literature

one more time, ghostboy

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LancelotPrice's avatar
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Literature Text

Ghostboy again
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Ghostboy flicked his head to the right to clear the hair from his eyes. I'm all right, Jack, he said to himself, the fog is more clearly seen. Fog roiled and rolled and curled back on itself, hiding something, maybe himself. His lost honour, his drive, his joy, his past that made him. Something hid there, something teased him. He looked at the dew-covered grass for any sign of passage, but his ship sailed past in the air unseen. Its motion silent. Music came from it, tantalising, leading, saying "This is Paradise, Jack." "We are stars, we are." And Ghostboy followed the sound. And sang. He was happier that way.  

He asked the fog to never clear.



Lancelot Price 2015 July 15

But sometimes it did clear, and he could clearly see. He was in the park alone.
Come back, he said.

And it did. [Until he died singing.][Fog shrouded]
[But that's another time.]
© 2015 - 2024 LancelotPrice
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beeswingblue's avatar
Somehow, this reminds me of Mr. Bark, though I doubt that was your intention. I have that particular "Ghostboy" on my mind a lot right now, having just been published in Red Fez -- which I'd heard about because he was published there.

This is a lovely, wistful bit of prose no matter where it stems from.