@SaltyLasagna
I honestly don't remember writing this, it's hella old and the writing is strange but whatever it's fine it's cool.
so if you guys could read it and let me know what you think and if I could maybe build on this and write a novella or something out if it that'd be awesome
Spirits do not at all look like what you would expect them to look like. A girl with pale skin and hair so light it was almost platinum, just walking slowly through a sea of people. Frail, beautiful, and seeming to be a vessel for innocence and sadness both at once. Her eyes are a light purple-gray, like taken straight of a photograph of a lavender on a cloudy day. In a different situation, her looks would be eye-catching.
However, nobody ever notices her. Their eyes and minds shift away from her ghostly presence. It’s as if their minds won’t allow them to fully comprehend what she is and the fact that she is here. Even if someone were to crash straight into her, and look her deeply into her lavender eyes, they would not notice her. Of course, their minds would acknowledge the fact that she is there, but nothing else. Nobody will ever notice what she looks like, and never know what she’s saying, even if she’s screaming at you from the top of her lungs.
She would cry if she could, but she is dead. This girl no longer has the ability to feel. There is no pain, no sadness, no anger. Only longing for the revival of a life that she lost long ago. But along with that, there is also no happiness or excitement. Just boredom and long, monotone days.
I was that girl walking down the streets, or along the edges of rooftops, letting the wind push and pull me toward the edge. Sometimes I’ll fall. My physical body will break, then reform, and everybody just walks around me as if I’m just a pile of broken glass on the sidewalk. Which I guess, in a way, I am. I’m a shattered and meaningless form of what I once was. I have no use or function. I don’t even have a name, or any clear memories of when I was living. It’s just a blur of emotions I’m unable to feel anymore. I’m just… broken glass.
So I sat there for a moment, staring at the stars as people shuffled past me. I wondered, again, what I was here for. What was the reason for my existence? What was the purpose, walking the earth aimlessly, feeling nothing?
I came to an understanding that living people often feel this way as well. They wonder what their purpose is, and what comes after death.
I felt a sudden urge to grab somebody and tell them that they’re lucky to be alive. They should stop wasting time wondering what their purpose is and start cherishing their life while they still can. Because once it’s gone, there’s no laughing or smiling. No painful heartbreaks, but no falling in love either. No excitement. Nothing good comes out of being dead.
