Athena, hmm? What are you, a Greek goddess?" the ghost asked jokingly. "For someone who is gifted the name of the goddess of war and rationality, you sure are emotional.

How can you just assume that my story's some emotional tantrum? You have just met me. Honestly, at this point, I'm probably having an illusion," Athena replied back.

Bold of you to determine the reality of things," said the Ghost. "Your eyes may deceive you, but I'm here; I'm real, or so I think I am.

Snores escaped from the mouth of Athena, leaving the ghost shocked that he had been talking to himself the entire time. The ghost found himself drawn to Athena, his hands trailing down her face, eventually fading, for the hint of his immortality had run dry. He thought to himself, "How lucky she is to be alive."

"For we all have stories we hold close to our heart even those who don't exist in our realm"

Before I embarked on my journey into this lonesome hole, I was once alive, with rushing veins so vibrant, like the sun. What was my story truly worth? Even I don't know.

"I grew up in a home filled with love, thanks to the most caring parents. They nurtured in me all the virtues that life has to offer. But then came the day that tested everything—'Jeremy, Jeremy, help!' they cried out. I was powerless, unable to save them. In the fire's wake, the ripest fruit life had given me turned to ash. It's my burden to bear, the guilt that haunts me, as Jeremy the ghost I've become."


"Jeremy," my friends would call out. "Jeremy," my grandma would echo softly. I wandered through life, oblivious to the significance of that name. Directionless, because the fruit I cherished most was cruelly snatched away from me.


Eventually, I ended up joining the Navy. I thought, at that moment in time, 'We're all going to die anyway. If I'm going to die, I might as well have a significant role.'"
On that navy ship, I met a man so wise, but his wisdom couldn't hide the brokenness. It appeared like a shield, protecting him from the pain.I couldn't help but think to myself that, despite being a man, he seemed like a boy.


Life sure is funny. I was surprised to see that the broken boy and I were roommates. Over time, I came to know the broken boy, growing fondly of him; his name was Gabriel. Despite his somber aura, there was a certain resilience in his eyes, a silent strength that spoke of untold stories and weathered storms.

I finally built up the courage to ask Gabriel what his story was. He told me that his son was killed in a hit-and-run. Every day, he felt unwavering guilt; it felt as though he was carrying a hundred worlds on his back. I should have told him "he had nothing to be guilty about", but instead contradicting myself I said, "Humans aren't the embodiment of perfection. Until we realize that, we'll always harbor guilt."

Two days later, Gabriel was found hanging. A note was found that read, "A world without you isn't worthy of living in." I was left in an aimless pit, wondering once again. I was soon released from the Navy and was greeted by a cold, empty home—or so I thought.

A charming woman appeared at my door, asking questions about whether I was new to the neighborhood. "No," I told her, "I grew up here. My grandma raised me." I paused, then added, "She passed away while I was in the Navy."

To my surprise, tears started streaming down the charming woman's face. She reached out, gently touching my arm. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said, her voice soft. "Your grandmother was a pillar in this community, and she spoke of you often with so much pride."

Her kindness, in that moment, felt like a small beacon of warmth in the chill of my empty house. I don't know whether it was her tears she gifted to me so empathetically or the soft features she had that resembled the features of my late mother, that made my heart start beating profusely in that first encounter—and just as intensely in our very last. I took the chance to ask her out; she said yes. Time bloomed on, and I soon proposed to the charming woman.

An engagement party was held for us; we found ourselves both overcome with euphoria. Yet, it ended rather quickly. That night, after having too many drinks—too many for an amateur—while she lay down in the bedroom, I slept on the couch. I forgot to turn on my side. I choked on my own vomit, dying. I tried calling her name, I tried my very best, but she could not hear me or see me. I had finally found the fruit of life that I thought I lost, but now, that fruit couldn't see me. her tears Echoed on leaving once she had gone.

"Sometimes, I look at the clouds and think, "I've lived my life, so why am I still stuck wandering around haven't I been tortured enough? Is there something else missing?" Even my heart doesn't know"

© starrose