Ghost.
The television was blaring, the lottery numbers were called out, “56-4-67-26-47-68-45, let us take a look to see who won 8 million dollars!” The dingy bar had poor lighting and the television behind the bar was tinny. I ask the barkeep for one more shot of tequila, but he said he couldn’t understand what I was saying and escorted me to the street. Right outside the bar was a four-way intersection and busy at that. I looked down at my ring finger where my wedding ring use to be, “that bitch ruined my life.” I thought to myself. I stunk of booze and vomit and didn’t have any place to go. A happy couple walked past me on the street and all I could think about was how I wanted to murder both of them. Then I had another thought, “I’ll just murder myself.” I walked up to the curb and could feel the vibrations of the cars and trucks rush past me. “Just do it you pussy...” I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and saw a mac truck coming. “This is the one,” I whispered drunkenly. The lights were blinding as I closed my eyes and leaned forward with my left foot. As the lights got brighter I saw ice where my other foot was landing, but I couldn’t keep balance and I slipped. The last thing I heard was a horn blaring and breaks screeching. Then everything went black.
I don’t believe in ghosts, but that is just the kind of luck I had because his body, which was my body, was thrown into the air. His coat flapped up and down while his keys and wallet were rocketed even higher. The money in the wallet floated back down to earth along with a ratty lottery ticket. This lottery ticket floated in the air for a while and finally came to rest on top of the hat of the officer reporting at the scene of the accident. The officer tilted his head down to jot down some notes and the lottery ticket fell onto his notepad.
As the forensic team drew an outline around what was left of my body, the officer read the lottery ticket and whispered the numbers to himself, “56-4-67-26-47-68-45...”
The Monk and Donald
The sweat glistened off the monk’s brow as he climbed the steps, his cane touching each step, perfectly balancing himself. His red robe flowed effortlessly as he looked up at the pillars of the White House in front of him. On each side, there were reporters and cameras flashing. He thought to himself, "Too much, things need more simplicity."
The President with orange hair and a blue suit walked up to greet him in front of the massive doorway. They shook hands. The President whispered loudly in the monk’s ear, “Your holiness, welcome, I need your advice…” The monk simply looked into the man's eyes and grinned a wholehearted grin with a few teeth missing.
His robes shifted as he looked toward the shadow of the trees across the way. He spoke softly, “it’s time for tea.”
The reporters hounded the President with questions, "Mr. President what are you going to do about the multiple billion dollars national debt? Who is going to pay for that wall near Mexico? Sir, can you explain your part in the investigation with Russia?”
The president replied, “Um, I don’t know you and I don’t know what you are talking about, America has never been doing better!”
The monk looked at the reporters and smiled, they smiled back.
The President walked with the monk into the White House. He had his aide prepare the presidential silver tea set that was kept for special occasions.
They walked into an enormous front room with a few comfortable couch chairs and an ornate rug under the coffee table set up in between the furniture.
“I am sorry about all the press, they can be burdensome at times…” the President said sternly. The monk took a seat and eased his pained back into the cushions. An aide took his cane and placed it to the side to be used for later.
“Even the birds question the worm.” the monk spoke eloquently.
The President looked confused as he was only half-listening.
“I have everything I could ever want and people are still not happy with my actions, why can’t people be happy for my success and all the endeavors and hard work I have undertaken. America won’t let me be myself.” The President complained.
The monk listened closely, and replied, “that’s because you aren’t yourself…you are Buddha, I am Buddha.”
The aide poured some tea for the two men. The monk took a sip of tea thoughtfully and placed the cup and saucer down on the coffee table.
“We must not harm sentient beings, and if we see the Buddha we must end his life for he may not embody what the Buddha embodies." the monk added as he took a deep breath in and exhaled while being mindful of his tea.
The President looked quizzically at the monk as he thought about what the monk had said. “How can you be so at peace with yourself when all you own is that cane and robe?” he asked the monk. The monk responded, “I think you answered your own question.”
His orange hair shined bright as the sun hit it just right from the windows near, his thoughts turned morose as he thought about what he had to do to solve his problems. He thanked the monk as he excused himself to the bathroom.
As he walked towards the bathroom, a presidential security agent walked out of the bathroom. The agent adjusted his pants and made sure he hadn’t lost his phone. He patted his left side of his abdomen looking for an item that should have been holstered. “WAIT, sir I think I left my gun in the bathroom…” He declared, as the president walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
The President looked at himself in the mirror, tugging at his face a little, he sniffed his nose as he sighed heavily. “I am the Buddha…” he repeated to himself as he looked down at the counter next to the sink. Laying on the counter was a black Glock 22 pistol. The President picked it up and placed it in one hand and dropped it to his other hand. His thoughts started to snowball, as he thought more about what the monk had said, “I must kill the Buddha, but if I kill the monk that won’t solve my other problems.” A crazy glint flashed across his face as he smirked to himself, “This is going to be –Uuge.” He raised the gun’s barrel to his mouth, the metal was ice cold against his lips as he unhooked the safety. He couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked in the mirror. He pushed the gun further into his mouth and wrapped his finger around the trigger. His eyes were open and then in a blink, he closed them and pulled the trigger.
The monk and everyone else inside heard a gunshot from within the bathroom and then a slight thud. A mass of people rushed to the door and couldn’t open it because of the lock. The presidential security detail fiddled with their pockets searching for something to pick the lock with. The monk was curious as well, as he set down his teacup and calmly walked over to see what had happened.
One of the agents was able to unlock the door and they slammed it open. The crowd looked on as they gazed at what was a macabre scene. Gasps came from the crowd looking on as they murmured to themselves, “Oh my god the president killed himself.” The press secretary looked on with a horrified face and when she looked back to see how many people noticed, she saw the monk standing alone. His face was sullen and one lone tear dripped down his face.
The press secretary walked up to him shaking a little, “What did you guys talk about before he walked into the bathroom?”
“We talked about how he is not himself, he is of Buddha nature like myself, and he was not present with me so I could not explain that to kill the Buddha is to kill the ego. He took my words too literally. The greatest tragedy is not that your president is dead, but that your president was unaware that he is a sentient being. The monk walked toward the bloody scene and did a few prayers before walking back to take his cane back in hand.
“That is my job as a monk, to bring more awareness to how precious life is and how it is that so many people go through life and death not bringing awareness to themselves as sentient beings.”
The press secretary was writing down what she was hearing on a note pad so she could use it for damage control in her next press meeting. She asked the monk a few questions about how she could get in contact with him later. The monk answered the questions politely.
The monk wrapped his robe around him snugly and decided it was time to leave. The press secretary saw that the monk was ready to leave. “Sir, you may want to follow me a different way if you don’t want to be hounded by the press.” The press secretary got on the phone with her personal driver and requested that he meet them at the back entrance of the White House.
The hallways were a maze as they navigated them, walking quicker than the monk could comfortably walk. “I know you have the best intentions, but this is going to be hard to spin. I’ll do my best, but I am thinking that there might be some backlash against the Buddhist community.”
“I understand, miss.” He said solemnly.
“This event is just another speck of sand that will evolve the pearl of wisdom for the future.” The monk said smiling, knowing things will be ok in the end.
They exited the White House and the monk got into the limo. The driver asked where he was headed, "I am headed in the direction that I am headed, but before that, I need the airport." The press secretary walked around to the driver window and handed the driver a credit card, “here take this for any expenses.”
The sun was setting as the limo pulled out of the back driveway, the monk sat quietly reciting a few sutras to himself as they left the press secretary to deal with the dead president and the thousands of thoughts racing in her mind.