The Ghost That Sticks Around
Six years ago. Your parents’ wedding. You were the best man. You dressed yourself in that suit, you calmed your father down when he got nervous. You filled that role for one day, and what a day it was. You even got to keep the box the ring was placed in, and you’ve had it on display ever since. How did that make you feel?
Three years ago. You and your family went overseas on a holiday that was hyped up for years and years by your parents. It lived up to the hype and then some. Beautiful moments captured in still frames, backdrops and gorgeous landscapes, breathtaking. How did this make you feel?
Two years ago. The back of an unfamiliar car. Mind racing with endless thoughts as beings of passion collide for the first time, touching through youthful lips, breathing renewed life into each other. You knew something was up, and you went for it. And now you were there. Floating in air. Can’t believe that this dare turned into a reality when your lips locked. How did that make you feel?
One year ago. Awards night. Back row. Your friend on the left tells you he thinks you’re going to win big. You doubt it. You worked for your achievements, but in that moment, you would’ve been happy with just about anything. Not an hour later, the face you made as you walked up on stage to receive the grand prize? Priceless. Framed. Immortalised. The purest, most genuine expression of surprise and joy. The most glorious end to a season of life. How did that make you feel?
Today? Laying on your dirty, stained bed naked in the dark alone at midday. Smells like shit, looks like shit, feels like shit. Tastes like death. Sounds like tinnitus. You’ve never felt the weight of your being so heavy behind the eyes before, but the feeling gets more pronounced each day, as if the sheer pressure may pop them out at any moment. Arms and legs dangling off the side of the bed, the slight pins and needles providing comfort and texture where they can. Soothing to the degree that the final breath is a peaceful one. You can’t help but contemplate, desperately filling your mind with something else, but inevitably circling back to one idea. Cancellation. Maybe there’s more to come, but all you have right now is this moment, and this moment is purgatory. So stiff and unmoving on your stomach the rigor mortis may have already set in. Your body is telling you what it wants before it’s even happened. Something undefined inside of you is begging to be purged. It doesn’t want to be shelled inside of your world shelled inside of the world. It wants to come out. You can’t contemplate through a projected stab from within. You can only meet it in the middle. And when you do, it’s a moment to be remembered. A moment you can feel. The moment you realise you were simply a womb for a being incubated for a larger timeframe, and then the time came, it was only instinctual to deliver.
What is the future for a ghost? All a ghost has is its ever-fading memories. There are no new moments to be made because the only moments that can be lived have already happened. The rest is just a spinoff. The series is complete. Many people didn’t like the ending, even if it made them cry. But it can be hard to stick the landing sometimes. People will play the highlight reel of your production, and they’ll quickly forget all the in-betweens. All the filler. Your parent’s wedding. Your holiday. Your first kiss. Your award. Rinse and repeat. Your creation will be immortalised through its death, even if its final moments were less than stellar. You knew when to pull the plug, you could smell its dying breath calling to you, and only one thing made sense. But now… it just lingers. It left your cage, but it never left the cage entrapping you. And unlike you, there’s no way out. No extra layer to peel off. So, it just lingers. And reminisces. Just like you did. Just like you are. Right now.