Haunting Ghost |
Wasp Thoughts |
Autumn Leaves Title: Moods - Haunting Ghost Authors: Mickn’Star – micknstar@hotmail.com Genre: Vignette. Warning death of character. Synopsis: Remy muses on love and dependence. NOTE: Ask before putting in other archives, thank you. Feedback is the air authors breathe. We are odd so we welcome with open arms any kind of negative feedback too. Love is strange
sometimes. I sit and ponder on it and I can never get to the point where I
understand why exactly it is so strange. Why do I waste my
time in such idle speculations? I have nothing
better to do, nor anything worse to do, for that matter. Consider me a
detached intellect. If I were to tell
you I killed the person I love most in my life what would you think? That I was some
madman, some deranged disgusting killer, a serial killer maybe, obliterating
the person I love most over and over again to destroy the fear of being
rejected or abandoned again by that person? Or would you pity
me and my unending future of lonliness, grief and pain? And would I pity
me or hate me or be disgusted by me? But I killed the
person I love most in the world, much more than myself, much more than any
other god, person or thing I can know or imagine. And I killed him
for love, nothing else. Which is why I say
love is strange. He didn’t ask to
be killed, he didn’t particularly want to die even if people in pain often mistake
death for surcease. I killed him
because I am me and he was him. Because of what we
are and what we were. Right, I know it’s
confusing, I am confused as hell, so I better clarify a few points. I am not a serial
killer, no matter what you hear about me, no matter what you think you
witnessed and what you think about me, I am not a serial killer. Yes, I am so calm
now and do not rant or rage, but that’s because the moment I killed the person
I love most in the world I died as well. So my calm is not
the inability to feel of the serial killer, it’s not a pathological calm, it is
the quiet of the grave. I loved him until
my heart creaked with the effort of containing so much love. I loved him until
there was no day or night, no spring or summer, no body or no soul without him. I was tied to him
by ties stronger than any tie the mind of man or gods can invent. I could not
breathe if he was not near me. I could not eat,
or drink, or move, or shit, or piss unless he was with me and gave me life. And that’s the nub:
I could not have life without him. And that’s why I
had to kill him. If I could not
have life unless he was with me, I had only dark periods of not-life to expect. If I could not
have life without him I could not have death, only not-life. I had to kill him
in order to die. Because I could
not live anymore like a ghost in a haunt, but, like a ghost in a haunt, I could
not have surcease in death. He would not allow
me to die because he loved me. His love was so
much saner than mine and so he never fully understood what it meant to me to be
so tied to him. I begged him,
please believe I begged him to let me end this intolerable ghost existence. But he couldn’t
understand because being a ghost was as alien to him as letting me die because
I loved him. He was too real
too solid too flesh made to be flesh to understand my ghost’s fears and pains. He tried, oh God,
believe me in this because it’s true! He tried with all his might to understand
me and help me and give me freedom. But when he went
away I simply ceased to exist, the ghost of a ghost in a deserted haunt. I had to look for
him and find him and get some sort of existence from him again. And he, poor man
bewildered and hurt, came back to be haunted because he didn’t know anymore
what else to do. And I had to kill
him. Because I wanted
him free from my haunting and there was no other way. Had I been alive,
I would have been able to let him go in peace and never hurt him anymore. But I was not
alive, I could not be alive unless he was with me and held me in his arms and
made love to me. Then life coursed
into my veins and I could breathe and eat and shit and piss and do all the
things the living do. So now I wait and
ponder on the strangeness of love while I wait for justice to put an end to
this ghost of love. It will never be
too soon for me. Without Logan I
have no life anyway. |