

“Chris, huh?” she said, “I'll keep that in mind, my name's Wilhelmina.”

 

“Strange name but beautiful.” I said.

 

“Yeah, it's German, meaning the resolute protector.”

 

I smiled, “Oh so your parents...are German?”

 

She shook her waved her hands in a disapproving way, “My Dad half German.” she replied.

 

She didn't look so foreign though. She has a petite body like a doll, her face is small too. Then again her eyes. I tried to find something interesting and my eyes caught the paintings that were hanging on the walls. “Who are they?” I asked pointing at the portrait. She smiled and stood. She walks up to the painting right before the couch.

 

In it was a beautiful green eyed woman, she has long lashes and small lips. Her hair was decorated with daisies. “She's a friend.” she replied, “Laura from the Science Department.”

 

Then she pointed to the painting next to it. It was a portrait of a girl not older than perhaps seven years old, she was sitting on the sands of a beach her hair were darker shade of Wilhelmina's. The way her eyes were painted were so real that it felt like it was looking right at me. “That one is my sister when she was only seven years old.” Then she pointed again to the next one, it was a man, an middle aged man with his elbows on the desk and his cheek leaning against his hand, he seems to be looking far away. “That's my Dad.” Then she pointed next to a painting of two faces, but seems old, the woman leaning her head on the old man's shoulder. “Those were some stranger at the park.”

 

“You're great.” I said smiling. The great part was not just because how alive it looks like, but rather how happy the people in the paintings looks like. Even though a lot of them seems not to know they were being painted since they seems to be looking elsewhere.

 

“Thank you.” she replied as she took her seat.

 

I found out that Wil was able to asked for that room to be lent for her. She was a pretty popular student among the teachers. They called her a prodigy. She is talented with almost every forms of arts it was almost surreal. Though quite peculiar she gained respect from her classmates and colleagues. But despite that she remained humble.

 

The people loved her, and she loved them.

 

And she was always there for us. It was strange, the way she comes just at the right time and the fact that she just know what to say to make you feel better. And the way she looks at people, it was like she believed in them—she looks at you like you're precious. It was comfortingly strange. But I could not bring myself to question it, to question her kindness.

 

Kill your enemies with kindness, she was like that. She was rooted with her kindness and no great wind of aggravation could bring her down. I envy her for that, it was one of the many things that made me look up at her. At one point I even thought to myself that I will become someone like her but then when I told her about that all she did was to laugh, “No, don't envy me.” she said closing the book in her hand.

 

“Why?” I asked furrowing my brows, “You're strong and brave, I want to be like you.”

 

But she lightly shook her head. “There is a price to pay when you're strong.” she replied closing her eyes. “When you're strong, no one will ask you if you're alright. Nobody will come for you.”

 

It was only then that I slightly had a glimpse of her world—of the burden she had been carrying probably all of her life. “So do me a favor, rather than becoming strong, will you be a kind man?” she asked. It was a strange but as I grew up I slowly understand.

 

The world is cruel, you see. And more than strong people this world needs more of kind people.

 

Because even how much power and strength you posses, there are moments that will prove those to be useless. There are things that power or strength could not save.

 

The world we live in could not be saved even how much I or we become strong.

 

But maybe—just maybe I could save the world with these kindness she taught me.