• Ghost Story

    I was human once. I had a body and a soul. A heart that beat and a mind that thought. You could have touched my skin and I would have shivered. You could have hurt my feelings and I probably would have cried. I had been loved and sought after by people but I could not truly reciprocate the emotion. I had lied more than I had told the truth and I had been selfish more than I had considerate. As time passed I grew cold, lonely and unhappy and with no one to blame but my own, stupid self. I had been blinded by momentary pleasure and false feelings toward others.
    I soon became ill and weak. Drawing in air to take another breath was becomming a chore and I began to hide away from the harsh reality that loomed over me. I was tired of having to see the persistent dawning of one miserable day after another. What little light remained within my soul began to diminish and the fibers of my very being were starting to give way to the constant weight of hopelessness.
    Before I drew my final breath and closed my eyes for the last time, I made sure to look at my surroundings. I wanted to remember this moment during the last seconds of my life. This would be the last time I would ever see. This would be the last time I would ever smell and feel. As my eyes begin to take their final bow, I felt a warm, soft hand take mine. I did not open my eyes, for I was much too exhausted and relaxed to do so. “Please, don’t leave.” a calm voice said. I slowly felt my eyes begin to open as I saw a young boy dressed in all white kneeling over me, smiling. All I could do was gaze in awe as he smiled back at me, holding my cold, lifeless hands in his. At that very moment, I felt my body becoming warmer. My breaths grew deeper and my vision more vivid than ever! I felt had felt more alive than I had felt in years. I looked up at where the boy who had held my hand was, but he had gone. I was alone and confused, like a newborn taking in its first account of the outside world.
    I could feel the blood running through my veins for the first time ever. I could smell scents that I could not smell before. I saw magnificent colors I never knew existed. But most of all, I felt different. I must have been dead to myself before. I never knew I could be this happy, this free! I looked over at my lifeless, cold body on the floor.
    I suppose loving another as others had done to me was never really the answer. I had now known that I had no love for myself. No love, no respect, no dignity. Only apathy and angst. Knowing that I would never see that dull body again, I began to walk away. I leave my memories, my hopes, concerns, and fears with my former self. I leave my mind, a thinking machine which knows only what it learned from the heart. My heart, a beating organ which only knows how to love. And I leave my love, a demon in itself which begs for more and more and demands every last bit of pride and autonomy which runs through the veins.
    I am a deceased victim of love. I am a ghost, nothing more.