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The Story of a Ghost (Fictional Short Story)
In the evening, I sat on the hard bed. I can’t go back to sleep; in the shutters I wait until the last sunlight peeps through the slats. I was in so much pain at that moment that my eyes were full of stars. In an instant, my thoughts wanted to go to the distance to see where my relatives stayed. I welcome it all, even at halftime, because I have a deep desire for happiness to happen. My heart was clamoring to see them all; my eyes sparkled with all the good feelings of affection. Time held its breath and reunited me with the past.
It reminds me of times I sat with other kids who were maybe 6 or 7 years old and a female teacher believed she was holding a Stone Whisperer, who would always know about any mischief hidden in her classroom. Magic is then introduced into the innocent mind. There’s even a garden with a statue of a dwarf that changes places from time to time. This is a superstitious belief that prevails in every child.
Then there’s a strong sense of nostalgia that brings me back to those times when I played outside the house; I was playing glass marbles and just pressed it between my forefinger and thumb while flicking it forward to pop it Put it in the small hole. I was a kid who deftly hit my opponent’s marbles even from 4 or 5 feet away. As time passed, I was brought to the scene where I was playing a game of kickball known in Filipino as “sipa” – made of a washer with colorful strings or plastic straws tied to it. I wear a good pair of galoshes and throw the sipa up and catch it so it doesn’t hit the ground; I have to count the number of throws and hit it as far as possible away from my opponents and let them chase and catch it with my feet live. In a swirling motion around, I found myself running away from other players with a span of teks and they would ask to share some of my teks. In another scene, I’m trying to rescue a captured teammate from another base and trying to protect our base from intruders in a game called “catch and hold a corner” or “agawan base” in the Filipino dialect . I’ve won and lost a lot of games, but all of them; I’ve found new friends until the game mat is folded up and tucked away in a corner, childhood escapes while uncomfortably running toward more mature characters.
Blinking my eyes, I was suddenly back in high school, practicing marching pace in the hot sun; among those who proved endurance; I was able to earn discipline and endurance; Student with haircut. I often go to the library to do my research because there is no internet during that time. I spent a lot of time reading and writing research and stayed up at night reviewing notes. The time is so generous that I have the jeepney clinging on the back of me to school, sometimes briskly walking from home to school when the traffic is at its worst. The moment when it showed me bringing my lunch to school and eating it on the bank of the river with the trees in the background was awesome. I did not find a university. I went to college in the same place as high school. College life is unavoidably turbulent, and even as an adult, it is unavoidable to be bullied. The English teacher asked me to stand in class with my classmates and let others talk about the comparison between us. It brought me unforgettable humiliation. Sometime during the last school year, I got sick and decided to stop – giving way to minor surgery on my stomach. That’s why I graduated in 5 years without attending commencement.
As time went by, I worked the night shift at the bank, reconciled the data and went home the next morning. Then I saw myself doing clerical work mostly, data control and data coding, until I got a permanent job in the government, which I served in good faith, and later got married and settled down. The most precious part is seeing the trip with my wife and son and other family members. I cherish the time I spend playing with my youngest son and find it fun to talk to him even over long distances. It has been fascinating to see moments of joyful life shared with my wife whose loving and caring nature can change my life. Time elongated with more details, showing my loving mother’s tireless and loving care for me. Time flies, until the most critical decision in my life-going to work in a foreign country and embracing different customs and cultures. Strict observance of the law strengthened and honed my character. Every day, I live in a virtual world where communication already takes place on the Internet. Living abroad is like a ritual: going to work, calling family, sending money, and working to earn a living. The diseases I try to avoid are the reasons I try to live a healthy life.
Over time, back in the room again, the small and large details in the patchwork quilt will tell others that I have unforgettable memories. The years in a foreign country seemed to pour out of my shelter, so my body changed dramatically: gray hair, memory loss, inexplicable body pain, stress, homesickness, loneliness all combined to cause my body to go from bad to worse .
When those around you doze off peacefully at night, people stop entertaining how the crowd moves, and only a few win the coveted place to live. I no longer have time—time to connect with loved ones, time to play a role for the community, time to get up at dawn, time to rush to work and crowds, time to worry about being in a crowded place Threat of suicide bombing. Sadly, I can’t touch and feel anything around me, I feel like a soul trapped in the terrestrial space and fairy world. Many thoughts flooded into my head. How can this happen? I still have so many things to do, am I a ghost now? Right now, my greatest fear is isolation from the people I love; I don’t know how to accept that I’m dead. I also have an obligation to raise my little ones, grow old with my wife, and keep them well. Who will help me accept the last scene of my life? One last time, I tried to call my family on my cell phone, but my hands just brushed off something tangible. I see the light pulling me; I need to decide whether to go into the light or stay in the earthly dimension. I decided to stay spiritually secular and search for someone who was spiritually sensitive and would help me understand death.
I stay calm, cry at times, walk around and learn about what ghosts are capable of. Then the rain poured down; there was a knock on the door, and it was a kid looking for shelter, and he tried everything to get into my house until he found a way to get in. I met him suddenly, probably because I saw me pass by him. “Do you live here?” the child asked.
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