The Ghost of Fifth Street

I am he.

I wander the streets of the neighborhood, the living dead.   Do not believe that we do not exist.  We do.  I am what I claim to be.   The dead.

But once I walked these same streets as a living being.   I had hope and I dreamt of the future, of how I would live my life.

I laughed with friends.

I accomplished things.

I enjoyed life.

I made love to women.

I played sports and games.

But mostly, I laughed.   And I made others laugh.

But now, I do not laugh.  I cannot.  A phantom may feign laughter but cannot.    He may trick others into believing he is alive!   But he is not.   I've done it.   It's easy.   People do not believe in ghosts or phantoms.   People will say the stupidest things to deny my existence, that is, to deny the reality of my dead existence.   They will say, "Oh, you are just depressed," or, "Oh, you're just in a bad streak, things will turn around."    They are frightened of death so they deny it when it looks at them in the face.   But they will, one day, see me for what I am, and I feel sorry for them when that happens.

I'm going now.   I have to stroll among the living.   I will try to teach them not to end up like me.   Many will.   Many will not.

Pity me.   Pity my poor soul.