Untruths

Milo knew better than to believe in ghosts, but he’d come to believe in the power of the human mind and its ability to conjure up untruths.

When he thought of his parents, he thought of them as angels, pure souls that were blessed enough to move onto the next life. He thought of them happy, watching him from above. He liked to think that they were proud of him as he took on his responsibilities with his head held high. He thought that his mother would look lovely in white and gold with a halo resting just on the crown of her head. And his father would look just as powerful as he always did, a natural born leader. They were heavenly whenever Milo thought of them.

That wasn’t the case whenever Milo saw them. What he saw made his hands tremble and his stomach churn. Blood splattered across her face. A gaping hole in his chest. Empty eyes following his every move no matter where he ran. He tried talking to them, he tried begging them, he tried screaming at them until his voice cracked and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. They said nothing to him.

The people of the town started to think him crazy, they couldn’t see Milo’s tormentors. But they could see Milo flinching when his gaze caught something in thin air, they caught how Milo’s voice stuttered as his attention was drawn elsewhere, they noticed how his pale skin whitened further at the mention of death.

What he saw was so real, though. So real he could smell the blood, could feel their burning gazes on his skin, could touch them if he were able to bring himself to get close enough. He would do anything to rid himself of the demons that followed him everywhere he went. He considered exorsim for a time, almost went through with it, that was until his mother openned her mouth.

You made me like this.