A ghost lived on her shoulder, and he smelled like new cucumbers.
You’d think that was supposed to be funny, but it wasn’t.
He haunted her, of course, whispering in Wendy’s ear all day things like, Don’t you wish I was really here, and, You could be so much happier.
But when the time came that he showed up in her dreams--confusing her between reality and nonsense-- that’s when she knew she had to do something about him, about this ghost she’d grown to trust for escape into a life more romantic than her own.
The next morning he got her crying about how much sweeter the raspberries in her oatmeal would taste if only he could sit, hold her hand and smile at her.
After Wendy set down her spoon and wiped the tear from her face, she said, “It’s time for you to go.”
That crisp water scent of cucumbers disappeared, leaving her with milk and oats.
“That’s it--you’re just gone?”
Alone.
Wendy dropped her bowl, clanging with the spoon into the sink, and walked away.
Photo: I, Terrasque [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
No comments:
Post a Comment