They called him "Ghost Boy"...
Aside from his pasty skin, empty eyes and darkened hair, he was as transparent as the lies from a child; though only a few could see right through. His appearance sparked intrigue, for this lanky boy would never be seen with his heart sewn onto his sleeve. Much like Pandora’s box, if he ever opened up, it would be well nigh impossible to put the lid back on his unspoken troubles and inner notions which he dangerously kept so exclusive.
He never disclosed his feelings to others unless he was supplied with imitation confidence by his trusty dealer, Dutch Courage. He was afraid of talking and of scaring others with his words when he did. His life was a dark, lonely story that he never liked to tell.
Instead, Ghost Boy would unleash his devilish sense of humour which was beyond compelling for others. With a bewitching smile that was shielded by his floppy, curly locks - the charm he exuded was intoxicating.
His appearance and personality aside, Ghost Boy didn’t enjoy the presence of humans, both electronically and in the flesh. He’d vanish into the digital void for weeks on end, collecting love letters and invitations in his virtual post-box. He sat in his pigeonhole bedroom in solitude, silently watching his pile of digital letters accumulate until he was unable to avoid these desperate attempts at communication any longer.
His absence left us all feeling trivial and inadequate at times, yet he drew people in like unobservant lambs being led to metaphorical slaughter. Polaroid pictures depicting a cold-hearted, evil boy with warm, gentle hands; hands that gripped thighs and embraced the bodies of those who adored him. Did he know that he was so mysterious and alluring? Was his intention always to seduce and destroy?
Like a puppeteer with his strings, he played his friends and lovers like fools. His push-pull relationships left his victims feeling doubtful and rejected, for him only to entice them back with an affectionate embrace and heartfelt pillow talk. Ghost boy knew that no matter how long he’d disappear for, that his admirers would come crawling back for more; justifying his absence and apathy towards them.
He’d say that he would rather die than get too close; ironic for an already deceased soul to have such morbid wishes. Nevertheless, he slithered his way into the arms and beds of his admirers who embraced this broken, empty boy with little effort. It wouldn’t be long before he’d soon fade away into the background of those who adored him. He took all of the unconditional love that he could carry in his arms before consciously abandoning those who cared for this ghoul the most. He unplugged his digital window from our screens and deleted his presence from the world.
Now, Ghost Boy is nothing but a distant, immortal memory that still to this day, burns like a fire pit that once was lit. I wonder about him a lot. I hear he’s doing well. I hope that whoever has the privilege of holding this empty soul, has the ability to bring him back to life more so than I ever could.
3 notes · View notes