A short story
Once, we were left alone. It was not dark yet – just that dim light, that was still fighting against the night. You know what moment I’m referring to. The moment in which ghosts usually arrive.
I’m not sure now why we were left alone. Maybe just some refurnishing of drinks, a late jump in the lake, someone trying to cook. Was it planned?
He was neither handsome nor ugly. “Decent”, probably. Not good or bad. Ordinary, plain. Well, like me, of course. We’ve always been the wallflowers, just friends, no more than that. Maybe that was the reason why he was convinced that he could have me. Or, maybe, someone else convinced him of that. He was gentle at the start. It was a kind of game. You know, when you are just flirting.
I said no. At a certain point, I just have to be honest with myself. I said no.
He seemed quiet for a while. He asked why. I needed him to understand, somehow. The truth? I wanted me, I wanted to discover myself first. I wanted to know what was real and what was not. In my dreams – even the wet ones – I wanted him to be her. I told him just this last sentence. Suddenly it was dark, all black except for those tiny spots in the sky.
He was on me, hitting hard, crashing me, suffocating, vibrating with fear and hatred.
I heard someone laughing. Distant. Where were all? Friends. Where was I? Gone.
Years, centuries, millennia of blame for just one blink of an eye. It was only later, when he ran away, and I couldn’t move, when he was nowhere to be found, and I couldn’t move, when everyone was tired of waiting, and I couldn’t move that everyone – including me – realised that I became a ghost.
