Legend and fantasy will tell you that they're beautiful, a shining light in the darkness, a pinnacle of hope, separated from their decaying body, and therefore, freed.
The truth is, the spirit is allowed to decay far further than the flesh. Your soul portrays the ruin that burial and nature alike may spare your body. The ghosts of my world walk, slow and pained in their every twitching, soft movement, and from them trails the hanging, torn lengths of their tired yet persistent skins. The eyes are rarely intact, often reflecting the very emptiness that all walking spirits embody. The skull begins to show through the thin, worn skin of the face, and across their naked bodies are often present the wounds of their flesh's death, though in spirit allowed to fester, and preserved for whatever scratching, pulling, and picking the ghosts may (and often will) subject themselves to. They are not beautiful, they are not the lovely visitors of beyond, they are beasts, driven by anguish, greed, sorrow, and revenge to forever haunt the existence of all who have the great misfortune of Sight.
Never was a fan of the floaty sheet ghosts or the ethereal angel baby ones either, so this is a much appreciated departure from the norm :3
ReplyDeleteIt feels really introductory. I see you labeled it homeless, but I hope someday a home presents itself, because this could be a prologue or something for a truly awesome story :D
I liked how you described the ghosts as beasts and not etherial. Sometimes I was confused for the actual image you were trying to portray, but my brain soon caught up and left me. A) creeped out. B) severely impressesed.
ReplyDeleteAlso. Loved how you described Sight as almost a curse.