The Ghost

A Short Story

I’m looking for a man.

I do not know his name, and I do not know his face. All I know is that I have got to find him.

In the mornings I walk alone in deserted streets, which I know he haunts, mostly in the rain.

In the evenings, I just wait for him.

It’s cloudy now, and I’m going out. I have a camera with me, so that if I see him, even briefly, I can take a picture of him.

Many times I wondered if this same man walks in the crowd, but there is no way for me to know. When there are many people around me, they all look alike, no one is different, and they become a mass from which I desperately want to get away, to be alone again.

If I could be alone with the man I’m looking for, then I’d be happy, even for a while. So I’m looking for small drops of happiness, small doses of mercy, and so I ended up chasing this ghost.

It’s raining. The chances to meet him gradually fall off. They become less and less, until they cease altogether. The rain does not intimidate me. Nothing intimidates me, except for one man. That shadow.

I see him in one of my pictures now. He was there, I just hadn’t seen him. It is as if he becomes one with my surroundings, as if he is the environment itself, as if everything around me is him. At times he takes the form of a woman. A normal, nice, beautiful woman, whose intentions I cannot understand.

There are also times when that man simply looks like me. It’s like I’m seeing myself, as if I’m observing me, and then that man, holding a camera, takes a picture of me. Then he walks away and vanishes. I would love to see a picture of myself, just to know who I am.

This man… He has many forms, and what scares me most, is his own form, his one and only true form, the one that looks like him. It’s a form I can only imagine, and not see, feel, or experience.

Who is he? When and how does he show up?

I’m starting to think that such a person does not exist, and never existed. And as I look at my photographs, I find them blank. And like this, with no one there, no ghost, no self, no one to look for, and nobody looking for me, my life completely loses its meaning and becomes a shrunken zero.

Reviews

[Marie]

This is really creepy...and mysterious. Is there really a ghost or isn't there? Of course, ghosts don't [hotograph except with special equipment. SO how is one to know? A good story, as is all your writing.
I suggest one word change:


Many times I When there are many people around me, they all look alike, no one is different, and they become a mass of("from" would be the correct choice) which I desperately want to get away, to be alone again.