I float up and down the hall. I'm on my 666th lap. It would be an accomplishment for humans, but counting this high is a daily ritual for me.
To my joy, the neighbor turns on the TV. I float to the window and watch. She's going deaf, so she plays it just loud enough for me to hear. I've learned to read lips to make up for the quiet sound. It's so comforting to finally turn off my mind. Apparently, there is another war starting. It's the third one this week! I listen to the details and imagine the bloody carnage. All of those ghosts floating through the sky, doomed to a life of existential horror and loneliness like I am. It's a horrible thing to keep creating ghosts.
Then suddenly the door opens! I fly into the air out of shock. The door just opened! I stared at that door for years upon years and now it's changing!
Inside walks a man in a collared shirt, slacks, and a... I don't remember the word for the object. I have gone so long without someone saying it that I forgot. He writes on it though.
A few other men walk in behind him. They get to work immediately. They turn on the lights, vacuum the floors, paint the walls, and set up the furniture. I watch them in awe. A man walks right through me and shivers uncomfortably but ignores the sensation.
I can't believe it. In no time at all the house is bright and modern. The walls are white instead of gray. The halls are bright instead decayed. It's a different home from the one I grew up in and I love that. I make my rounds through the new house, pointing out every little difference to myself. My mind is cleared just like the house is. It's almost scary to see something new after so long, but more so exhilarating.
