View Full Version : [Flash fiction] If You're A Ghost, I Hope to God I am too. ( LANGUAGE)

January 13th, 2011, 02:47 AM
This was just something I wrote after I asked my girl what she would do if I had died.

Can you hear me? I swear I saw you turn and look. The sounds of my meaningless words. I wanted it to be so right. I came back for you, but you donít even see me standing there. I put you so far away. Iím sorry. I gave up on myself. I gave up on you. How did I end up here? Iím miserable here in heaven. Iím only happy standing in the cold watching you walk away. Why canít you hear me? I crashed myself into the ground and I canít crawl my out of this hole. I came here, I came here all for you. Why canít you see me doing this all for? This February rain is seeping through my collar and Iím so empty crying against this line. The man wandering past me said one thing to my sobbing, cold figure,
ďSon itís time to move on. Remember to feel real.Ē
I canít accept this. Not this. Iím so lost. Itís impossible to tell you who I am anymore. They all walk past me. I thought my friends would wait it out for me. But you canít let me go. I caught you crying in the bathroom. You couldnít feel me anymore, just my cold hands.
No. Please. Anything but this. I couldnít be. I could never. I promised I never would. I wish I had listened all those times words passed through me like I was a ghost. A pale apparition. I canít keep my feet on the ground. My head wonít stay low. Iím running out time. I swear that note to you, those werenít my last words. I spent all night on the cold ground. I canít sleep. I always told you were better off hating me. I never had a chance of holding on to you.
Please stop it. That isnít the answer. I wish these words wouldnít pass through you like Iím invisible. I want to start over. I want to live again.
I canít bear to visit this place anymore. All I see is myself. Blue lips and bottle in hand. Downer. Drink it up. It burns so much in my throat. My stomach is revolting. Iím slipping out of myself. I tried to look out for myself today. I had stop. I couldnít care. Numb. I canít lift my hands. In the darkness Iím swimming. All I can see is your face. Green eyes. Beautiful smile. I canít reach your hand. Please grab it. I canít lift. I donít fucking care about anything else. Just FUCK THIS. WHY?! WHY DID I FUCKING DO THIS NOW? THIS WORLD IS SO FUCKED UP. IíM FUCKED UP. WEíRE ALL FUCKED UP. FUCK THIS. GODDAMN YOU. STOP MAKING ME HURT SO FUCKING MUCH. I FUCKING HATE YOU.
Please. No. Donít take me. I need to see her. I canít leave her like this. The bathtub is full of blood. She crying and fading. No. Why the fuck did you take those razor blades out of my journal? You cried when you saw the blood stains all over that page. Fuck that fountain pen. Those words all blotted and messy. I recite those everyday of this terrible existence. I whisper them to you every night. I know you canít hear me now. I love you.
Thereís a man here. Heís holding a knife to my throat. He says this doesnít mean anything. A quick slice. A gasp of air. Blackness. I feel your hair swirling all around my face. Tickling my nose and my eyes. God, I missed this so much.
Like a van slamming into me on the freeway I shoot straight up in bed. I glanced at you, your worried look. You asked me if I was okay.
ďI had a dream. I was ghost and I committed suicide after you left me. I had to watch you commit suicide after you saw how much I loved you.Ē
ďBaby, if youíre a ghost, I hope to god I am too.Ē

January 13th, 2011, 03:22 AM
deep stuff man, a little hard to read from the formatting fail. (forum doesnt get along with ms office :P ) and from my perspective, this seems more along the lines of a poetic rant. i used to write this kind of stuff awhile ago, so thats why i have a bit of respect for it. its hard to critique this type of work, and even so i dont know if it belongs in this section... eh i liked it though:) feel free to critique some of my work, if you wish :)

January 15th, 2011, 10:07 AM
There really isn't a flow with it. The way you wrote it, it reminds me style wise of a poem. Flash Fictions usually adhert to story telling. I understand your thoughts, but I need more of a flow and one line descriptions then this. "I something. I something. I something"

Hope this makes sense. Just my opinion.