It does feel strange looking at your own grave.
You stand staring at a gravestone which bears your name and pronounces you to be "finally at peace with yourself". And that, when you stand and stare at it, loose, moist mud dribbling off your back, creating micro mountains for the lesser creatures that dwell in the inner recesses of the planet. A gaping void, like a blind eye, stares right back from under the gravestone. It held me till a while back, but not anymore.
No, I am not your friendly neighborhood ghost.
The wind carries the smell of the dead; I beg your pardon, the people who have Passed on. Here, Time seems to be a forgotten face on a crowded bus, the features of which blur with passing moment, never disappearing all together. I am still standing and staring at the arms of death which seemed to have held me long enough to make the society believe that I had finally left it. You would not ever have the opportunity of doing what I am doing, because you are not like me. That is better than saying " I am not like you", don’t you think?
No, I am not some mean, stinky spirit that you could exorcise, Hollywood style.
The people who buried me here were people like you; weak in spirit, withering in body. They belong to the School of Fireflies; born to die in the luminescence of a lighted bulb within a single sunset. They would call me a freak of nature; Au Naturale Frankenstein. I have witnessed this foolish burial act down the centuries,being tirelessly repeated like the waves of the sea. Ironically, they never find out what became of me after I get buried. In natural circumstances, you wouldn’t actually wonder; but this sure doesn’t sound that Natural anymore, does it?
And no, I am definitely not your dead grandmother who you call up at every séance and ask foolish questions.
I live upon the life stream, and believe you me, it is not found in the stars. I have been this way for a long time now. The friends I made, the bonds I forged, are gone; rusted canons in a crumbling castle. You might think that I have a fairy tale life, with "happily ever after" tattooed right into my fate, but that’s not it. Like the tombstone that does not belong to the buried in the afterlife; I can never "belong". I don’t live Forever. Forever is just a long, long time for me.
I look up just as the moon makes an appearance, my guardian angel during centuries of solitude. My body becomes cold and the blood in my body seems to be drying up. The moment of truth is almost upon us. I can feel my canines, sprouting like wings on a new born butterfly on a shiny spring morning. Only, it is night. My body craves for the life stream that runs so freely in you mortals. I will be gone and my memories would die with your mortal mounds that you so fondly cradle. The moon shines bright as I go out to take one of You to fill in the Void that I have left on the ground.
I am. I was. I will be. Forever.
[ The post below shall be added at the end of the day or by tommorow early morn. Thank you ever so much for leaving comments on a post which doesnt even exist! I am thankful to every single reader who steps in here.Comes from the heart.]