Ghost under the Light pt. 2
The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow.
Bathing.
In the distance, a blue-green light flickers.
A lone figure crosses its path– a silhouette obstructing the eerie glow.
My heart pounds. The silhouette grows. Closer Closer
I open my umbrella, casting a shadow to shield me from visibility.
But I am too late.
He steps into the streetlight. I gasp and drop my umbrella.
The light flickers. My heart pounds. He raises his arm.

Time stops.

The only indication of movement is the amber light flickering against his outstretched
arm.
The flickering light is in rhythm with the pounding of my heart.
Teasing me for succumbing to this forbidden emotion.
Have you ever heard of a ghost feeling warmth before?
Giving up on understanding, I laugh.
Understanding is overrated.
I touch his hand. The flickering stops.
Ghosts are blue-green. My heart is amber

The Raccoon
It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.

The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.

The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.

And I feed myself again.

Ghost under the light


The tendrils of my hair illuminate beneath the amber glow.
Bathing.
It must be this one.
The last remaining streetlight to have withstood the test of time.
The last yet to be replaced by the sickening blue-green of the future.
I bathe. Calm; breathing air of the present but living in the past.
The light flickers.
I flicker back.