Anima Aberatta - A SoapGhost Oneshot

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Memories, something you know from the past; whether it be a good one or a bad one. It seemed memories knew no bound, some days you could be reminiscing nostalgically over the most warm ones you kept near and dear to your heart whilst other days you'd have to fight to keep the worst and most traumatic ones from seeping their way down every dendrite in a way to remind us of our worst days. This was nearly everyday for Ghost or, as he was formerly known, **Simon Riley**.

He didn't remember that name much anymore, like a distant few chords being strummed by a long forgotten musician, yet his music bared much yet little semblance to what it once was. Ghost had killed Simon a long, long time ago and in a way it was for the best. Simon couldn't handle himself; Simon couldn't handle his emotions; Simon couldn't shut up and listen, *but ghost could*. Killing Simon had an effect on Ghost, he'd turned into a husk of what he once was. When he occasionally had his mask off in front of a mirror, Ghost could barely see himself without a mask what simply presented itself was a distorted and inconceivable face glued onto his body, acting as a placeholder before he could pull his mask back on, that's the only thing it could've been for anymore.

Simon couldn't cope, that's why it was good Ghost could cope with everything, that was until he was put on leave. Usually Ghost and any team he worked with at the time celebrated Christmas in their own little ways. some could've assumed it was gruelling and depressing and in a way it was, but there was something so comforting about spending one of the most harrowing times for him with the dolts he called his team mates. During steak outs they would often times find the singed remains of a tree to create a fire to gather around whilst they spent the night chugging on discarded bottles of alcohol, drunkenly singing carols  and though he only really loosely joined in with the drinking he still couldn't help but enjoy not thinking of his dead family nor the torturous life he lived, just spending some quality time with others before preparing to shoot holes into fuckers, and as dark as it seemed Simon couldn't of wished for anything better with the life he'd lived.

That's until he found out he had been set on leave sooner than anticipated , something about how there weren't many jobs for them and they needed to celebrate the holiday season, what bullshit. He tried to argue his way into more work only to get questioned by the rest of the team as well as met with equal dissatisfaction and disapprove from price and any higher ups he clawed at in search of something to keep his mind busy.

So there he was sat in his own eerily quiet apartment, it'd been years since he was settled in England let alone on his own without his dad screaming at and harassing him. Simon had been treated horribly by his family all his life prior to their passing, yet somehow the sound of countless scream offs between his parents and endless teasing from his brother and father alike, seemed to be stuck in the back of his head in an attempt to save himself from the harrowing replacement that was the sound of nothingness. No arguing; no gunfire; no death; just nothingness.

He was sat at the small table he had in his cramped and bleak apartment in a week old hoodie, smudged and fading eyeshadow behind his mask with a mug of tea in his hands that had gone long cold whilst a stray and out of place clock ticked Eerily. Ghost simply couldn't move, he was stuck in the silence and a bout of Saudade, he was stuck in both spiritual and mental gunfire where he relived past memories of his parents endless and torturous bickering and the sound of explosives and gunfire as countless sergeants, corporals and private's alike had thrown themselves on the field under his command and had died in a losing battle because of his carelessness, soon enough memories of his long endured torture and assault started to seep in making him feel worse.

He was stuck, oh fuck he couldn't move,his thoughts and memories had him held onto consciousness by a thin string of sleepless nights with a bed that was too soft and the fact he simply couldn't bare to move on from his ever present memories . The incomprehensible sound of his father yelling at him; the haunting whimpers of his scared and dying men; his own screams as he was beat down , But for a single moment came a laugh, though it was a misty memory at best, it soothed his saudade into warm nostalgia for a small and bitter moment . Soon he began to recall a face and once muffled words amongst the bleak and foggy moments that clouded his mind with a thick sheath of fog that left him detached. Just as he heard a voice, finally recognisable enough to stabilise himself came a banging noise.