inspiiral

– a collision of art and writing interlocking in spirals

She was Her Own Ghost

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Hey ya, here’s another short story I wrote quite a while ago.
The date at the top says Nov 2010 so it’s probably full of things I can improve on.
I think I’ll work on improving the Donut poem and then work on editing this.

Hope you enjoy it 😛

And, as always, there is a deeper meaning behind the story!
Let me know what you think it is, and what you think the ghost represents 😛
I’ll be very interested to know! 🙂
– Inspiiral
 
Monday, November 29, 2010 at 6:03pm

She was Her Own Ghost

I watched her pick up the pieces of the shattered mirror; pieces of her soul, her body, her mind – fragments of her own being. A sigh escaped her delicate, dry lips. The poor child looked like she hadn’t slept for days. Her translucent skin made her look like someone who had lived their whole life in a hospital or, perhaps more correctly, someone who had touched death and come back. Long sleeves hung loosely around her frail body, a sheet someone would wear as a ghost costume on halloween. They covered the scars engraved into her arms, the scars that were bone deep.

Some would describe her as an angel, yet she lacked the refinery of one. There was no halo, no golden hair or any angelic features. And surely, her reflection in the mirror was the room in the background. This girl had no reflection. She was a ghost.

The mirror was a harsh reminder of her identity, one that she didn’t want. She was existing, yet not existing; alive, but dead. What was life? No matter how many times she stuck her photo on the mirror and pretended that was her reflection – that that was really her – nature would snatch it away again with a breeze from the window. It didn’t work – it never did! Why did she ever believe it could be any different?

The girl in the photo barely bore any resemblance to the girl in front of the mirror. The only thing that gave away how they were the same person was her blue eyes that glistened with tears, tears that intertwined with a gaze of determination.

Eyes fixed on the ground, she sharply thrust her head upwards, hesitating for a few moments before she forced her eyes to fix on what was above. Although she could only see the black hole painted on the ceiling above, she felt like she could see through to the blue sky beyond. The sky as crystal clear as her own eyes, yet full of vultures and birds of prey looking for kill.

The poison from her body was eating into her soul. She had to save herself before then. We had to avoid the excruciating pain.

Fear engulfed her as she mindlessly tore photos of the girl. The girl in the photo was evil! The perfect angel everyone loved and adored while she was here suffering flames sent from hell. There must be a way out.

When you’re experiencing horror, you can’t witness yourself suffer; not from an onlooker’s perspective. The true suffering doesn’t come from the actual torment, but from reliving the never-ending nightmare.

The girl fell into a swamp, swallowed by her own fate. She is my ghost, the perpetuation of my past. My dead identity. Soon she might come back out again, but I remind myself that she is just a ghost. She may haunt me but she cannot drag me into the swamp with her. Ghosts have no ability to do that… right?

Warm beams of sunlight peeped from behind the curtains, only to be shut out by the wave of the dark curtain. Was there an exit could such a thing exist?! The world was an infinite maze with no exit. The world was choking her. To death and beyond.

With a blink, I put an end to her pain. I couldn’t stand to watch her anymore… I didn’t want to be a witness to such sad sorrow.

When you’re experiencing horror, you can’t witness yourself suffer; not from an onlooker’s perspective. The true suffering doesn’t come from the actual torment, but from reliving the never-ending nightmare.

The girl fell into a swamp, swallowed by her own fate. She is my ghost, the perpetuation of my past. My dead identity. Soon she might come back out again, but I remind myself that she is just a ghost. She may haunt me but she cannot drag me into the swamp with her. After all, what can ghosts do?

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Author: inspiiral

Sharing my splash of ideas :)

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