Your Ghost

A dark, somber prose piece about addiction, loss, and the supernatural.

I ran to my car and rushed to the liquor store after work, but the traffic lights slowed my progress. Those damn cameras they've been installing on all the traffic lights around town have me paranoid every time I get behind the wheel now. The owner was locking up the store as I pulled in at 10:08. I started explaining my false situation.

Do you think I can make a quick purchase? I just got off of work and my grandfather is in town. I promised him I'd pick up a bottle of Jack on my way home.

Sorry, Kid. I'm not allowed to sell it after 10pm. Your grandpa will have to wait until tomorrow.

Please, sir. Just this once.

He must have seen the desperation in my eyes. He took me inside and let me pay in cash, said he'd run the transaction through the register in the morning. He didn't even check my ID. Nice guy.

Thank you so much. My grandpa can't live without his Jack.

Be careful, son. Have a good night.

My eyes widen at my transparancy. Thank you.

I'm breakng apart and I know it. I feel the tears start to rise on my way home from the liquor store. The headlights of the passing cars begin to form pretty lines and multiply across my line of sight. I don't want to go home. I don't want to stare at those ugly beige walls we painted together. I don't want to smell the remnants of your perfume. I've littered the house in air fresheners. I've sprayed the bottle of heavy scented Stetson that you hate so much dry. I even washed every piece of fabric in the house with the fancy detergents and fabric softeners I always refused to let you buy. Still your scent haunts those empty rooms.

I pull into grocery store parking lot that is nearly empty save for the few employees that get paid minimum wage to restock the shelves and buff the floor overnight. Rangers by A Fine Frenzy starts playing on the radio and the welling tears start a steady flow from my light green eyes down my ghostly cheeks before sliding down my scrawny throat. The song that was playing during our very first kiss. The song that I listened to you sing off key in the shower every morning while I lay naked in bed bathing in the soft yellow fluorescent bathroom light waiting for you to come press your wet naked body against me and sing silly good morning songs in my ear trying to inspire me to wake up. The street lamps lighting the vacant parking lot wash over me in a similar fashion and I get lost in the vivid memories.

The tears continue to flow as I quickly kill the fifth. I gag for a moment as a powerful shiver takes control of my body. My thought process shifts to what you would say about me wasting good whiskey. It's a sipping drink. You're supposed to take time and enjoy it. Something like that. You were always trying to sound so grown up.

Eventually my tear ducts run dry and the alcohol calms my nerves enough to gain control of my pitiful sobbing. I start up the engine and drive your beat up Chevy Custom Deluxe home. I remove your bottle of perfume that lies hidden behind air vent and mist the body pillow we used to share. I swallow several of the pills I found hidden in your purse that you used to take to make the pain go away, then I curl up on the couch..

And wait for your ghost.

Author's Note

I'm always looking for improvement. Let me know what you honestly think about this piece.

Reviews

[loowzerX]

I think it's quite good. Look forward to more!

this is what I look for in writing- detail, a sincere story to tell, whether it's sincere or not, and thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.

a sad, lonely ending- but I think that was necessary.