Penny Lane

Penny Lane a lonely young lady with only ghosts for company is a writer who prefers to escape to her imagination than deal with her problems.

PENNY LANE                                                                  

Penny returned home after a tough day.

Franz threw himself in front of her

"Not now Mr. Kafka I’m tired" penny said annoyed

"But I've the greatest paragraph organised perfectly in my head, I have to write it down penny, before I lose it” he pleaded, now standing by the window delivering tapping strokes on her typewriter. Since he was a ghost his hands just swished through the keys. Penny, slightly amused by this vision, gave into him.

"well, let me at least take my shoes off first Mr Kafka, please" She always called him Mr Kafka so to keep the formality of their relationship, since he is always invading her private space and she chooses to avoid any sort of  intimate relationships like the plague.

She poured herself the remainder of the tea she made up this morning and threw some ice cubes in it.  Hopefully this soothes me she thought and headed to her writing desk by the window. 

Penny collapsed in her cosy arm chair and leaned her head back on the rest. 

"Ahhhh …. I do love this spot" she whispered to herself

Her writing desk and large Victorian windows were the perfect escape. Penny instantly drifted off into her imagination. When she got like this she could have been sitting in the middle of a civil war battle and still be completely oblivious to her surroundings. 

Poor Franz was bent over into her ear, face red as a ripe tomato, yelling. 

"Penny? Earth to penny!" 

Penny's thoughts were interrupted by the frantic ghost. 

"Oh...” She giggled nervously " sorry, ok begin, please" she said with a bowing of her head and twirling of her hand like a maestro instructing his orchestra. 

She fed her typewriter with a fresh canvas of paper for the new paragraph.

 Franz Kafka was a very talented writer from the 1900s. Who, according to him came to New York with a handful of novels in the hope to get published? He made friends with an editor who was connected into the art scene in New York, a time when vibrant urban artists were beginning to emerge and the sound of jazz players filled the streets. Sadly his newly made friend was somewhat of a crook and stole his drafts, took them for his own and convinced a publisher friend to publish them in his name. The novels became quite successful and Franz just can't lay to rest until he writes, “the best novel ever written”, so he says.

An hour had passed, and then two. Penny kept writing against her will. Although it was therapeutic for her, so she really didn’t mind at all. Finally Franz plopped himself onto the sofa. Seemingly exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Penny returned the role of her typewriter "Ding!" it rang out. And she joined Franz on the sofa. Both now feeling renewed and a bit intoxicated from indulging themselves in Franz imagination.

"Fantastic Mr Kafka you truly have the writers gift. It is a wonderful story and I can't wait to see what happens next"

"Yes … yes”,” tomorrow we will continue" he said waving his hand about like a royal gentleman

"Thank you my dearest Penny you are a sweet girl for assisting this foolish old man"

"But I must depart as I have a 6 o'clock with one airtight broad”

 Penny screwed her face up at yet another one of Franz 19th century metaphors, half the time she didn’t even know what on earth he was talking about. “Ooooookaay “she replied in a sarcastic tone” well you make sure the air is tight and out-a-sight “she said trying to make a joke. Franz just looked back kinda confused at her and they had an awkward moment. Thankfully Mr Barnaby the ghost from apartment 52 poked his head through the door like it were no more than a soft cloud. It's a good thing penny's late mother was a spiritual type during her childhood or these ghosts would have frighten the living daylights out of her. She remembered coming home on several occasions to a house full of her mother's friends playing with Ouija boards and chattering about spiritual matters. Such colourful people they were and very entertaining. 

She use to watch them till she got tired in the evening dancing around the living room with they're bell bottoms swirling about like church bells, or until she couldn't take the smell of marijuana anymore and felt a bit dizzy. Penny loved when they came to visit, it filled the house with a warm glow and she felt comforted. It certainly was better than the majority of her week which was spent alone while her mother worked late. Penny would cook her own dinner and fall asleep staring out the window thinking up stories to keep herself company.

Franz interrupted her thoughts again " well kiddo, it’s time for me to skidoo cause we got a humdinger of a night lined up and I’m getting' batty stir crazy sitting all cooped up, let's beat it Harold" said Franz and off they went.

Penny felt kinda embarrassed that a ghost had more of a social life then she had. But she really didn’t know how to do anything about it as she had resigned herself to the fact that she would always be somewhat of a recluse.  She blames her mother for leaving her alone so much when she was little and not being very interested in her during later years either.

Feeling too tired to cook she headed down to the Chinese takeaway on her street.

"Mmm...Yum, stir fry and season 5 of the walking dead, perfect!"

Night was falling and the air cool and soothing. The street seemed quieter than usual.

Penny had about 20 minutes before it were completely dark. She started to hurry as she didn’t like walking New York at night.  She was about 10 meters from her building when she felt a blinding pain to her head "did I just get hit by lightning" she wandered. She fell to the ground, Chinese food splattered the pavement. Everything was silent and seemingly slow motion as she lay with her cheek against the ground she could see the dust flying about from her breath. Then the scatter of legs, two maybe 4 running away from her. 

"Did they hit me?” she wandered, she spotted her bag trailing behind one of the runners.

She had been mugged.

Penny dragged herself to her door and up to her apartment.

Her tears would not prevail and she imagined filling the street with so much water it became a flowing stream, whilst majestic birds flew by dropping mustard seeds from their beaks and the seeds grew into the most enchanting giant trees that engulfed the New York landscape.

She could hear children's laughter as they sailed along the stream on windswept lily pads. Thousands of colorful butterflies fluttered about tickling and filling her with pleasure.

She sat on her writing chair staring out the window and that is where she will stay.