Photo by Thalia Ruiz on Unsplash
There’s a violet rim twinkling behind the white clouds shading the sun. I’ve never paid much attention to clouds before. They’re just things that are there sometimes, and sometimes aren’t. Standing on the balcony, I look up, waiting for the dark clouds of resentment roasting inside me to dissipate, duplicate the spectacular beauty above. Try as hard as I can, the ghosts’ irritating voices still trail into my ears.
“Why does she hate you?” My cousin’s ghost asks.
“I used to be her role model. She hates me because I disappointed her. You?”
“I’m family. She’s yet to forgive me. I’ve been dead for ten years.”
“She’s too young to hold grudges,” my ex-role model’s ghost says.
“Shut up!” I yell at them. “Go away.”
“We can’t,” my ex-role model’s ghost says. “We’d love to though.”
“We’re here because you haven’t let go of your resentment towards us,” my cousin’s ghost says. She doesn’t feel remorse, as she sticks out her grey, serpent tongue, wiggles it at me.
“Go away!” I yell again.
The ghosts look at each other, kneel, tuck their legs and hands beneath them. When I turn away, they snicker and hiss.
With my back to them, I assure them that they’re forgiven, so can they please, please, GO THE HELL AWAY?
“Your tongue forgives, your heart doesn’t,” my cousin’s ghost says. She whispers complaints against me, about my need “for attention,” and how “she was always like that even as a child.”
That I was always consoled instead of disciplined. That I closed my ears when elders preached patience.
“And now look where we are,” my cousin’s ghost says. “We’ll be buried with her. You’ll see.”
“I’d never even met her. I didn’t beg her to idolise me. Millions loved me, why is she the only one who hates me? You know if I was alive, I’d have loved to play such a complicated character.”
My cousin’s ghost consoles my ex-role model’s ghost, assuring her that they’re better off without the world’s craziness.
Sleep tugs at my eyes. Finally! It’s my only haven.
The ghosts float behind me to my bedroom, whooping along to my footsteps.
When I lie on my bed, they lie beside me too.
“How many hours of sleep this time?” my ex-role model’s ghost whispers.
“Who knows?” my cousin’s ghost replies. “We should watch your last movie when she’s up, if she allows us.”
“I really want you to see it. Me at my best. My last movie. I was marvellous. It got many nominations. She’s refusing to tell me if it won any.”
“It didn’t,” I say.
My cousin’s ghost assures her that I’m lying, that I’m jealous and vindictive. Hurting her, because it’s who I am. I hurt people, then blame them for my misfortunes, and summon them back from their peaceful graves, then I pretend to be miserable.
I snore, a loud grunt then sends them flying off the bed, screaming curses.