Checkpoint

Stop here. Take a breather. Feel my ghostly breath tickling your earlobes. I've been a ghost once. Once when I died. I died because my curiosity killed me. Like a cat. Pussy. I watched my blood being extracted from my arm. Thick, gooey, then those grey dots. "Daddy, I feel funny". Dead. Like my grandparents, all of them. Like my pets in the backyard under brush, under stone.... Dead. No bright light, no random jesus with a clipboard or the broad heavenly smile of his dad. Just pure nothingness. Like a sleep. With dreams. Like those break-time school days with the boys in the toilets. Taking turns to pass each other out. Those dreams. Those are probably the dreams you have in the elevator to the gates of heaven. It must be a long ride up. Coz those dreams were pretty intense and always felt like ages. No cheesy elevator music. Just dreams. I'd call them more like explosive imagery scenes of information. It always felt like I'd learnt something after a pass-out break-time session.

I look up and see a teeny miniature human being baptized. How sad. The creature has no say in its own religious choice. That's pretty fucked up. Then the adult humans laugh and clap hands and cry. Oh, the mother admits the miniature has no idea about what's going on. But in defense claims the kid is having a good time. Parents sometimes know nothing about what's going on in their offspring minds.

Like my dad. He was calling the mortuary when  my ghost returned to my body. He cried and clapped his hands. How weird. Why do humans sometimes clap their hands and cry?

How silly!