As an introduction to a new series of writing prompts, I want to let you know a few things about my mental health. I’m not crazy. I love to see what makes people tick and how different situations affect the world’s morals. Some of these writing pieces will be dark (this article is) and is in no way a representative of my religious beliefs. That said, may I please introduce to you my newest topics! As a writer, I want to be in good practice. These are fictional writings that will stem from a writing prompt of my choice. I will always inform you of the prompt and will leave the comments open to critique and encouragement. Here goes!
The sun was setting, casting fiery light through the crack in the drapes. I pulled them completely shut, letting in the first assault of darkness. I undressed clumsily and laid down on the bed with four quilts. It was easy to fall asleep- the room smelled clean and comforting. The housekeeper had stopped by to dust and scrub the mold off the window sill. The fireplace was emptied of old ashes and renewed to pale stone.
My bed was just a pretense. It would not give me any comfort other than a place to squander deep thoughts and desires to help others. It was the resting place of my ghost, the insomniac.
Twilight must have ended, because I felt
stretch her silvery arms, ending with fingers stroking my throat. It burned. Soon the room came into focus, my eyes adjusting unnaturally well to the features. Perhaps I’m mistaken, they say that practice makes perfect, and these habitual nights had given me much practice.
“Hello, darling,” my ghost whispered to me. I took my hands off my throat.
“I’m not your darling.”
“Oh, but you are! You’re my pet! Aren’t our little chats favorable, darling? What would you do without me? Now, let’s talk about how tomorrow’s party will go. Nothing in your poor, pitiful life ever goes right, so we should plan for that. I say, let’s have a merry little game of poker, where you lose dreadfully.”
“Be gone!” I choked, pulling a pillow over my head.
“No, no. Be a good sport and hush. Many fine specimens will be there, so be sure to say something very stupid. Ask lots of questions and be sure to forget the end of every joke. You’ll be sure to spill wine all down your front. Do you see now?”
I moaned, feeling tears come up my throat and out my eyes.
“Honestly, what are you doing with those tears? No use being any weaker than you already are. It’s quite different to shed a good Christian tear in church than to let crying infest the times when you are allowed to be yourself. It does say something about your character, doesn’t it?”
I stood up and walked over to the fireplace with my ghost.
“It’s rather a nice night, don’t you think?” I mumbled, swigging whiskey straight from the bottle off the mantle. It’s sweet liquor twinkled agreeably through my middle. My ghost wrinkled her nose at my habit. She wiped a drop off my lips, tasted it, and shuddered.
“You know that drinking like this isn’t acceptable in proper society, do you not?”
The whiskey whispered merrily in my ear and I repeated:
“What if I don’t care?”
Her shimmering strands of hair slowly started to burn.
“You do care. Besides, what are you but your reputation? You are nothing without me. I’m here to stay, darling.”
“You are not even flesh and blood. Do not haunt me anymore. Take your sweet manners and brutal fallacies back to Lucifer’s Keep. They will not be tolerated here.” I propped myself against the fireplace by my elbows.
My ghost picked up my heart and examined it in the dark of my room. “You’re mine,” She said.
My ghost held the little red thing over the fires of Hell, the deepest darkest pit, and singed onto it a black spot. I felt nothing.
“I’ll kill you,” she whispered.
“Darling, I’m already dead.”
The beginning of dawn made the room cooler, and even my curtains could not hold back the full force of the sun. My ghost gently set my heart back and patted my chest. She became like ash, falling on the step of the fireplace. My housekeeper was going to be less than pleased.