What is this, a ghost? How very strange.

Ghosts exist? Well, that's a change.

You know, I never believed in those.

But what's for real? No one knows. 

Fine, I'll play the game.

So, ghost, what is your aim?

What do you want to show me?

Is it interesting, fun, beastly?

Are you serious? The past?

Not much to work with, don't be so downcast!

Look, there's young me! With my brother, Ben.

I was super cute back then. 

What's the point of showing me the present?

I'm living it! Can't you show me some better content?

That's me, right here and now.

Smiling, happy, only a rare frown. 

The future! Oh yes! This is exciting!

Is that me? Who's that, and why are we fighting?

Why is my future so bleak, so boring?

My life is so good, I thought I'd be soaring.

I think I know now, why that was what I had to see. 

The mundane, the ordinary, that's not for me...

Or maybe it is, I'm not really sure.

I hope I have a bright future, but it's changeable and  obscure.

When I think about it, I guess that's something good.

To change our fates, even into adulthood.

Even if I can't avoid hardship, struggle, and strife,

I know that I can have a good life. 

It's duller now

I only see you in my suggested friends list... or in tagged posts.

Or in your sister's comment threads.

But I still remember when seeing you on my timeline made me burn up. At first it was ginger, spicy and sweet. Talking to you made me feel like I had the universe in my head; probably because you told me you were studying the string theory and you knew how stars formed.

After a while I didn't feel a burn anymore. I didn't feel anything in my head except empty and I didn't know how to remedy it, except by putting all of myself towards keeping you from feeling the same. I lost myself; you found me, absorbed my strength, and said you had none to give back when I needed it.

The night you tried to kill yourself wasn't ginger, cayenne, or even the weak sting of crushed black pepper. It was pure peppermint oil: molten silver and acidic. I have no other words for it. It hurt almost as bad as when, after weeks of not knowing if you were dead or alive, you texted me.

"So, your cousin is pretty amazing... we've only been talking a week but I think I'm in love with her?"

That was cayenne...

But now I guess I've built up a tolerance.

"He always makes me do the dirty work!” I lamented, selecting a sharp knife from the wooden block.

I stoically rolled the body over, making the first cut, severing the head from the torso with a slashing horizontal line. Standing back to admire my work, I watched in fascination as blood trickled down on the cutting table. Dipping my finger into the blood, I was surprised to discover it felt cold to my touch. Next, I made a long cut, reached in and removed the guts. As I peeled back the skin, my husband sauntered into the room.

“Why am I always the one who cleans your fish?” I bemoaned.

Her phone rang for the fifth time that morning. She looked down and wasn't surprised to see it was Tom. She sighed in frustration; why couldn't he just leave her alone. After all he was the one who gave the speech about no second chances. Yet, here he was calling her five times at seven in the morning. She was planning on rolling over and trying to catch at least another hour of sleep, but her plans of peace were ruined when her mom barged in.

"Great your up!" Her mom walked over and opened up the blinds. "I was thinking we could go shopping today. After all, you've been mopping around so much, it's depressing me. I think it would be good for both of us to get some fresh air. So up and at it! We leave in an hour!" Cathy groaned as her mom left her room. After the initial shock wore off, Cathy forced herself to get up and take a shower. After all, she thought, her mom was right. The past few days she had done nothing but stay at home and overthink her past choices. She once again, wasn't accomplishing anything. So for the first time in a while, she put on some makeup and a cute dress and walked down to the kitchen to get something to eat.

"Your up early," her dad said behind his newspaper.

"Not by choice," she responded grabbing some toast off her dad's plate.

"Ah, so where are you girls headed to today?"

"We're having a girls day at the mall!" her mom squealed as she came down the stairs.

"Of course," her dad groaned. "Try not to put a huge dent in our bank account okay?" Her mom glared at her husband then kissed him on the cheek.

"We'll be home by dinner. Love you." Cathy waved good bye to her father, as her mother practically pushed her out the door and into their old Toyota.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cathy sat down with a huff. Her feet were killing her and her arms were sore from carrying so many bags. It had taken her twenty minutes to convince her mom to sit down for lunch and she was officially starving. But all complaining aside, Cathy was actually having a great time. It had been a long time since she went shopping like this, and she was thoroughly enjoying herself. Surprisingly her mom hadn't questioned her, or lectured her yet.

Cathy and her mom were always a little too alike. They had a reputation of arguing over nothing, and always getting into each other's way. But at the end of the day they always hugged it out, or got over it. Still, as a teenager Cathy couldn't wait to leave Ohio, partly because there were days when her mom drove her absolutely insane.

"So how is Bob?" Her mom asked. Even though Cathy wasn't visiting, her mom still called once in a while to forced details out of her beloved daughter. Her love life was always at the top of the list.

"Tom, Mom, his name is Tom. Actually he proposed." Her mom chocked on the soda she was drinking.

"I'm sorry? He proposed! You didn't think this was good information to tell me and your father? We haven't even met him yet!"

"That's okay you are never going to meet that shallow jerk," Cathy spit out, her bitter tone not getting passed her mother.

"Excuse me?"

"Tom cheated on me Mom. I found out about it the day after he proposed." It was the first time Cathy said it out loud and her earlier happy mood had vanished.

"Oh honey."

"My shift ended earlier than I had expected, and I got to the apartment to find him with her. Mom it was awful, there was so much yelling. I threw my ring at him, then his suitcase and told him to get out. I mean, and to think I almost married him," Cathy spit out the story. She just wanted to forget about it, not talk about it and replay it in her head.

"Well have you talked to Tom about it since that night?" Her mom sounded disgusted.

"He came over to my apartment a few days after, but I really wasn't in the mood to talk to him."

"Has he called you?" Cathy really wasn't in the mood to talk about her cheating fiancé, especially while she was having such a nice day with her mom.

"Look, just drop it okay. It's over and I''m handling it." Cathy regretted saying it the minute it came out of her mouth

"No Cathy, I'm not just going to 'drop it.' I just found out your boyfriend, no excuse me, your fiancé cheated on you! I am your mom, so yes, it gives me the right to ask questions, or even care! Alright?" This argument was reminding Cathy on why she left for New York in the first place.

"Wow, I've suddenly lost my appetite. Can we go?" she was trying not to lose her temper.

"No, we are not leaving. Sit down," Cathy didn't even know she had stood up. Not wanting to further anger her mom she sat back down. "I'm sorry if me asking questions angers you, but I'm your mom and it's my job. I'm not trying to pick a fight with you, I just want to make sure you're okay. So, are you okay?" Cathy took a deep breath.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm okay," Cathy smiled.

"You're lying," Cathy's smiled dropped with her mom's response.

"Look Mom, can we just enjoy our day without anymore fights."

"Sure, I'll forget it for now, but when you're ready to talk about it, I'll be here ready to listen."

"Okay, sounds like a deal." Cathy was slowly starting to regret coming back home.

Her mascara all smudged

Her nails broken

Bruises all over her fragile being

But still her eyes shone brightly,

A smile graced her lips

And as she lay there she knew,

She knew that she had escaped.

He looked at me funny, the delivery van driver I mean, when he realised that the only things that I had ordered were canned food and bottled water. I just smiled politely like I’ve learnt to do. After I had closed the door I opened the logbook that I keep on the little table by the phone and wrote the time and the date followed by the words; Tesco man acting suspiciously.

I watched out the window until he drove away and then I stripped down to my underwear and began putting everything away in its right place. Once that was done I vacuumed the whole of the downstairs paying particular attention to the doormat and the couple of foot of carpet onto which the man had stepped. After I had done this I ran myself a shower as hot as I could stand and scrubbed myself down for fifteen minutes.

These are unusual times we’re living in.

When I had dried myself I dressed in my favourite pyjamas and put the towel into the machine and ran it at a high temperature.

In my bedroom the television is always on. And I mean it is always on. And it is always on the twenty four hour news station. I think it’s important to keep up to date with what’s going on in the world. When I go to sleep I turn the sound down and watch the people mime out the stories of the day. I have taught myself to sleep with my eyes open, always watching. This way I don’t have to worry about missing something important. You never know when something important is going to happen.

I take a bottle of water upstairs with me and sit on the end of the bed and watch for fifteen minutes just taking in the headlines.

The Hospitals are overcrowded.

There are more cutbacks to the Police force.

There is another suspected case of Ebola in Scotland.

They are predicting more extreme weather over the next six months.

The terror alert is still on orange.

The terror alert has been on orange for three hundred and five days. Orange means severe. Severe means an attack is highly likely. This doesn’t seem to bother people as much as it should. Orange is one colour removed from red and red means that an attack is imminent.

It is important to be prepared.

Sometimes I think I’m as prepared as I can be but then something else happens and I realise that I’m nowhere near as prepared as I should be. My mother used to say “To fail to prepare is to prepare to fail.” That still sounds like good advice every time I say it.

When I’m finished watching the headlines I sit down at my computer which is next to my bed so I can still see the television and I look at the twenty four hour news website, just in case there are any details that they have missed. Or in case there is another story that they haven’t shown that I should know about. It’s important to be proactive about the news; you need to do your own research. Everybody has an agenda it’s just a case of figuring out what it is.

I do this for thirty minutes.

I only drink bottled water. Two litres a day, every day without fail. It is important to stay hydrated. The human body is approximately sixty percent water. The average human being loses about eight cups of water a day through urine and sweat. It is important to replenish the amount of water in your body everyday otherwise you will get headaches and feel tired. I don’t drink tap water because, and you should know this, because it contains fluoride and fluoride is very bad for you. They started putting fluoride in the water, and when I say they I mean the government, in the 1950’s. They did this because it makes your brain soft and susceptible to suggestion. Soon after they did this adverts started to appear everywhere and I mean everywhere. People stopped being just people and they became consumers. People started buying things just because they could and the whole world went mad.

Tap water also gives you cancer.

I know this because Sophie used to drink a lot of tap water and then she got the cancer and then she died. Sophie was my wife. Sophie was my friend first and then she was my wife. We got married on the fifth of September 2011 and she died the year after. I still miss her. Sophie used to say that it was very important that I look after myself so now I only drink bottled water. Two litres a day.

At exactly midday I eat lunch. I usually have soup. Today I had tomato. Tomato soup is my favourite because it is smooth and it tastes good. Canned food is the safest food in the world and it lasts a long time too. I once read that a boat called the Bertrand sank in the Missouri River in 1865 and it was carrying a whole cargo of canned peaches. When they raised the boat up in 1974 they did tests on the cans of peaches and found that they were still perfectly safe and fine to eat. One hundred and nine years old and still good to eat. I can’t remember where I read that but I haven’t ever forgotten about it. My cupboards are filled with canned food. You never know what is going to happen next.

After I have eaten my lunch I wash up the bowl and spoon and leave them to drain. They look untidy there on the rack next to the sink but I know how many germs get harboured on the average tea towel so I don’t use them.

The letter box opens and from the kitchen I can hear letters scrape through and fall down onto the doormat and I hold my breath. A week after 9/11 there were Anthrax attacks across America. Nobody ever remembers this. I go to the cupboard and pull out the claw thing that I keep in there. I don’t know what you call it. It’s what people use to pick up litter, a claw thing on the end of a stick with a trigger on the handle that controls the pincers. Next I put on a disposable facemask, like the ones that surgeons wear and I pick up the plastic box which I keep next to the little table by the phone.

They never caught whoever sent those Anthrax letters.

Slowly, very slowly I walk over to the little pile of letters and one by one I pick them up and very carefully place them in the plastic box. There’s a lot today. When this is done I take the box outside to the passageway down the side of my house and empty the letters into the black bin followed by my facemask.

I can’t remember anything before 9/11.

I had just shut the door behind me when I hear the phone ring. I feel my heart beat quicken up and the blood buzz hotly in my ears. Slowly and quietly I creep over to it and watch it until it stops, after this I go around the house and make sure that all the curtains are closed. You can never be too careful. Once I have checked the curtains I open the logbook and I write the time and the date followed by the words; Phone call.

Do you know about the Mayans?

You should probably know about the Mayans. They were an ancient people in South America and they’re all gone now. But the interesting thing about them is that they predicted the end of the world would happen in 2012. Of course it’s now 2015 so you probably think that they made it all up or were wrong or whatever. I have this theory though, I have this theory that something happened in 2012 that will lead to the end of the world, like something was put in motion back then only we don’t know what it was. Not yet anyway.

It’s my birthday today. I know this because first thing every morning I cross out another day on the calendar on my wall next to my bed. I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore, I used to when I was a little kid but it doesn’t feel right to celebrate things, not these days.

In the living room I sit down in my favourite chair which has one of those plastic covers on it and I just sit for a while and listen to the comfortable noise of the clock ticking and stare at the empty fireplace.

I do this for fifteen minutes.

I open the top drawer of the chest of draws next to my favourite chair. Inside there is a stack of sealed envelopes. The one on top of the pile has 2015 and a kiss written on it in pretty handwriting. Very carefully I open the envelope. Inside there is a card with a picture of a frothing bottle of champagne and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! written loudly in capitals, in an arch, like a rainbow but without all the colours. The background is blue and the writing is white and the bottle of champagne is dark green. I open it up and read what’s inside.

“Happy Birthday Bobby, hope you are having a good day and have done something nice. Remember when we went and fed the ducks? That was a really good birthday. I enjoyed that a lot and you did too. I’m sorry I’m not there with you to celebrate but know that I am always looking over you. Please look after yourself and stay healthy. All my love always, Sophie.

P.S. remember to take your medication.”

It’s nice to get a birthday card from Sophie. I read the message over and over for fifteen minutes. It’s a funny thing, I can remember when we fed the ducks but I can’t remember what medication she means. It’s a funny thing memory.

I put the card up in the middle of the mantelpiece above the empty fireplace and go back to my chair and look at it until the clock chimes one.

In my bedroom I sit on the end of the bed and watch the headlines. There is nothing new and I begin to relax a little bit. I allow myself to flop backwards and lie there just staring at the ceiling with my legs dangling off the end of the bed. Suddenly I feel very tired and I think about taking a nap.

Downstairs the doorbell rings.

My body twitches and stiffens up. My breathing becomes shallow and I can feel panic fluttering around in my chest. I sit up and breathe deeply for sixty seconds, counting it out in my head.

The doorbell rings again.

I stand up and put on my dressing gown and stare at my hand until it stops shaking and then I go downstairs.

I can see the distorted silhouette of somebody standing the other side of the frosted glass and each step I take to the front door feels heavy and straining and final. I force myself to take one last deep breath and it judders out from my chest like crumpling paper and then I open the door.

There’s a man standing there who I don’t recognise.

“Hello mate,” he says, “Got your shopping delivery here; do you want me to bring it through?”

These are unusual times that we’re living in.

THE END

Pain is my process. Hurting is my faucet. I write because of something I have had and I have lost it.

It is most clear when the light has exhausted.

I will not write when I am happy.

I will not write when I am gay.

I will not write on just any day.

I can only write when I am mad.

I can only write when I am sad.

I can only write when everything is not that bad.

I will always write if you ask me too.

I will always write to feel something new.

I will always write.

Publish is a right.

I wrote.

It is written. And now i still rewrite.

I always carry a pencil and paper with me, because well, you never know. I can get inspired anywhere, in the bathroom, at school, in my room. Nowhere is safe haha.

My favorite moments of inspiration are the random ones. Those ones where I am not intentionally trying to come up with something, but it comes to me. Like one time I was in a public bathroom. I was reading all of the writing on the walls, varying from graffiti to invites to a sexual night. It was right there where I got the idea for one of my stories, based of those writings.

I prefer, however, writing at night. When the house is quiet, and I can hear myself think about what I want to write. I love those evenings, because the words just drip from my pencil. I usually stop when I am too sleepy or my hand hurts.

This doesn't mean I am always creative, haha. I wish. But, I always keep my mind open to new ideas. Nothing is bad, at least not immediately. Sometimes, when I get writer's block, I have to just stop writing and focus on another story or read, or something, and let the juices get working again.