Fill: In Passing

This was inspired by a prompt from craserit83 and fills the “spirit” square in my 1-1-17 card for the Dark Fantasy Bingo challenge. This made it to 366 words and feels reasonably complete.

In Passing

Forgotten in the hallowed halls, forgotten in the cathedral forest, forgotten among their markers of stone. The spirits may all be forgotten, but they’re the ones who haven’t yet received the full pleasure of forgetfulness.

The dreary parchment colored spirit of a Victorian housewife remembers how it was her husband’s fist that put her in the family’s mausoleum, another spirit on the corner of 4th & Ewing was done in by a reckless taxi. The forest is full of hunting accidents, or what’s been made to look like accidents. Easy enough to take Mr. Wellerby’s land if he’s not alive to protest and you appear convincingly bereaved to his family during the services. The endless rows of soldiers’ cemeteries laid out so neat and crisp, like war never is, hold weeping spirits, angry spirits, and those that are simply heart achingly confused.

I wander here and there through life observing my own soul wear thin, translucent, offering bits and pieces to spirits I encounter who are finally ready to take the next step forward. Releasing them from their remembrance of themselves, the horrible death, or merely tragic one, that keeps them chained in place. People say “Don’t let your fears hold you back.” I feel it’s good advice; more ghosts should listen. But they’re all alike in that one regard, all afraid. Of what comes after most often and I have little guidance there, I’m still mostly alive, or of being forgotten. And I can never bring myself to be cruel and tell them bluntly, “Too late. The world’s moved on now. Forgetting is what you need to do.”

The work will ensure I leave no forgotten spirit behind, and that’s a source of comfort. I know the torment of lingering. I’m soon for it as well, based on the way my soul aches with each new gift I share in passing. I’m excited to see what’s beyond. The closest I’ve come was the one and only time I held a new born baby and deep inside, where her soul was growing, I felt part of the truth. I felt memories from half-remembered spirits I was sure I’d met before, long ago, on some forgotten day.

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Published in: on January 10, 2017 at 6:26 pm  Leave a Comment  
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