The Little Ghost

I’ve always wondered what the meaning of life is. What is our purpose for existing? Why do many living things seek to persist in existing? Of course for me, it was mostly irrelevant. Death had come to soon for me to care, right? Even I could not rationalize my feelings or what I thought in my past life. I was a ghost who lived in dilapidated prison of a house. Sunken floors, broken walls, and a sorry excuse of a roof. The absent doors and broken windows left the house naked to the outside elements.

Though free to roam, I seemed to be unable to leave the house. As far back as my memory served, I had mostly remained in the only room which appeared untainted in that broken home. All that was in it belonged to me from my past life. Things I once cherished, dreams I once had. The one thing that escaped me was the cause of my death.

I was lonely. I wanted to share the remnants of my past life. I wished to speak with someone, to tell them something was wrong. The state of the house perplexed me, as I had no memory of such a state. My efforts to fix the house were in vain as I further broke all that I touched. I wanted to live again but I could not understand those feelings. Was I the only ghost trapped in a broken house?

There were other residents in that house who at times seemed unconcerned by its condition. They too were broken. Though present in body they lacked the warmth and glow of life and brought a foul odor, as though they too were dead. As simple dolls, although quite malformed and patched together, they were bound to the house like puppets by almost imperceptible but fatal assassin’s wire.

I watched as they interacted, carrying along with their daily routines. They too had their own rooms with personal belongings strewn across the floors or chucked on shelves. Being shrouded in darkness, I could not discern what manner of belongings they were. The residents lived as though nothing was wrong—for a time. Though they passed me by, they could see anything I moved in the house when trying to fix it. But I would only hinder them.

The other residents would notice the changes and begin to bicker among themselves. They too wanted the house fixed, but each absolved themselves of the responsibility of doing it. With each conflict, the wires would bruise them and tear into the house. Bad weather only aggravated the problems, shifting and jerking the puppet strings as the house creaked.

I supposed that being half formed dolls they could not see me, seemingly passing me unnoticed until they are reminded of the painful malformed bodies they had forced themselves to be. They soon turned their malice toward me, insisting it was my fault the house was the way it was. I learned that I was only noticed for convenience. What little I could do was used by them when it suited them most and once comfortable, I was once again a ghost unseen by the living.

Then I understood that they too were ghosts. Like me they were seeking to gain life, trying to recover what they lost when they died. But they sought it by binding themselves to lifeless dolls, as mere puppets bound by the troubles of their past lives. This only brought pain.

I tried to ask why they would bind themselves to lifeless dolls, but they deceived themselves that they were alive. I would try to warn them of the wires and the danger of their fighting, but they insisted that no such thing was true. My words unheeded, I would retreat to my room and sink further in despair at the state of the house. As time went on, all that I had in my room was slowing deteriorating with the rest of the house. I desperately tried to restore or preserve them, but in vain. My past was swiftly fading and my present existence was a living hell. I thought that if I pulled some strings, the other residents would make efforts to fix our situation.

I started to do what any good ghost would, haunting the house from dusk til dawn. I became quite skilled at understanding what ticked each of the residents. But every day I haunted that house, it only degraded further. My desire was to fix the house, not destroy it. But no matter what I did, I only made it worse and the residents continued to fight. I saw in a corner of my room, a rotten doll that resembled the ones of the residents. I supposed that I might somehow use that shell to fix what I could not do as a ghost. In this shell, I could feel what I had not known to understand as a ghost—pain. I could vaguely recall pain from my past life and slowly began to understand the cause of my death.

The residents soon resented me, believing all their problems to be my doing. I would tell them that if they would just cut the wires and accept their reality, they could fix everything. Their only response was that I could not understand their past and what binds them. I could barely recall my own past, much less the past of another. But I did not need to know the past to see the wires cutting deep.

I hid in my room and could only cry. A ghost among ghosts, yet all alone. Seeking the warmth of life, but living among lies. That lifeless body could not save me. I wished to die, but I already had. If I could not die, I had to leave. The only thing binding me to that house were the wires of lives I knew little of. As I learned what bound each doll by wires of death, I sought to cut those from my own body. It was all I had left to do. With each wire I cut, I learned a lesson I had seen but not fully understood from my past. And even though I freed myself from that house, I was not yet freed from my past. I left with shackles gripping me. Outside that house I was surprised to discover we sat in the mist of a graveyard, with other ghosts grasping for life through bodies cut by wire and bruised by chain with every misguided step. The troubles of their past lives keeps them from moving on.

Why do we as ghosts seek life? What caused our death? Strung like puppets and bound by yokes, we are tied to past mistakes and shamelessly trying to relive our lives. Our death was caused by our intent to live as our eyes were opened to the pain and death surrounding us. But our lives were once to share in others lives. All we wanted was to feel the warmth and hope that our innocent lives once brought.

It was a comfort to know there were others like me, that I was not the only ghost. Others were searching for a purpose. I could understand their pain and what held them to death. I gave them the only thing I could, insight into the chains that bind us ghosts to our living hell. The wire so fine it cuts imperceptibly, I knew how to see. The chains so tight that scars remain, I could help break. Each time I help, I see my own body slowly being restored, and as I learn to ease the suffering of another, I feel what should be impossible for any ghost to feel—the warmth I so long sought for. For now, I’m just a little ghost. Though I believe that in time, I will be reborn. But first I must sever all that binds me and show others how to as well.

The End