Prose

Ghosts don’t always come in the human form

Do you know the feeling of coldness and death on your neck that sneaks up on you surprisingly, always behind you, one anxiety closer to you? The feeling when your skin shiver for a moment or two. You can feel it, even now, always whispering and lurking. But, when it comes, it grabs you by the neck and forces you to scream something you never dared to say out loud. What’s that power you are giving to the body without a face, hands without bones, skin without a layer, breath without living? To whom do you give yourself to when you think you are in the hands of the ghosts with wicked thoughts and malicious intentions? Therefore, you’re wondering what you’re willingly giving while denying it. Are those the inexplicit forms of your mistakes that torture you only to confess them? People or their starving souls that wandered too long to find you when you’re the weakest? Rapid breathing that wants to drag you down, where there’s no returning or a pandemonium that woke up only to visit the living, and you are among them? Maybe it’s the walk of shame that wasn’t meaningless once you feel nails dug into your neck veins, deep enough, so they don’t tear and grow roots, instead of flesh. Hands tied in hysteria and pain, so you don’t feel heavy chains around your wrists, gone and melted with metal. It’s better to die than to be cursed every day in another dimension, you said, then you let the burden of all the bodies you’ve visited and stolen their home, to fall on your temples, but remember, ghosts don’t always come in the human body or in a time and space that was theirs once. Don’t you think they can also be long-forgotten desires you had when you wanted to be the opposite of what you are now? You unconsciously became a thief of some other people’s souls and innocent hearts. There’s some distant thought that you almost could’ve made it, only if you haven’t given up on the last step, although you’ve been walking forever.

Maybe those hands grabbing you by the neck, are the hands of a child who once lived inside you, but you decided it was time to stop playing and now that child is looking for you. A child suffering from madness, frenzied and angry at your thousand and one mistake to prematurely grow up into what you never wanted to be. Or maybe the nightmare from which you hardly woke up has found a way to hunt you like you are its favorite prey, in the body of a ghost, blaming you for waking up. What if it wants to make you conscious, so you can wake up from reality and tight your body, grab you and touch your neck, only for you to feel what anger means again? Maybe that cold breath you feel right under your left ear is a breath of fear you have once overcome, in the previous dimension, but deep down you know it’ll breathe with you, always. What if the ghost is just one part of your subconscious that you have decided to silence because what it says is too real to be heard? While you’re walking through the pandemonium on earth, you lose and disassemble yourself, yelling and cursing everything. You assume and you don’t feel too much, never cease to exist, but dying instantly. If you hadn’t pointed your finger at only one of the reasons, you might have been able to break your consciousness into the parts you misassembled. Maybe thousands of them are in one or one of them is the result of all the others, but what if, for a moment, you stop resisting and allow it to whisper everything that’s time for you to hear? Only the voice is what’s left to come to life. What if it wants to tell you now is the moment to fulfill your desires, to release your inner child, to listen to yourself when you are deaf to the world and continue where you left off to succeed in what you were born to be? What if you close your eyes and start living a nightmare that ended because you haven’t dared to discover why it was there and give voice to the bodies that emerged to show you what it’s like to be incomplete like themselves? Like a human, or flesh and bones disguised as a human?

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