After pulling the results of the genre poll, I was excited with the results and pleased to have a new ghost story. My initial thoughts were to pull at the note-based tales I started with Journey of Thanks. While the idea of returning to Partners was entertaining, I ran towards a fresh note tale. While I typically write narratives filled with sharp edges, tension, risk and the ticking pulse of danger, there are times when writing softer tales is a wonderful change of pace.. However, these note tales allow me to slow everything down and tell a truly human tale, as my dad would say.
What happens when there’s no enemy to outrun, no weapon to wield, and no second chance to change the past? All you can do is relieve that moment. You can’t alter anything leading up to it, though sometimes you can understand the reasons behind it. The why is always critical to understand. It is the singular driver of everything. Without knowing the why behind a person’s choices, the odds of understanding them plummets. What if understanding is no longer within your grasp? If that’s the case, you’re a presence, drifting about, filled with all kinds of aches, and unsure of your purpose.
This tale isn’t about action. It’s about an aftermath. Not from a confrontation, rather it stems from a whisper in the dark that echoes louder than a scream. Certain moments hold more significance in our lives than the challenges we face. Moments matter more than you know. The rest lies behind the curtain. Grab a chair and join me as we accompany an unnamed ghost as his journey after death begins.
After having wasted away in a hospital, this ghost wishes to explore the world’s beauty. Something refuses to let him rest…
As the ghost drifted through the silent corridors, his isolation consumed him. Despite people flowing through the halls in an endless sea, nobody interacted with him. It was as if he didn’t exist. And he couldn’t discern who anyone was, since their faces were blurred beyond recognition. Second by second, the cold glow of the fluorescent lights shimmered against sterile tiles as the shade crept along his aimless path. He neared the building’s main entrance, then turned, staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the world outside.
After several moments, he drifted towards the exit. Just before he reached his goal, something wrenched inside him. He crumpled in midair as something burned deep within his chest. He dangled just above the ground, weightless yet bound, and his silent screams poured out in waves. They washed over the meandering visitors, patients, and staff like a forgotten breeze, unnoticed, unacknowledged.
His agony was a ghost of sound, a storm no one could feel but him. Yet none of them heard his plight. As the pain ebbed, he cradled his left hand and slowly unfurled, still trembling. He glanced down at the note as his feet touched the ground.
You were told not to leave. You must go to Room 312 now before it’s too late.
The shade’s flickering lips pressed to a firm line as he turned away from the hospital’s exit and drew in a useless breath. The pain still echoed throughout his body. Whatever force anchored him in the world wasn’t finished with him. He relinquished his desire to explore the beauty beyond the glass barrier and drifted toward the interior of the hospital.
.
.
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