Ithe doctors find nothing.

The Morbid Ghost: Two dead girls

“My friends called me Pyra.”

“Why?”

“Because, I like to burn things, silly. Haven’t you ever heard the word Pyromaniac?”

“Oh, I thought your mother gave you that name. I’ve never heard anything like it before.”

Pyra, the girl with the long brown hair and bright hazel eyes, laughed and for a moment, half her body dissolved in the mist. She was flawless, and of course, she was pale. The outline of her body shifting with the wind and smudged like a damp oil painting. In fact, against the backdrop of the misty forest, she fit right in. Pyra liked the other girl, she was pretty. Pyra didn’t have many friends when she was alive, but she liked to tell everyone that she did. She didn’t even have many family members left among the living. When she decided to check out, no one was the wiser. There was nothing left, dying was just the right thing to do.

The other girl was a little like Pyra in resemblance. The major difference was that she was a classic beauty.  She wasn’t attractive in the modern sense-not thin and modelesque. Her being was full, curving into the backdrop. She was pale just as Pyra, and as the dark took possession of her form, it was evident that she was no stronger than Pyra. There was a mysterious quality about Pyra’s new found friend. Her beauty was something that belonged to another time, maybe even another place. Pyra watched her closely, trying to take in any unique qualities. The girl’s form blinked in and out with the pushing of the breeze, and her long red hair glowed in a devilish halo. It reminded Pyra of fire. Maybe this was why the girl was so intriguing. The redhead smiled and her dark eyes twinkled.

“So, you like to play fire?  What a peculiar thing to do.”

Pyra looked at the other girl, wondering if she could possibly understand.

“Yes. Of course.” Pyra said. “So, you never told me your name.”

The redhead with the dark eyes smiled faintly. She shook her head.

“I don’t remember.”

As suddenly as the admission, the redhead turned to look behind her. When she glanced back to Pyra, there was fear in her eyes.

“He’s here again, Pyra.”

“Who?”

“That vampire.”

Pyra’s form dissolved and for a moment the other girl thought her friend was gone. As quickly as Pyra disappeared, she formed again. The wind blew and Pyra’s face wavered.

“I hate that. I hate when that happens. I cannot stay long, I’m losing energy.”

“I know, me too.” The lovely redhead said as she twined the fingers of both hands together. She was horrified when her fingers past right through each other.

“Pyra, my hands!”

Pyra was silent for a moment. She thought she heard the girl say a vampire was in the forest, but she couldn’t be sure. Energy was deceiving sometimes and dead words were not real anyhow.

“Did you say a vampire was near?”

The girl was still moving her hands and letting them pass through each other and through her own face. She reached for her tattered gown and her hands passed through that as well. She panicked.

“Pyra, what’s wrong with me?”

“It happens to all of us. There’s no need to be alarmed, you will get used to it. So, about the vampire?”

“Yes, he lays in that field, there, behind that stand of pine trees.”

Pyra laughed and it sounded like soft fabric rustling against skin. “Vampires aren’t real. Besides, how would you know he was a vampire any way?”

The other girl did not speak. She turned to look into the distance to her right. Her body faded as her face contorted with horror. As she turned back to Pyra, her eyes looked painful.

“My name is Marilyn. I think it is, anyway. I saw a picture in the trees. It was an image of me and I saw my mother beside me. She was looking at me, and she was saying Marilyn. That’s what it means, right. Isn’t my name Marilyn? Pyra, please, that’s what it means, right?”

Pyra couldn’t hold the energy much longer. The buzzing had already started. For just a minute, she wanted to touch the other girl, she wanted to console her, but that was impossible.

“I think so. I think you’re Marilyn, but I hate to assume without proof. Besides, that vision could mean something else. Your mother could be asking you about Marilyn. Honestly, it could mean anything. I don’t know.” Pyra stopped for a moment and rolled the possibility over in her mind. “Although, yes, I think… Maybe we should just call yourself Marilyn anyway, so that I can call you something. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe, okay, I’m Marilyn and you are Pyra. So, I have a question.”

“Yes, Marilyn?”

“You tell me that I will get used to that strange thing with my hands?  So, where are we?”

“You’re dead, Marilyn. I’m sorry, though, I don’t know where we are!”

“I’m not dead, Pyra. How can I be dead if I am here, conscious and without heaven? Yes, I feel like nothing, and I’m floating around between trees and shadows; and fields and the dark sky. I am not dead at all. How can this be death? It has to be something else.”

Pyra was confused. The girl was strange, she said the damnest things. How could she not understand the mechanics of death and the after-life. So many people spoke about the in-between and the fact that it was possible that death could mean roaming the earth forever in torment. I mean, the girl seemed smart enough, but her idea of unreality was torturous.

“Marilyn, why is this so bad. Isn’t it better than to be nothing at all? We can see things and we can still interact with others like us, when we find others like us. Maybe you haven’t gotten used to being dead yet. You see, from the moment I saw those trees and those dark hollows past the field, I knew I was dead. I know, because I remember the city streets and my home. I’ve never been to a place like this. Then there’s the obvious, I have no form. In fact, I thought I was in hell and that any moment the demons would welcome me into their fire pits. I thought it might be nice, really. From the first moment of darkness, I was okay with it. It’s okay here. You just have to get used to it.”

“NO! You don’t get it. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I feel it, I know it. Can’t you see, I cannot exist, not like this…not like anything where I have no solid form. I don’t want to think anymore about this god awful place! I want to go home!”

“Where do you think you are? Maybe this is earth, and maybe not, Marilyn. I don’t think you can go home.”

“Pyra, where is heaven? I dreamt of heaven, I remember that at least. I remember the church and my…I remember my mother, but I remember nothing else. There is just this strong yearning for God and he isn’t here!”

“God doesn’t exist, Marilyn.”

The other girl was motionless. Her form wavered and turned into static, then wavered back into a smooth film. She began to heave. A soft whimpering escaped her lips as her eyes squint shut. She was fading as well.

“You’re lying! You’re a liar! Can’t you see, I’m trapped here, not allowed into heaven yet. I have to find a way to die! I want to die, really die! I think, maybe, we are both in a coma or something. Don’t you think that’s possible, Pyra.”

But Pyra felt sad because she knew Marilyn was wrong. Pyra didn’t understand how she knew, but she did.

“I can’t hold it any longer, Marilyn. I will have to find you again when I have more energy. Listen, you have to accept the fact that you are dead.”

“I’m telling you, I think we’re in a coma! Don’t’ you think that’s possible?”

“No.”

Pyra disappeared, and in a moment, she was still gone.

AMY LEE - "With or Without You" by U2

The Morbid Ghost

I thought I was the strangest thing in existence. I guess I was wrong.

I will try again I guess, try to find the other side of things, the far reaches of existence which meets non-existence. In this cold room, I will lay down and dream of the other place. In my cold room…

I stay in my cold room, deep beneath Jerry’s basement. Yeah…Jerry, he’s my meat friend. He shares stories with me by the fading light of the afternoon, on the little back porch-the square concrete block with two lawn chairs. I like Jerry. I think he is the best meat friend I’ve had since the 60s-since Jim. I like him so much, that I trust him to keep my secret, and he does. Jerry goes out during the day, works his job at the comic shop, and comes home to speak with me before I leave. I haven’t forgotten what happens to meat friends, they die. When Jerry dies, I hope he leaves grandchildren to keep me company-ones who are like him. This is all I ask if I must continue, no money, no riches. I hate the life of extravagance, and so I want to live underneath Jerry’s basement for eternity.

Why?

Because nothing matters except trying to keep my mind occupied.

"I like talking to you, Stephen. Does that sound gay, or something?"

"I find your flesh intriguing...and, I like talking to you as well."

"Why, Stephen? What does that mean, anyway? Is my flesh that much different than yours?"

"Yes. It's fragile but honest."

"You pay attention to details, don't you Stephen. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking about the sound of you voice, Jerry. I like the way your teeth clack when you get excited. I like to watch you smoke weed and drink vodka. I like the way your flesh changes when introduced to something alien. I like your poetic voice. It reminds me of someone special who is dead now."

"Wouldn't you rather hang out with some rich bastard on the west coast?"

"No Jerry. I like it here."

 The rich, they grow bored. I don’t want to be bored, because time doesn’t run out for me. I want to pretend like I’m a suffering meat man because I am suffering on the inside, somewhere where the meat no longer exists.

Jerry thinks I’m the strangest thing he’s ever known.

 Time gets longer and longer and death has a pleasurable ring to it, doesn’t it? If it wasn’t for Jerry, I think I would have hired someone to kill me.

 I would like to kill myself, but I don’t think I can. At least, I have no idea how to do it. I’ve tried to do it the way the movies say, but it never works. I just end up lying in some field surrounded by waving grasses, it’s like a do-over. I feel like I’ve put another coin in the machine. It always comes back to the tall stands of grass and empty fields-large pines rimmed with golden sunlight rays. Every time I try, I wake in the middle of nowhere, far from Jerry and far from the answer. After years of this, I still have no answer as to how I get here. One moment, I’m walking outside and the next I wake with churning bees in my ears and cold earth beneath me…and her voice.

She’s moving in the tree line, and she comes to me while I lay in that field of waving grasses. She’s dead already, but she wants to die.

She wants to die much more than I do.

I think she’s morbid. I think she’s the strangest thing I’ve ever known.

The truth of the matter August 18, 2015

She's screaming. My arms, legs and the deepness of my torso hum with her buzzing. I feel the tingling sensation pulse and push at my skin. She's screaming. She screams every day and every night as I take my meds, she screams even louder.

I cannot sleep. I see outside but I cannot escape. The worm curls within, growing. I wonder will it explode inside me.

She's screaming, clawing and grasping the bars of my prison. I cannot sleep, she won't me sleep.

I won't let her sleep.

Guidance

Yes, she tugs at me. If she had a beginning then where is her end?

She wears the fur, her hide, brandishing under the moonlight. She wields the canines, equipped to render you cold and empty. She loves the furer, the wolf and the wolf is one with her.

It's all a riddle, wouldn't you agree and why.....why so serious?

It's just as serious as the darkness birthing a black bird into flight.

legends are birthed and legends will die...the spiral.

Purgatory

An growing void resides where you used to be. I bet you try your hardest to wish me away, but unfortunately you can,t. This means your emptiness is as great and as large as mine. You see the same chasm filled with fiery thoughts-cosmic colours and burning waves. I do feel your anger. It sits beside mine  and crawls, digs and screams for a way out.

There is silence; but there is always silence so suffocating. Like years before, I hear the cicadas humming. You hear them too. We're in the same boat, in the middle of the ocean but we do not speak. Your hands cover your eyes as not to be captured by my dark soul stealers-my portals to the way back to chaos. I never meant to dig for my monsters. I never meant for you to see me this way. No matter how hard I try, it's gone now. No matter how hard you try, you cannot escape. I cover my mouth so that I cannot tell you that urgent thing that has festered. My fingers fall into the current below...into the cold water lava. The boat rocks, the cold water laps at my fingertips and the chasm calls us back home. Night fall covers us in tiny twinkling lights. For a moment we forget and smile.

Raven

The Raven The Raven The Raven. A Mystery

Pfft...

"You want them, then take them."

She threw them into his face, while he frantically brushed the cold mud off his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

" I am giving you what you came here for, my images."

He was covered in his own filth. He was dirt, nothing more and she loved to see him squirm in his leftovers like a pig. She didn't hate him, she just felt used, awfully used and degraded. The thing is, it was all her fault.

He grabbed the photos and wiped the image with his dirty hands.

"This is not you!"

She smiled, "Figures you have seen me long enough. Let my visage burn through your memory with nothing more to stoke your filthy fires."

She put her hands on her hips and watched him fume. He was dreadfully angry but stared at her for a very long time.

He wished to remember as much as he could. He knew he would never see her again.

Cold- A Different Kind of Pain

Different...maybe so, and maybe not.

cold - The calm that killed the storm

Frozen things--everything--surrounds me. I hate the cold, I hate the barren places that keep deep chasms for me. I wait, I wait until the cold has passed and the blooming center inside sees the light of my destination.