A Day In The Life Of a Ghost

Alive or Dead?

A Day In The Life Of a Ghost

By Ronald McCalip

Every day is the same

I awake and step into the fog.

A mist where there is no light or dark… no shadows.

It is neither hot nor cold, No better or worse.

Just a constant grey.

The mind wonders.

For all I can tell, it is just me. Me and the fog.

Will I ever find where I am going? Where am I going? Why am I going?

It’s just me and the fog. All I have is what I carry.

I carry my memories, my pain and my faith.

But as time wears on, one by one, the memories are lost in the fog.

Like Planaria under a microscope I venture forth, veering from pain to pleasure

The little bits of pleasure encountered bring sustenance and new memories

Sustenance seemingly keeps one going and thus is spent, while memories are soon to be lost again in the fog.

We arise every day, greeted by our new and old aches and pains.

We start the fight all over, pushing past the feelings, through the thoughts the dreads.

The aches and pains are memories of a sort aren’t they? Not just the lower spine, the neck and the knee, but the trials and tribulations of the past. The heart breaks, the shattered dreams and expectations, the lost hope. Not just what has befallen us, it is what we have done to others and what we have failed to do. The pains sear every part of our being.

Never really burning it all away… Its flames may consume much and once ignited, it’s always present. Always at least an ember… silently waiting for a fanning of the spark.

Even when we think we can live with the numbness that is left, the void acts as an irritant in our being. Somehow giving us knowledge that we are no longer whole.

The memory of the pain always seems to be the last to leave.

Is it because we hold it so close, it is the last burden God lifts from our shoulders?

I wander through the fog until I am weary. I know not how long nor how far.

The fog consumes me and I drift off to sleep.

Every day is the same

I awake and step into the fog.