This short story was written for the theme Spooky Season. The prompt says to write about someone’s first Halloween as a ghost.
When you die, you won’t matter to anyone or anything anymore except to the worms that would feast on your flesh until only your bones are left under your grave. Fragments of your flesh will soon be ashes or dust, subject to dissipation, and just another element that can cause a sneeze. Family and friends will keep you in their memories, but their world will continue to move without you. You will just be like another file in their hard drive, kept, to be forgotten. Soon you’ll fade away, and even the closest of person will start forgetting the sound of your laughter, your tiny nuances, and all the lines and details of your face. That is life. And death. Continue reading “A Little Too Late”