Aftertaste

“Do you think they feel pain?” quips the wraith casually as it dips its elongated fingertips into the bowl, full to the brim with the quicksilver of a human soul. The wraith sighs contentedly as it brings its dripping fingers to its void of a mouth and pulls the essence of a human being into the gaping blackness as one would inhale a wisp of smoke. The soul makes a piteous moaning sound as it disappears into the depths of the void and then is no more.

“Surely not.” another, even more slender wraith answers in a bored drone with no perceptible hint of sympathy. The slender wraith’s gracile fingers are dripping with silver, and soon the moaning of a consumed soul fills the silence left by the absence of its voice. “That sound they make is caused simply by their passage through the veil and into the world beyond, nothing more.” It intones.

“Fascinating, I never knew that.” The more substantial wraith responds, dipping its fingers and sampling yet again. “This one must have been an old one - they have a more complex flavor than the young ones, but I feel they lack the pungent immediacy of the yearlings.” The table is filled with bowls of silver, a veritable feast for the two wraiths, who have set about to gorge themselves for an epoch or two on the buffet that lay before them.

The slender one offers its bowl to its compatriot. “Try this one - it was a woman who lost her only child - the note of sadness mixed in with the earthy quality of her desperation is intoxicating really.” The more substantial wraith takes the bowl and swirls its silver contents in order to better sense the quality of the spirit contained within. It lets out a contented hum “mmmm what depth” it murmurs dipping its fingers greedily into the the effervescence and consuming the dying soul with gusto.

“Not too much!” The slender wraith protests, “that’s one of my favorites!”

The substantial wraith returns the much lighter bowl to the table and cajoles its companion, “now now, don’t be cross - here, try this one - it’s quite powerful in a sickly-sweet sort of obvious way, but the aftertaste of irony really grows on you. He was an idiot, you see.”

The slender wraith recoils in disgust. “An idiot! Surely you aren’t trying to barter an idiot against my grieving mother!” The substantial wraith laughs - an ominous, throaty sound that would fill any human heart with terror, but that merely irritates his partner. “Of course this was not just ANY idiot. This was a politician.”

@anarosewood (I find this piece works best when one reads the wraiths with a posh British accent).