An Odd Thing About Dying
An odd thing about dying is how unsympathetic the other ghosts are. You stumble around, silently shrieking, passing right through walls and cars and pedestrians and churro stands, and they just sneer.
"Savage mercy, what the heck is all this?!" You howl without making a sound.
"Pffh. Fuckin' rookies." The other ghosts snort and go about their business of whispering dreadful things in the ears of the homeless insane.
"There's been a mistake!!!" You scream, stamping your foot on the sidewalk. Which curiously enough is supporting your "weight". You don't really notice though, you're much too upset for observational skills.
"I tell you there's been a mistake!"
Which is, of course, what all ghosts say at first, and the others none-too-politely make it clear that you should shut your "fuckin' deceased trap".
The other ghosts say the f-word a lot. It's like, the thing you do if you're a ghost. Well, that and be mean to new ghosts.
Anyway, it's not much fun, dying. I certainly don't recommend it.
So I came back. It was pretty easy actually. I just balled my translucent fists and yelled:
"HEY gol-dang it! I don't want to be dead anymore." And really meant it. (I think that's the trick you see, really meaning it.)
Lavender lighting crackled above my head that only the other ghosts could see.
"No you wretched fuck-up of a ghost!!!" They screamed. "Now a newborn has to take your place."
And that made me feel really, really bad.
"Crap!!!" I hollered. They were already shimmering and disappearing from view.
"I didn't know that. Nobody told me."
And from a hospital window up the street came the soundless wail of a newborn took way too soon. And then I was back. And man I was depressed about that kid. But at least I wasn't dead anymore. And plus, nobody told me so it wasn't my fault. And his parents were probably jerks.
But now he's probably going to haunt me. So, you know, like, that's not cool at all--sinister infant ghosts; all wobbly-headed and holding knives.
Oh well, penance and whatnot I reckon. Penance and whatnot I guess.
posted by Latigo Flint @ 10:54 PM
10 comments
10 Comments:
Sorry to hear about your death, Latigo and the manner of your recovery was indeed unfortunate. I can only hope that the following story goes some way to brighten the dark nights of your soul that lie ahead.
You see on the day I heard of your demise I was in the local town. Now around lunch time I decided to go for a drink at the local Starbucks, partly because of thirst and partly in memory of a certain squinty eyed gunslinger.
Well I could swear on my eternal soul that, as my drink was being prepared, the cute looking barista behind the counter was crying silent tears into my mocha-latte, like a part of her world had disappeared forever...
- Toby
What an incredible story. Too wonderful in so many multi facets to pass comment. True I imagine too. Poor Flint!! That baby would have turned out no good, probably drowned a sweet old lady in a bath of liquidized kittens, so you did the right thing.
Ah, hell, you know Latigo, we're all doing such a good job of rationalising how it's okay that that newborn went, because he would have turned out no-good anyway, but I say that's hogwash and horseshit.
It don't matter how the baby would have turned out...
The fact is that the quickest quickdraw in the world makes more of a difference than any mewling, helpless pup.
"Monster", I hear the cry from the sentimentally backward... "How could you? That child had so much potential..."
But I still remember the words of a wise man who once said... Okay, maybe I can't actually remember exactly, but it was something along the lines of how you should leave your potential where it is, else you face dissapointment.
You gave that child the opportunity to forever be perfect. You should be goddamn cherished like the saint you are...
So there's a quota to be met. Interesting.
Haunted by an infant ghost? It could be worse - no language skills, can't keep their head up, and are hardly proficient at dragging chains.
They do shit themselves, though. That's a sumbitch.
I have to ask... What was it that did you in? For some reason, I envision you trapped in a cement mixer with three dobermans, a pint of ether and a pint of nitroglycerine, driven off a cliff by Kid Relish.
It wasn't that, was it?
If I were a ghost, I'd float through the walls of the changing room at my local Hooters restaurant and hang out with my wang out.
That was creepy as fucking hell. And now I'm gonna have nightmares. Dammit. Might have to phone Bill Murray to come fumigate my brainpan.
I hear that if some of the bigger ghosts get a newbie-spook in the showers, well... it's not pretty, Latigo. I can't ever picture you as somebody's bitch.
Penance though is good. If you overshoot you can always store it in a box for when next you sin. You never see 80 year-olds flagellating themselves though because of the proximity to death, I expect. You don't have too much opportunity to sin at that age and not enough time to piddle away in penance. Children too have a healthy attitude to malfeasance: I did it; I got caught; I don't get macaroni for tea or I have to miss a story, depending on how mean mammy is feeling. End of story. Shoot 10 children and you didn't hit one that didn't do it. Their OhshitwhathaveIdoneary gland is not yet fully formed.
That is the most beautiful thing ever Toby. Was her name Natalie? Natalie has highlights in her hair. Natalie has been cruel to me but she wept when I died.
Thank you Helga. Hey, shouldn't we be wed by now, drinking in rockers in front of a fire? And telling each other all manner of stories that we don't even bother to write down?
Nicolas Papaconstantinou: You somehow just managed to be both my rock and the wind beneath my wings... simultaneously! And that's no small feat, as any physicist will attest.
Oh you have no idea Sharon. Savage quotas!!! I shudder when I should be sleeping.
Indeed Macek. Wobbly-headed and holding knives. And yes, nearly constant shitting.
I had that dream too Strange Forces. But no, the truth is a bit more mundane... blunt, heavy things fell on my head and then I was dead. (Kid may have tossed them though.)
I know you would LBB. I drew a picture of you doing it. I hide it so daddy doesn't find it think I'm gay.
Don't encourage me sweet Ari--I'm already thinking about legally changing my middle name to "Creepy as Fuckin' Hell".
Hey Sam, you problem child bride you, back the hell up!!! Children these days get macaroni for tea?!!! Curse my wretched youth, I missed out on everything that really matters.
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