ghost girlI’m on vacation this week, visiting my family in Arizona. Therefore, I thought I’d share with you another creative work of mine. Next time, I’ll get back to writing more posts on…well, the actual art of writing. Anyway, this short story is actually from my Senior thesis, which was a collection of original short stories influenced by Gothic writers such as Edgar Allen Poe and H.P. Lovecraft. Now that the thesis has been published, I’m free to share some of it with you. Enjoy!!


Like a Nightmare

It hurt. I didn’t expect it to. I mean, it never seems to in the movies. Even in slow motion, it looks so quick. Painless. But it wasn’t. It was agonizingly endless, like those nightmares where you find yourself falling for hours until you either wake up or hit the bottom. They say that if you do land in one of those dreams, it’ll kill you. Rather unsettling to think about, isn’t it? Ever had a nightmare like that? Trip over a rock or someone pushes you and you just keep falling. Fear and Terror sitting on your shoulders, cackling in your ears, agonizing reminders that death is so very close, that your very heart is about to shatter within you. That’s kind of what getting shot in the head feels like. A brief shock burning through you, making you stumble, and then you begin to slowly fall earthwards, a brief moment of time ever expanding, a small second stretching into eternity as waves of panic envelop you in their cold embrace. And you know that when you stop falling, you die.

I know what you’re going to say – the metaphor doesn’t completely fit the experience. Of course it doesn’t. Nothing can really be compared to the pain you feel as that tiny piece of metal embeds itself in your brain. It just doesn’t stop. You fall and fall, the tiny jab of infernal fire growing faster than the time slows down, until it consumes you and your entire universe consists of the bitter shrieking of your own voice inside your head and the vengeful ravaging of nightmarish pain. That’s what being shot feels like. Your worst nightmares colliding…unimaginable agony and the endless fall, knowing that you’re going to die.

Did you hear the screaming? No, I guess not. I suppose to you, it happened far too quickly for any of that. A millisecond for you, an eternity for me. I wish you could have heard it. I wish you could have felt it. Even you would have been begging for mercy within moments, longing for sweet Death to ride up on his black steed and envelop you in his misty cloak, rather than live through one more second of that torture. Yes, even you, with your granite heart, your blustering bravado. Even you would have screamed.       


How did you feel, I wonder? Relief, fear, joy, pain? It was such an artistic scene…you in your always immaculate suit standing so regal, so tall, so proud, with your pistol in your hand dangling limply by your side, slight wisps of grey smoke disappearing as quickly as they appeared. Standing over me, careful to not let your freshly polished shoes touch the scarlet liquid pooling under my neck and trickling down to stain my white dress. So dramatic. So unaware of the torture you were putting me through, even then. Maybe you thought the bullet would be the quickest way, the most painless way. I don’t think you really wanted me to suffer, did you? Maybe you did. But somehow, I don’t think so. You didn’t mean to revive my nightmares. You just wanted me dead. I don’t know why. I’ll probably never know, just as I’ll never know why you took the ring off of my marble finger and then put it back on again five minutes later. Maybe you don’t even know why.

It hurt, you know. And somehow, I don’t think you should be able to cause that much pain for someone and get away with it. No, no, I’m not going to kill you. How can I? I’m dead. You know that. And killing you right away would just be too simple. But I can some see you every night, you know. Talk to you, whisper sweetly in your ear, remind you of your sins. And I don’t think you’ll ever be able to get this image out of your head, will you? I think it will hurt you more than that friendly bullet of yours tortured me. Stay away from cliffs in your dreams, dear. Don’t stumble. Don’t trip. Don’t fall. You may never stop. But when you do stop…I think you know what happens next. Goodnight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.

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