Marry My Ghost

Footsteps pounded on the pebbled ground in the rain tonight, splashing water and drips of mud around as the boots advanced. The thick raincoat swayed hastily in all directions as if attempting to catch up with the speed.

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Work of art by Alicia Leng.

I stopped writing to look out from my window and noticed the dark shadow of a woman sliding past the wall of cold, lifeless stones caught my eye. Eager to find out who that was, I picked up courage and dashed downstairs, out of the door of my apartment. The footsteps were still ringing clearly at the other end of the alley. I followed the direction of the sound.

Quick. I had to be quick.

At the end of the alley, however, I could find no shady woman. No black raincoat. No heavy shoes.

There was a lamp-post standing at the wall. Its light was weak and flickering, as if agonizing over every last breath that it had left.

Something gleamed from a bundle of old cloth hanging from the wall. It was an old mirror, about eight feet in height.

Pulling the cloth down, I hurriedly wiped off the centuries-old dust with my bare hands. They were wet from the rain, so cleaning a little was fairly easy. But then – my heart stopped.

My very own reflection. She was looking hard into my eyes, trying to speak to me. Her pallid face was a beautifully molded plastic mask that shone in the dark, the only source of light. I instantly fell for her. It was madness!

Could she possibly be me? Her beauty was perplexing; but was it really her after all, sneaking up through the alley at this time of the night to catch my attention, only to lock herself in an old mirror? I was spellbound; I couldn’t think rationally.

She raised her right hand and touched the glass from the other side, as if to answer the thousands of thoughts that were speeding through my mind like a bullet train – and I raised mine. I did not know why I did but I just followed her. Her palm touched mine… and in the next instant, a mighty force tugged me hard into the mirror, away from the physical world and all its beauty where I used to belong.

THE END

Red Scarlet

Postscript: Some say that when you have loved yourself too much, you start falling in love with all your dark secrets and truth. When you have become so enchanted with your own inner world, everything else that is in existence no longer matters anymore. You pick up the pieces of the past and put them together. You speak to your heart. And you become one with your soul.

The Write Project

My mind has been loitering on a wandering trail for the past few months.  Not that my lips cried, but my brains could not keep their silence.  It was as if life edged by a rocking boat in turbulent waters, and all the soul could possibly do was sit and watch.  And think, too.  Perhaps.  If it were possible.

In the joyous reunion of the family, I felt my essence sui generis slipping away, bit by bit, into the stark madness of reality. More and more I was drowning away in a plenitude of data, most nothing but cold hard facts, and facts, and facts.  And then came the time where I was asked to ask myself: What am I doing?  Where am I heading?  Is this what I want to do? For the last question, of course, the answer is undoubtedly clear – yes, of course!  But how?  What?  Why? Where would I lose myself to?

It is agonizing, considering the workload I am facing, and yet it is simply a part of the process. Which path was I walking?  Whose path?  What did I want, inherently, in the end?  I was always in the have-to, but no-time situation.  But I shall not deny that worklife has absorbed a great deal of me, so now I am hard at play retrieving it.  It was as if I been prancing about in a drunken stupor, but nevertheless the questions kept on pressing endlessly.

Stop, stop, stop.  Please!  This echoed through my head.  It had to, correct?  It is probably my identity crisis as a psychopathic writer, where I let go of all responsibilities and allow myself to explore.  And explore I have – I am still at it, to be frank.  Anyway, it is safe to say that I have been hanging around the wrong loop, and therefore it necessitates me to make a reverse turn to continue the walk.  Or the run, rather.  I have been using much time.  This year, however, my writing has brought me to another level, and I am required to prepare write-ups for website content.  It is not exactly what I want – for I really, really do want to grab hold of a drama director by the wrist, and demand that he allow me to screen-write.  JS (which stand for just saying).  But my emotions speak for themselves.  I have been waiting much too long.

Slowly, though. All the exploring and traveling has made me immensely sleepy.  It is necessary that I listen closely to my heartbeat – no distractions!  Ihrer haben ein solch guten tag.  Und ich liebe dich.

#TheWriteProject #theLadyintheRedScarfMindTalks #amwriting

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