I was a ghost.
I drifted down the crowded street and people walked past me as if I wasn’t there. I called out, I wanted to be heard, I needed it, but no one turned to look at me. I stopped in front of a man.
“Hey, sir, can you hear me?” I asked. He walked on, was he ignoring me, or could he really not hear me? “Sir, hey, sir, wait!” he walked off. There was something familiar about this mean, so I decided to follow him. He had deep green eyes and jagged black hair that cut across his face. Who was he? He looked behind him cautiously he passed through an arc, the word Carnival was on the top of the arc and it had carvings of people walking on tightropes or flying through the air towards a trapeze, there we lions and elephants carved into the wood. I followed him through the arc. It began to rain, I could see it, but I couldn’t feel it, my skin nor my hair felt the wet, nor got wet. I could hear it also, and other things, Carnival music and children laughing. This felt familiar, like I’d been here before. The Carnival? What? The man I was following was heading for a stage, and I could hear music. He walked to the back of the stage, but I stayed at the front. The people that were playing their music, which was a strange sound to my ears, it was heavy and the lyrics were odd, and the crowd cheered. The next band filed out, they were all men. One had long, thick, curly black hair that was down to his waist, he had large, deep eyes that were greeny-balck, he was wearing tight, black jeans and a leather jacket over what looked like a singlet, he went and sat at the drums, smiling slightly. The man I had been following had applied eyeliner and was wearing a tight shirt with a band’s emblem splashed across it, he had a bass. The was a blond man, who’d spiked his hair up in every direction, his eyes were wild with excitement and electric blue. I gasped when the last man came out, a gasp that no one but I heard, the last man was me. My deep brown eyes stared out at the crowd, and I wasn’t smiling, I looked solemn, almost bored. My jagged black hair and favourite leather jacket all looked so familiar. I yearned for my body again, to feel safe and enclosed inside my own skin. The real me picked up the mic and started to talk.
“Hey, so we’re, er, Horra! Horra! and we, er, wanna play some of our music for you.” I said. I remembered doing this, last night, when I really was me, but something had gone wrong. But what? I ran, I needed to get to me, then I would under stand everything. I was on the stage, I was nearly there, I was nearly at me, my hand was on my shoulder, then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stepped into myself. When I opened my eyes again, I felt whole. The world around me was solid and real. I could feel my clothes on my skin, the mic in my hand, the slight wind on my face. I could smell the food and see that it wasn’t raining anymore, I could feel the heart in my chest beating steadily again. I looked over to my bassist, my brother in so many ways and smiled broadly. He smiled back, and plucked his bass quietly, impatiently, nodding slightly towards the crowd. I nodded slightly back and nodded slightly at my guitarist. He started playing, and soon the music was flowing around me, free and powerful. I began to sing and the freedom of the music intensified. I looked down at the crowd and saw something that almost made me stop singing, there was a man there, who was pointing a gun straight at me. I realised what was going to happen a split second before it did, and with a slight smile, the man pulled the trigger and the speeding, rushing sound of death came to meet me, and I was gone.
And I was drifting through velvety blackness. There was a figure next to me. Do you want to go back? It asked, without making a sound. Yes. I Said, equally silent. Then we were rushing back, the blackness dissolving quickly, things taking shape. Then we were next to my body, which was surrounded by a crowd of people.
“He’s dead.” A man said grimly.
And I was a ghost.
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