On Christmas Day, the world was spinning, and things were going more or less the way they always did. The stock market was bad, but the money continued to flow regardless. Wise men continued to ponder and dumb men continued to work. In some places children were playing and in others children were dying. Life was good and life was bad, life was short and life was long, life was life and death was death. Humankind was the oldest it had ever been and the youngest it would ever be again.
Then came the ghosts.
First one, then two, then three, then four, then more and more and more, and – guess what? – more. In parks and playpens, shantytowns and grand cities, parched deserts and snow-worn caverns. The ghosts came, all over and around this humble little place we call Earth. Shimmering, strange, ghostly ghosts, transparent as glass and as stubborn as the hardest of rocks. The ghosts had come, and this time, they said, they were here to stay. This was Christmas Day, and the world would never be the same again.
The ghosts spoke. They told of many things, treacherous, horrible things. They hated being dead, hated the cold nothing that came after this world. They wanted what anyone wanted: they wanted the world, their world, and would settle for nothing less. The living did not deserve the Earth, they said, and it was about time they took it back.
The living, as one might guess, were not very keen on this idea. The world was flesh, they said, and it belonged to the fleshy. The ghosts had had their lives and mistakes and loves and losses. The world was no longer theirs for the taking. So began the story of the living and the dead, the fathers and their sons, the teachers and the learners. The ghosts refused to leave, and the living refused to die.
So the ghosts stayed and the people remained. That is the story. The rest is the ending. The dead and the living, both inhabiting a world that had once irrevocably belonged to the other. Never blinking, never wavering in their own faith. “We will not budge,” said the dead. “And we shall not be budged,” said the living. And that, as they said, was that.
The world wore on, and so did the living, the long dead, and the short dead. More wars happened, more chemicals spilled into the water, and the celebrities got even richer while the poor got even poorer. When the bombs went off – and of course the bombs went off – the dead shook their heads and laughed. “We did it with swords,” they said. “With arrows and rocks and knives and even some guns.”
Then, like a bulb flickering between light and darkness, the living began to fade. It happened soon, it happened fast, it happened always and forever. The living slowly drifted away and one day – not soon, not later, not in eternities, but on one otherwise ordinary day – the human race breathed its last and the whole of the earth was naught but phantoms, whispering about and haunting the place that had once been their's and their's alone. The day this happened – if it is truly of any consequence – was New Year's Day, dozens or hundreds or thousands of years after the ghosts set foot on the earth. This was the day the dead won.
But no one – so says the wise – ever wins in war. The world was spoiled, rotten, fallen, deserted, and the ghosts were left with a wasteland and a hell to call their own. Their songs reached the sky and stars above, and even the heavens wept for the suicide of humanity.
And like shadows born away by the light of the dawn, then fled the ghosts.
Wow, I really liked this one. (I don't know why but the first paragraph seemed to rhyme). The story had a meaning and lesson to it, and also a truth of that which is playing out now in the world. I have to say that in my opinion, all the best stories I've ever read have had a depth that not everyone can get to having. And being able to put it down on paper is amazing. I really liked this one, love to hear more 
I liked the fact that this writing had a flow. The words lead into each other and the overall pieace was really great
This story is really good! It has great flow, the build ups and turning points are great and the story is tied together in a perfect way, every paragraph complimenting the last.
The plot is genious and it's good that it's a shitty ending. I like how you really show how the humans are what makes life on earth great for humans. I like even more that you only show it, and never tell. The message in this story is brilliant.
The voice of the story is good as well, and you manage to keep it the same throughout the story, never interfering with personal thoughts on the events. This is good in this story, as it is the events in themselves that is interesting, not someone's thought on them.
On Christmas Day, the world was spinning, and things were going more or less #FF0000 ">the way the way#8000BF ">repetition they always did. The stock market was bad, but the money continued to flow regardless. Wise men continued to ponder and dumb men continued to work. In some places children were playing and in others #FF0000 ">children#8000BF ">Maybe write "the less fortunate ones" or something? I thought this sentence seemed forced, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with it. I think it's the repetition of "children" though. were dying. Life was good and life was bad, life was short and life was long, life was life and death was death.#8000BF ">I liked this! Humankind was the oldest it had ever been and the youngest it would ever be again.#8000BF ">And this!
Then came the ghosts.
First one, then two, then three, then four, then more and more and more, #FF0000 ">and – guess what? – more. #8000BF ">Personally, I didn't like this. I would have put a period after the third more and left it at that. I don't think it fits the mood. In parks and playpens, shantytowns and grand cities, parched deserts and snow-worn caverns. The ghosts came, all over and around this humble little place we call Earth. Shimmering, strange, ghostly ghosts, transparent as glass and as stubborn as the hardest of rocks.#8000BF ">Aw, this contrast is nice! The ghosts had come, and this time,#8000BF ">No comma here if you ask me they said, they were here to stay. #FF0000 ">This#00BF00 "> It* was Christmas Day, and the world would never be the same again.
The ghosts spoke. They told of many things, treacherous, horrible things. They hated being dead,#8000BF ">do the ghosts tell of how they hate being dead or are they finished telling stories? Either way, it's hard to tell. Make it clearer. hated the cold nothing that came after this world. They wanted what anyone wanted: they wanted the world, their world, and would settle for nothing less. The living did not deserve the Earth, they said, and it was about time they took it back.
#FF0000 ">The living, as one might guess,#00BF00 ">As one might guess, the living #8000BF ">This is only how I would do it, and simply preferences, just thought I'd share. It's really nothing wrong with your option!were not very keen on this idea. The world was flesh, they said, and it belonged to the fleshy. The ghosts had had #8000BF ">repetition of word, change it to "had in their own time had" or something. their their lives and mistakes and loves and losses. The world was no longer theirs for the taking. So began the story of the living and the dead, the fathers and their sons, the teachers and the learners. #8000BF ">I didn't quite get this, because first there were opposites "living and dead" and then it changed to being about heritage. Is this on purpose? The ghosts refused to leave, and the living refused to die. #8000BF ">Did everyone just stop dying or did they still die, just made sure they had reproduced first?
So the ghosts stayed and the people remained. That is the story. The rest is the ending. The dead and the living, both inhabiting a world that had once irrevocably belonged to the other. Never blinking, never wavering in their own faith. “We will not budge,” said the dead. “And we shall not be budged,” said the living. And that, as they #FF0000 ">said #00BF00 ">say #8000BF ">Again, this is only preferences and how I would do it., was that.
The world wore on, and so did the living, the long dead, and the short dead. #8000BF ">This was a little vague, I didn't quite catch who was who. There seems to be three parties here (living, long and short) but I suppose it is only two, and that the living is the same as the short. Either way I had to reread and even after the second try I still wasn't sure. More wars happened, more chemicals spilled into the water#FF0000 ">, and#8000BF ">I would put a period here, and drop "and". the celebrities got even richer while the poor got even poorer. When the bombs went off – and of course the bombs went off – the dead shook their heads and laughed. “We did it with swords,” they said. “With arrows and rocks and knives and even some guns.”#8000BF ">To much "and", make some commas.
Then, like a bulb flickering between light and darkness, the living began to fade. #0000FF ">It happened soon , it happened fast, it happened always and forever. The living slowly drifted away and one day – #0000FF ">not soon#8000BF ">What's up with not deciding between soon or not soon?, not later, not in eternities, but on one otherwise ordinary day – the human race breathed its last and the whole of the earth was naught but phantoms, whispering about and haunting the place that had once been their's and their's alone. #8000BF ">LONG AND CONFUSING SENTENCE! I couldn't follow and I never knew if it was talk of or by the ghosts or the dead humans. Or are they now the same? I didn't get it.The day this happened – if it is truly of any consequence – was New Year's Day #8000BF ">I thought it was an otherwise ordinary day?, dozens or hundreds or thousands of years after the ghosts set foot on the earth. This was the day the dead won.
But no one – #FF0000 ">so says the wise#00BF00 ">as the wise say #8000BF ">My opinion, not neccesarily the right one. – ever wins in war. The world was spoiled, rotten, fallen, deserted, and the ghosts were left with a wasteland and a hell to call their own. #8000BF ">I am in love with this sentence. Their songs reached the sky and stars above, and even the heavens wept for the suicide of humanity.#8000BF ">The suicide? I think we can blame the ghosts for their deaths, can't we?
And like shadows born away by the light of the dawn, then fled the ghosts.
This is one of those pieces that I read and have to reread until I realize there was nothing I could really think of to critique or pick at. x)
I liked this because as I was reading there was a sort of tempo to it. A rhythm that was easy to follow and flowed constistently the entire way through. It was only slightly morbid, which I liked. More so poetic than anything.
The only immediate thing that caught my eye was this:
The ghosts had had their their lives and mistakes
. .Yeah, I know, pathetic. The only thing I can catch. There's probably other things that others can pick out better than me - and I'll leave Kafka to that xD - but I'd rather leave my review at this. This was nicely written. Awesome job. ^-^
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