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Young Writers Society


12+

The Ghost

by tigeraye


    It was not long ago that I endured a torturous end; my pain limitless, your sorrow as so. It seems the angels have forgotten to reclaim my very soul; so here my spirit resides, Forever, on this hollow planet. You see me and you shiver and you shake and you start to cry. I try comforting words but you do not hear. I try to embrace you but my arms go straight through your skin.

    As you attempt to put your mouth to mine, it passes straight through to the fiery hell behind me. You pierce your lips and the blood spurts out onto the floor below, mixing in with your humane tears that have darted from your eyes I will miss so much. I reach for a mop, yet my hands go straight through the handle. Seems as if you’re on your own.

    For here’s nothing I can say. Here’s nothing I can do. One-hundred years from now and you shall pass on to whatever the next life shall hold; but still I shall be here. There will be new souls having moved into this home, and yet here I shall remain. They will see me and cower, just as you do, but their lips won’t move to the words of “Come back” or “I love you” as yours so do, rather be the horrible noise of “Go away” or “I hate you”.

    For nobody understands a ghost. Nobody understands what it means to be denied a heavenly death. The pain from the fire that escaped my spirit from my skin still remains, even after a decade times ten. Nobody hears my cry for help. I can no longer devour the salivating home-cooked meals you used to water my eyes and heaven my nose with. My feet no longer touch the ground of the soft beach sands, warmed by the fastidious sun that chooses to pass right over me. No longer will the wonderful children stand to spare me a glance before they run away in fear of their lives. Their fear is ever illogical when it comes to the realization that in my spiritual form, I can not even muster a grasp around a weapon, nor may I find the humane anger to bring harm to those who may fear me the most.

    Our minds cannot comprehend a life without end; perhaps it's for a reason. Perhaps one day, the angels will remember me; I'll hear their song that I've longed to listen for so many days. Perhaps one day, they will beckon my life with the reward of one day, being reunited with you again, my darling wife. My mother. My father. My brothers and sisters. Can any of you hear me? Please help.

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212 Reviews

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Reviews: 212

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Wed Feb 10, 2016 9:43 pm
birk wrote a review...



Hey Raye!

I don't believe I've read anything by you before. I'm glad I have now. Your writing is pretty good.

And I kinda like this story. The lament of a ghost. I like it. I really do. A quick little short concerning the expressions and feelings of a trapped soul.

When it comes to short stories, I tend to want them to be longer than this. In fact, generally on the long side. However, I feel it fits within your piece. As I wrote, I read this as a lament. It shouldn't be longer. Even more so, considering the way you ended it. Which I liked. Good, concise choices.

The way you wrote this is fairly good. The narration flows well, your paragraphs are neither too short nor too long, and there's not too much I'd want to change when it comes to grammar. Some of the descriptions did feel a little too much though. There's some adjectives I might have rewritten.

As for the, sort of, impact that this short carries, I didn't really feel it. There's a bit at the end, where the character calls out to those close to him. His wife, parents and siblings. This short could have been written without the need to call out to any of those characters, with just subtle additions here and there, without even adding that much to the overall lenght of it. Because as I said, I do believe shortness fits it.

I should be able to tell that he's speaking directly to his wife fairly early on. Not just a loved one. That detracts from the impact this could have.

I like the title. Quick and to the point. This is about the ghost. ;)

so here my spirit resides, Forever, on this hollow planet.

Why is 'forever' capitalized? It'd also be neat if you added a bit to the end of this line. Just tweak it around a bit, to 'capitalize' (hah), on the fact that this planet now seems 'hollow'...to him.

it passes straight through to the fiery hell behind me.

Quite the imagery.

You pierce your lips and the blood spurts out onto the floor below

I'm unsure as to how this happened though? Was it due to the fiery hell? Symbolism and such is fine, but he's a ghost, and he can't really affect things. Something you touch upon several times in the piece.

Suggestion
mixing in with your humane tears that have darted from your eyes that I will miss so much.
Despite how you'd want to try and show the divide between them through words, as in 'humane' which he no longer is, while she on the other hand still is, they still stood out to me. It reads as an odd adjective choice to me. In addition, I'd also insert a quick 'that' into this sentence.

They will see me and cower, just as you do, but their lips won’t move to the words of “Come back” or “I love you” as yours so do,
I simply love this part.

I can no longer devour the salivating home-cooked meals you used to water my eyes and heaven my nose with.
And this part. You even shoe-horned in comparisons to her food and 'heaven'! Great! This kind of adds a new layer to the mix, where it feels as if he was in heaven, yet now after death, when he's not with her, there's no heaven at all.

No longer will the wonderful children stand to spare me a glance before they run away in fear of their lives.
Within the other things mentioned here, I found this one funny among them. Did the children run away in fear while he was living? Because if this is as a 'ghost', why will he no longer do this? He's not going anywhere. He said so himself. This doesn't seem like something he lost with death. That is, unless the children did run in fear while he was kicking around..

Their fear is ever illogical when it comes to the realization that in my spiritual form, I can not even muster a grasp around a weapon, nor may I find the humane anger to bring harm to those who may fear me the most.
I'd actually remove this entire part. It's redundant.

The final paragraph is good. Especially the final line. It really brings home this 'lament' feeling I got.

Alright, that's pretty much all I've got. I enjoyed your very short, short. Your writing is pretty good, you convey emotions okay, and I have little problems within your grammar so far. Though again, this is fairly short.

I'm hoping to read more by you. ;)

Keep it up, Raye!



Cheers
Birk




tigeraye says...


Thank you for the feedback. I'd prefer to be honest and say that this story is more personal than the ones I usually share...therefore, the line you called redundant is one I'd prefer to keep for reasons I'm sure would bore you...

The part about the children refers to the fact that children often fear ghosts, despite the fact that nobody in the history of mankind has ever died from being attacked by a ghost...maybe I'm reading it wrong, but I'm unsure of what you were trying to say



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Wed Feb 10, 2016 2:21 pm
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Mari1901 wrote a review...



Heeey
I like it. The style loosely reminds me of Poe.
Now, I have an issue with the semicolons in this story. I'm not part of the group of people who say you should never ever use semicolons in creative writing, but Kurt Vonnegut did have a point. Try to use them when you absolutely need to and when it's grammatically acceptable. For example,it should always divide two independent clauses. The first time you used it, it didn't. Perhaps a dash would have been a better option. Second, you should use a conjunctive adverb or coordinating conjunction if you are going to use anything. This means that but, or, so, and, and should not be used. (Unless, of course, the first clause is riddled with commas or we are talking of a complex list.)
The only other problem I found was that you tell us how to feel. You go over and over the thoughts of pain and sorrow to show us how we should feel, instead of manipulating the story so that we reach those emotions on our own.
But, of course, you can choose to ignore that. It is a decision of style you should make, and this is just my opinion.
Great story.





One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them.
— Aldous Huxley, Brave New World