Short Short Thinger II

Thursday, 31 October 2002

and it seemed that as soon as i closed my eyes they were open again. but the other side: hel/​nirvana/​heaven/​purgatory/​hell whatever you call it, was kind of boring. just shades of dead folks walking around looking apathetic. it sucked. i’d rather expected a par-​tay.

so i went back.

and now i’m stuck, ghostwriting in rather strange ways. i can possess things now. for instance, since i have no corporeal existence i had to possess this computer to write. its pretty fun flicking around electrons. i guess i’m a lawnmower man. but its harder to concentrate with nothing to keep my ether held together but my will.

you don’t really need exorcism or anything like that to get rid of ghosts, just distract them, then turn on a fan.

another thing, i thought i was just on the other side for a moment or two, but when i came back i was already old dry bones. you see, the easiest spot to reappear is in your old body. i guess an affinity always remains. but i’d long since rotted and all that was left in my ossuary were my bones and an antisocial spider.

once i got the hang of being ethereal it was pretty fun. i can go through walls, but not with ease. willing myself through things takes a lot of energy, thats why when you see a ghost come out of a wall they are all pale. normally we look more along the lines of a colored overhead transparency. i can move as fast as my thought across open spaces however.

i thought i’d check out my family, just for old times sake. they were all dead too. so i became one of those ancestral ghosts roaming and moaning the halls of the gothic castle. or not quite. actually i just chilled in the houses of my family’s descendents. every once in awhile when i wasn’t paying attention they would bump into me and get a chill.

why didn’t they see me? that’s easy, people only see ghosts when they know to look for them. its hard to catch one of us by surprise. after all we are pure will. it still got boring after awhile. there is only so much you can do as a spectre. i could have picked up the whole rattling chains and wailing thing but instead i decided i’d go find some mountains and roam around the peaks and valleys.

after awhile i’m sure i’ll start to get the hang of it, my spirit will melt into the land and you’ll be able to hear my chuckle on crisp autumn evenings. it’ll probably just sound like rustling leaves, but it’ll really be me.

Short Short Thinger

Wednesday, 30 October 2002

it hurt them more than it hurt me, so of course i would put a brave face on it and lie to their eyes as i told them i was feeling healthier and would see them in the morning. they couldn’t understand that i wanted to die.

i was worn out, dying is a rough business and all i wanted was some sleep. permanently. they were being strong and lying to me with the same brave face, telling me i looked better and that they’d see me in the morning. apparently they thought i needed it.

i’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have been able to comprehend that i was no longer suffering. the pain had long ago leached all physical sensation from my body. i was already in the other world, just tied to the body. when we are dying we are truly ghosts.

anyway, i let them tell themselves that they’d done their part and i watched them leave, pulling their doubt of my survival through the night on with their coats. i didn’t quite know what i looked like anymore, but the blanching faces of my family each time they came to visit let me know it never got better. oh well, that hadn’t been my concern for quite some time.

i don’t worry if they’ll be alright once i’m gone. its not that i don’t care, more like there is no point in worrying because i’m going to die anyway.

still, once they all left, it was much easier. if i died in front of them i would have had to have put on a good show, death rattle and all. i didn’t want to disappoint, besides every night they were expecting that phone call. i didn’t notify anyone of my intentions, the release date was not public, just a private showing for my friend the bed pan. only one box office return for me, six feet down. so i closed my eyes.

Home, briefly

Saturday, 3 August 2002

well i drove 4 hours home today. i’ll officially be here for three weeks although i am going to spend some time in Chicago. as soon as i got home i began ‘nesting’ as my mother calls it, going through all of my stuff and running around in circles like a dog does to assert and make itself familiar with its territory. anyway, i was going through my file cabinet doing my yearly packrat purge and i came across this one page story i wrote in 7th grade english class. i reproduce it here in all it original horribleness.

Hey Skatch! Over here! The annual Ditterbloknic came upon me unexpectedly.” The Pysk rode her ferret toward the sound of the voice. “Heran must of gotten drunk again,” she thought. “Heran, you imbecile, if you didn’t have a hangover you would know that the Ditterbloknic was last dektide.” (month) “Just free me,” Heran muttered. The Pysk sighed. “Heran you are the strangest Halfling I have ever known.” “Will you please free me?” the Halfling begged. The ferret chittered, and sidestepped nervously. There were snuffling and grunting sounds amidst the heather. The sky became streaked with purple and green. Everything on the horizon became grotesquely twisted out of shape. The ferret begins to chase his tail. “Easy Zine, calm down, help Heran!” Skatch shrieked. “I will if you ever free me!” Heran roared. Suddenly, all was calm. The ferret rolled on its side panting. “Gee Skatch, the way you leapt off that ferret and ran to me almost makes me think you were worried about me.” “I should probably have left you to Shenar and the Juggers.” “Not them, they take pride in torture, they think its funny.” “Why once I heard that they stake you out on an anthill and pour honey on your.” The Pysk shuddered. “You last two or three days, but you go insane long before you die.” “Well I should probably free you,” Skatch sighed. “I was beginning to think you never would.” Skatch began to sing. Her song was low, light, and lilting, but the song that the ground echoed back was a deep rumble. Heran sprang free from his trap. “Yaha! Finally I am free!” Skatch and the ferret watched complacently whlie Heran danced around the dingle. When he finally settled down Skatch had a conference. “Now,” she said, “we must discuss what has just happened. These recurring time swirels are very strange, we must go to Shamino.” “Not that wizard who thinks he’s a Mage,” the Halfling groaned. “Yes, him,” the Pysk said indignantly. “Now get off the ground and follow me.” The Pysk and Halfling stroll out of the dingle and west to the wizard’s villa. The ferret, still panting, trots behind.

The End (or is it)

Rewriting that made me realize just how much i bastardized from other stories. jeebus. its funny to see my attempts at alliteration and the big words i use gratuitously. i got a 3020 on it. yeah extra credit points for plagiarizing.

Head in the Shower

Thursday, 4 July 2002

please fill in the blank at the end of this.

There was a head in the shower this morning,
its hair clogged the drain and when I picked
it up the top came off.
I turned it over and on the inside stamped
in bright green letters were the words: