by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Weekly SCREAMS!!! win
Being dead isn’t what I thought it would be. One minute your neck is dangling from a rope, compliments of the state, and the next? Bones crack. Feet dance on air. Eyes bulge. Everything starts to go black.
Being a ghost isn’t what I thought it would be. No floating. No Invisibility. No haunting. It is a bit more radical than that. What you are is a shadow of yourself in a shadow world attached to the one of old.
It was with some dismay, yes, shadows have feelings, that I found myself molded and still attached to my soon putrefying set of skin, bones and internal organs carried along a wobbly gurney. We, my body and I, made our way down a narrow descending hallway. We paused as the guards pushing and pulling me unlocked prison hospital doors.
One wheezed out the complaint, “Cold as a sepulcher in there. Leave him here. Doc can roll him in, cut him up, harvest his organs, without our help.” I was stuck. I waited.
Getting sliced into puzzle parts didn’t hurt like I thought it would. It hurts worse. It feels like you are a vibrating rubber band connected to every nerve. The body doesn’t die all at once and you can’t faint. Every injury multiplies tenfold when you are vivisected, dissected and torn apart.
Sure I was dead. Yes, I’m a ghostly shadow. Everyone’s spirit is shadow attached to a corporal existence. That aura thing is just window dressing when the light catches you wrong. My aura erupted into a moment of pure flame.
With no body, as such, left to inhabit, I flared, withered to smoke and shadow with one difference. I was free.
Revenge isn’t left only to the living. Free shadows, or ghosts if you will, can follow and attach themselves to whomever they will, sadistic guards, Doc’s selling body parts, x-wife and best friend setting you up to take a fall. Anyone.
What I ended up eating to keep myself together isn’t what I thought it would be. The ones that taste best? The darker most evil out there. Once they get a yen for keeping their wicked lustful and deceitful deeds secret, the bottled up richness grows. Their shadows grow near black in thought and feeling with it.
Hunting is trickier than I thought it would be. Shadows never sleep. They guard their earthly domains well. Attaching myself momentarily to a pulse pounding nightmare and turning it into a heart attack depends on years of an unholy bodily temple’s gluttony, misuse and depravity.
You’d be surprised how often such a worn out carcass is ready to give up the ghost. This isn’t the existence I thought it would be. I suppose in Darwin’s scheme of things I am sort of a leech style vampire vacuuming up the pitiful remains of lust gone mad in human form.
No, I didn’t think things would end up this way, but then, even in my past life I liked chasing shadows.