Tag: creative writing

and it seemed that as soon as i closed my eyes they were open again. but the oth­er side: hel/nirvana/heaven/purgatory/hell what­ev­er you call it, was kind of bor­ing. just shades of dead folks walk­ing around look­ing apa­thet­ic. it sucked. i’d rather expect­ed a par-tay.

so i went back.

and now i’m stuck, ghost­writ­ing in rather strange ways. i can pos­sess things now. for instance, since i have no cor­po­re­al exis­tence i had to pos­sess this com­put­er to write. its pret­ty fun flick­ing around elec­trons. i guess i’m a lawn­mow­er man. but its hard­er to con­cen­trate with noth­ing to keep my ether held togeth­er but my will.

you don’t real­ly need exor­cism or any­thing like that to get rid of ghosts, just dis­tract them, then turn on a fan.

anoth­er thing, i thought i was just on the oth­er side for a moment or two, but when i came back i was already old dry bones. you see, the eas­i­est spot to reap­pear is in your old body. i guess an affin­i­ty always remains. but i’d long since rot­ted and all that was left in my ossuary were my bones and an anti­so­cial spi­der.

once i got the hang of being ethe­re­al it was pret­ty fun. i can go through walls, but not with ease. will­ing myself through things takes a lot of ener­gy, thats why when you see a ghost come out of a wall they are all pale. nor­mal­ly we look more along the lines of a col­ored over­head trans­paren­cy. i can move as fast as my thought across open spaces how­ev­er.

i thought i’d check out my fam­i­ly, just for old times sake. they were all dead too. so i became one of those ances­tral ghosts roam­ing and moan­ing the halls of the goth­ic cas­tle. or not quite. actu­al­ly i just chilled in the hous­es of my fam­i­ly’s descen­dents. every once in awhile when i was­n’t pay­ing atten­tion they would bump into me and get a chill.

why did­n’t they see me? that’s easy, peo­ple only see ghosts when they know to look for them. its hard to catch one of us by sur­prise. after all we are pure will. it still got bor­ing after awhile. there is only so much you can do as a spec­tre. i could have picked up the whole rat­tling chains and wail­ing thing but instead i decid­ed i’d go find some moun­tains and roam around the peaks and val­leys.

after awhile i’m sure i’ll start to get the hang of it, my spir­it will melt into the land and you’ll be able to hear my chuck­le on crisp autumn evenings. it’ll prob­a­bly just sound like rustling leaves, but it’ll real­ly be me.