I'm a Ghost Girl.

❌❗️TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide.❌❗️

Entry for the Carry On (Rainbow Rowell) competition!


1. Ghost.


I'm a ghost. As much as that's a pathetic way to start a story, it had to be said. When I say that I'm a ghost, I don't mean that I've gone and covered myself in talcum powder and a sheet for Halloween. I mean I'm a ghost.

People think ghosts are something to be afraid of. That's why they dress up as them. Quoting the dictionary, ghost is a common noun. A ghost is 'the soul of a dead person, a disembodied spirit', blah, blah, blah.

Ghosts aren't something to be scared of. They're invisible, attempting to reconnect with the ones they left behind. They walk amongst us, silent, leaving no clues or tracks. Like shadows, they're always there but nobody really pays attention. They're not white. That rule about them being white is stupid. They're sort otranslucent, a faded grey, perhaps.



One thing I do know about ghosts is that they're stuck. Desperately fighting to hold on the the last shreds of their past life, never fully submitting to death.

 Imagine you're in a silly primary school tug of war, the one where 'everybody is a winner' even if you lose. You fight so hard, but you lose, and your palms are now an angry red, raw skin is on show with beads of blood dotting the surface. That's how hard ghosts fight, and even harder.



I can hear music now. Quiet, depressing stuff, like what you'd hear at a funeral. I suppose that's to be expected, seeing as we're at a funeral. 

I'm alone, next to the coffin. It's made of a dark wood, almost red, yet you can barely see that, becauseit's covered in bouquets of beautiful flowers and notes to 'my darling Niamh'. Me.



People from my school are here too. I can't fathom why. Marking the death of a 14 year old girl that they pushed to the brink repeatedly until she followed their advice to 'go top yourself' and actually did. That's me, if you couldn't work it out.

I would love nothing more right now than to strangle them. Scream at them, tell them what a bunch of liars they are and curse them to stand on a Lego every time they take their shoes off. They're saying what a tragedy this is and they had no idea why I would do this. Lying idiots.

I want..no, I need to hold my mother. Hug her and tell her it wasn't her fault. Tell her that I'm sorry and that she was the best mother I could have ever hoped to had have. 


But I can't.

  For I am a ghost girl, a fragile spirit, lingering, clinging to Earth and memories.   I regret what I did.   It's too late.   am a ghost girl, and that's okay with me. I walk alongside others who were in the same situation as I was. I can help these ones, reassure them, tell them it wasn't their fault. They do the same to me.   I'm a ghost, and I've just let go.   It's dark as I scream my farewells to my family, as if they can hear them.   It's pitch black now and I feel a sense of relief. I'm finally free.
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