Ghost of you 1

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Not your fault, huh?

Tears ran freely down Amity's face.

Her hands shook as she desperately tried to wipe them away.

"Leave me alone ."

I can't.

"I already said I was sorry."

Sorry doesn't cut it.

I'm dead.

Amity screamed in frustration, black painted nails dragging down the side of a tree. The woods which usually provided her escape from reality felt like they were crashing down around her.

"You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Not."

"My."

"Fault."

The ghost regarded her with cold eyes, no trace of sympathy on her translucent features.

There's no one for you to shift the blame on.

Your fault.

Amity refused to look at the ghost, or her dead body only feet away.

I wish I could leave.

But I'm stuck with you.

Until you make peace with me.

"What, is there some sort of official rule book for these sorts of things? Or are you just hell-bent on torturing me for the rest of my miserable life."

Only for murderers.

Amity punched the tree in agony, feeling blood trickle down her knuckles as the rough bark smashed into her fist.

"It was an accident."

Involuntary manslaughter.

The ghost's tone was flippant, making Amity grit her teeth.

"Are you making some sort of sick joke?"

Jokes are for the living. In death, there's nothing to joke about.

Amity paced the clearing, still refusing to look at the body, refusing to look at the spirit, refusing to acknowledge the scene. Perhaps it would fade away if she ignored it, like a nightmare forcibly forgotten. She'd had plenty of practice.

Please, let it be a dream.

Look at me.

"No."

So stubborn.

You'll never be rid of me this way.

That is what you want, right?

The ghost sounded bitter, as if she was biting back angry words.

"I want you gone."

Then look at me, and remember. That's the first step.

"I remember plenty. I don't need a repeat experience."

Stop walking away from me.

Amity turned on her heel, forcefully meeting the eyes of the spirit. They were empty and cold, but she could still remember the warmth they once held, like pools of liquid chocolate.

The memory sent a pang of unwelcome guilt through her.

"I may be stubborn, but you're a thousand times more bossy than me."

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