Section 3; The Bad Part About Being A Ghost

Section 3; The Bad Thing About Being A Ghost.

I told you they weren’t as nice as they pretend to be. When I become angered by the Chesterfield smoking eight-foot boot or the destruction of an entire population is when I return to my immobile state. There stuck in my rage is usually when the other thing arrives.

A beast whose shape, not unlike my own, is constantly metamorphosizing into horrible creations of teeth, fur and stone, snake and wolf, eagle and bear, it reeks of the natural world. Sometimes it remains in the distance, other times it draws close to my face to purr like a barn cat. I can feel the breath, I am the field mouse, his jaws atop my head as my teeth roll into my own hands. The belly holds me in its vacuous chamber, and I must try and replace my teeth before I am digested along with the other hollow eyed souls I sit shoulder to shoulder with whilst trying to insert the molars. I am trying to place the teeth back inside their sockets while making geometric designs; pieces to connect outside my mind’s eye. The others whisper old secrets into my ears before disappearing into the void. Something scuttles across what would be my chest and I am hastily returned to the active world back in my bizarre form of shape shifting, melancholy and time warps.

I’ve yet to see another one like me.

Why I’m I left for this? I sometimes wish the beast would, as he does with my fellow captors, finish the task and devour me, but it never does. It only tracks me, mocking me throughout space and time. There is a small celestial demon inside me that wants to rip apart the beast. I deny the imp’s sword and wait until the others disappear, and I am in turn, released back into a new time, or dimension. I can only infer there are several. Then again, I’d imagine there are instances where they all merge simultaneously – a flat-verse. Pure speculation and beyond any terms I could register here.

Why I am telling you all this? Are you even still listening? I am telling you this because you asked. At one time, most likely at the end or the beginning of your path you saw the small pieces of me and wondered if in fact I could be. I was that distant shape in the field of high grass.

I did exist.

Maybe this will help, maybe it will make you grow even more leery of the mist, that scratching in the wall or doubtful for the future, but understand it is even worse than your wandering imagination could have created and that we have a symbiotic relationship; I’m drawn to the elements of nightmares where I find you. Together we go into the darkness of the night’s water. I am here if for no other reason than to bear witness to your pain and fear, the worst type of suffering, and you unwittingly will bear witness to my terror; together we go into the black of the forest.

Still, when those moments set me free, albeit only for a brief moment, I become something else entirely; I am the reminder; a small fire aboard a starship that ends in robotic catastrophe, the monkey wrench that turns the wrong bolt to set free captive humans, a reverse inflection that defies the laws of physics and has them running for their religions, or motherboards.

I do sometimes, inadvertently while bashing on the bots, kill some humans. It is only a small part of my constant rage and knowing that his intermittent chaos can only take us so far.