Ghost:
Her heart shattered, but the feeling was numb to her at this point. Nothing hurt anymore. It just went to show that she no longer belonged here, not on this earth, not amoungst these people. She wasn't worthy, and she knew she had to take their advice. Go die, the voices hissed at her, die, just die already. You're not fit to be with us! Your disgusting, filthy, die.
"Die..." she whispered. Staring at herself in the mirror, lanky, long limbed, curveless, pale. Blue eyes, that had once glittered with awe and wonder, became dull and lifeless. Her family took notice, more than once has she been to a therapist, but they never got anywhere. She would sit in silence, the silence is a vow she took four years earlier. Her baby brother would never hear her voice, never remember the silent ghost that lived in their house.
Her siblings, older and younger, would never remeber the person she had once been, for she was now a shell of her former self. She lived. That's all, and she even longed to end that. She had no right to be a person, it had been drilled into her from the start. Four years it had been drilled into her that she wasn't allowed to be a person, but also that she never was a person. She was only placed there to take up space, to look stupid, to be the butt of a joke. Now? Now she wasn't even that, she wasn't even worthy of the redicule sent her way.
"Hunny?" Her mother knocked on the ghost's door, letting it open. "It's time for school." A nod, that's all she wanted, but dull blue eyes just stared at her before she sighed and left. School, she thought, not worthy. Not worthy. Her blue eyes shown with tears, but they never fell, not anymore. There wasn't a point for them to fall, why should she be sad, everyone had a purpose, and this was hers.
--
I am a ghost, she thought, her feet not making a sound on the faux marble ground. Other students around her joked with each other, a few stoping her to make a joke of her atire, push her, pull her, affectionate stuff for them. After first period, she reminded herself. A group of girls surrounded her, they tore away her books, her jacket was torn, nails scratching, kicking and punching. Normal, all so normal.
"Hey," The ghost knew better than to look up, she kept walking, "I'm talking to you, bitch." She stopped walking, but refused to look up. She knew what was in store, and she wasn't going to invite it with open eyes. The back of her shirt was pulled from her body, yanking the front tighly against her. Her eyes screwed shut, but she still flinched at the feeling of a slimey substance rolling down her back. Normal, she reminded herself, normal. All normal, don't feel it, there is no pain. Why would there be pain for a ghost. The ghost of a person that once was....
Off to class. Her few moments of peace. No ridicule, no harasment. Just... silence. Blissful silence. She was in a daze, she put herself there. She was a ghost, a ghost isn't real. It's not worthy. The class let out, a few minutes had passed in her bliss, her peace, before she was swarmed again but the crowds of hate, jeering and cussing. Die, die, die. It chanted in her head, all their voices chanting, calling, yearning for her death.
Basement. Untravelled, unoccupied. Solitude. The blade in her hand felt heavy as she pulled it out running her fingertip over it softly, eyes opening widely, mystified at the deep red that welled up against her near-white skin. Beautiful, the only this so beautiful in this world. Her outlook of beauty relied on that blade, the beautiful blade in her hand that gleamed and shinned like the most precious polished silver.
Pulling her long sleve up, black against white, perfect for the red. The blade gleamed as she slid it across her skin, sighing at the sting. She felt, and pain was her bliss. Nothing they said hurt, not anymore, but the pain she sought, it could only be gifted with her blade, her best friend. Deeper and longer, more sighs drawn from her lips. This moment, this high, this is why she lived. She felt. The moment she wasn't a ghost. She felt.
A hand placed itself on top of her own, a gasp drawing from her lips in surprise. She pressed the blade much deeper in her shock, red bubbled out more than before. Deep. Too deep. Her blade dropped as she slowly looked up, eyes tracing the path of the hand on her own. A gentle hand, thin long fingers. Beautiful. A long thin arm lead to robes and a head dress. Her eyes landed on a woman who seemed to glow, a beautiful face framed with long strawberry blond hair that was held back slightly by her head shaw. Kind eyes stared at her, a sad look gracing the woman's face.
"My child," the woman's voice wavered, but it was beautiful, just as her face.
"Beautiful," the ghost whispered. Her voice scratched from disuse, and the word felt foreign on her tongue. There was no other beauty in this world other than her blade, so why did she call out to this stranger with it?
"My child, the world is cruel sometimes. Let me hold you." The voice was warm, loving. A motherly love that made the room glow. The ghost opened her arms, like a young babe wanting to be rocked, and that is what she seemed to be. The woman pulled the ghost into her arms, rocking back and forth, a lullaby trailing from her lips.
"Name?" The ghost rasped. The woman smiled, placing a kiss atop her head.
"Dymphna, my child, and heaven waits with open arms for you." The world around her faded to black. Too deep, she thought, too, too deep. Her eyes squeezed shut. Too deep, too deep, too deep. Chanting inside her head, teasing her, mocking her.Her panick welled, bursting through her, but she was unable to move. Her eyes opened in panic, a scream ready to leave her lips at the sight before her. More panic bubbled up, her voice didn't exist. She didn't exist.
She lay on the ground. Too deep. It still chanted, taunting her. Too deep. Her fear was realized, and so was the truth. The ghost is now what she always believed herself to be.
"My child." The whisper cut through the others, calling her softly. She turned her head, her body imobile. There stood a man tall, a glow emitting from him, drawing attention. He was in robes, as was the woman next to him. Wings arched from his back, a brilliant gray and white mix. Curly brown hair grew in a long mane from his head, white kind honey colored eyes to match.
"So beautiful." The ghost's eyes welled. Next to him stood Dymphna, the two radiant, overwhelming. Beautiful.
"Raphael." Dymphna said, motioning to the man.
"Come, child." Gabriels hands opened, calling her to come into his comfort. And she did. She doesn't know how, but she did. Her face hid in his shirt, hands curling into the soft material.
"He awaits you." Dymphna told her, stroking her head gently, lovingly. Her feet left the ground before landing on something plush and soft. Pulling back to look around, the ghost saw a sight to beautiful to eplain, and sitting amoungst it, a man with equal beauty. Her eyes welled, and the tears fell, but her was there, hands underneath her cheeks, craddling every tear that fell.
"Never has a tear of yours feel upon the floor. Everything of you is priceless, child. It is to be cherished. I'm here to show you that." She watched the tears drip into his hands, a soft plink followed by a ripple.
"The memories of your life, of your hopes, your pain, everything about you resides in your tears, child. And I hold all of them. I hold all of you. I have always held all of you." The tears upon her fast fell faster as she watched the puddle of tears in his hand. Images flashed through, her happy times, her sad times, the story of her life. But in each scene, this man in front of her, the one holding her, and the woman who loved her, were there, catching every tear that fell, rocking away her pain. Showing her the love she never felt in the world before. Her arms release Raphael's robes and pulled her body to the man in front. She clung to him with all her might as he held her gently, lovingly.
"Papa," she whispered. "Father."
