Here

“Here we are again.”

Yep, here we are again.

“What do you want to do?”

I dunno. The world is our oyster.

“We can do anything we want?”

Anything at all.

“Can we unbury you so you can hold my hand one more time?”

No. We can’t do that.

“I miss you.”

I miss you too, my love.

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JusJoJan the 29th – Ghost, a 50-word story

Your ghost haunts me, even now. I lay here searching the stars for the one that might be you, the cold ground beneath me, surrounding me; I know you are beside me. The first shovelful of dirt hits my chest and I wonder, why are they burying me at night?

 

JJJ 2016

It’s Just Jot It January! Click here and join in any time!

Deception (SoCS)

“There’s a daemon in the room. Do you feel it?” asked the low-brow ghost, heretofore referred to as LB.

“No,” answered Marie, “I can’t feel it at all. What makes you say that?”

“There’s a disturbance in the air. It’s like a thousand bats are congregating on my forehead. They’re dancing in the space between my frown and my smile.”

“Wait! Yes, I feel it now! It’s like the rain spattering on the window. The beating of their wings…” Marie sighed, slowly exhaling the tension that LB brought with him. “What will the daemon do to me?”

LB chuckled in the dark, ghostly way she was used to hearing after so many years of visitations. “He will surely rape you if I don’t protect you.

“Come. Come to bed with me and I’ll look after you.”

“But,” gasped Marie, “how will you protect me? You are but a low-brow ghost!”

“You must trust me.” His whispery breath gusted gently against her ear.

Marie acquiesced. She shivered beneath the covers. “Am I safe from the deemon now?”

“Of course.” LB curled up beside Marie and mumbled gibberish to her until she went almost mad.

“Stop it! What is this blue language you speak?”

LB was aghast! “Don’t you recognize it? It is the language of exorcising daemons!”

Marie stared at LB–at least as much of the ghost as she could fathom. He was transparent at best.

“I don’t believe in you!” she exclaimed, at which point he disappeared.

Nine months later, she gave birth to a baby – with tiny horns between its frown and its smile.

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This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday.

Passing

Over you I hover
as a bee

But I cannot be
seen

I am a ghost
of the past

I have passed
away

Since I have been
I’ve seen

The very scene
in which you will join me

For you I will care
to bare

My soul when you bear
the pain of our union

For now I will watch
as you spend your hours

until ours
are one.

Puppet Master

My mind is a playground full of weird and wonderful toys. People. People are my toys to play with. They are my puppets. I am the puppet master, that’s what I am. My control is complete and the utter trash that I spew is unrivaled.

I am not God. I’m not a deity of any kind. I am Lord of my self-absorption. My will encompasses millions upon millions of souls and they aren’t even sure I exist.

I am a ghost. I have no empathy for the living.

I am Ouija. And I am bored.

The birds and the rain

I remember the birds and I remember the rain.
They sang and they dropped, from above
Pain
Release

I remember your song and I remember the vibration
They echoed in my brain
Release

I remember life and I remember love
They glowed
Darkness

Unbearable now, the memories of life, of touch
I pass through you unnoticed
I pray for release
I pray for pain
I pray for darkness
I pray for true death

Let me go

Pale

I am a ghost.

Or was I? I believe I am standing in the rain, buckets pouring down on me I am

Slippery in slippers. Why am I wearing

Long loose clothing, layered chiffon blowing in the breeze high upon the roof of

Deep cold metal framework? I feel

Hot ash laying in the sun. My bones ache ooooh how

blistered and blushed up brushes forward

My hair. Black. Over my face. It is so dark so dark so I can’t see why can’t I

am a ghost.

Saw it! I glimpsed the pale horse, steam from his nostrils he lifted me

Up on high mountain

top of the windy cliff. The sea smashes

my ahhh I can fly now!

NO! I stand in my mother’s living room but wait, this is from before

She cries why? I can see her through

shades of gray silk I cross my arms angrily growling I am

a ghost.

But wait! There! Right there a scrap of paper with my name! Surely if

My name remains I must be

Alive. It is there written in stone. In the pale moonlight

in a cemetery.

I walk, the cold sleet slashing my skin and

I don’t breathe

in the air of the night brisk chill diamond cut

I bled

out of the darkness I see light I see light

blind

I am alive. I am a

ghost.