Etherealgirl Stories

Summer, 1967. He wears worn-out denim and smells like gasoline and cigarette smoke. She floats like silk through the humid night air, in Mary Janes and ribbons. He's loud, fast, reckless. She's strange, still, and dreamlike. Opposites attract-but no one warned him what would happen when they collided. He falls for her instantly. She whispers poems in his ear and kisses like a warning. Every night feels like a fever dream, and every morning feels like the end of something he can't name. Then one night, she takes him to a lake. Still, black water. A full moon. She smiles too gently, and he looks at her like he's never looked at anyone before. Because he hasn't. Not in five years. Because she's been dead that long. Some say he was cursed. Others say she never existed. But most believe he was just high. Nothing burns quite like memory.