in media dolor

 

 

Camelia glanced out the window again. Yep. It was still there. She tucked her head back down, pretending to stretch out her neck. Why in the hell did the bus have to break down at this particular corner? It had no less than three of those stupid memorials – crosses, plastic flowers, and teddy bears in profusion – arranged on it. One of them had been nailed to a battered telephone pole, the now-gray gouges in the creosote and wood marking where something awful had happened. Cam felt her eyes being drawn back towards the thing. She supposed it was a morbid curiosity. They were so…well, horrible. Spindly arms and fluttering gray flesh all over-topped with scorch mark eyes. WAS it a ghost? Or just the bad feelings about someone’s death, nailed into place with memorabilia? She didn’t actually know, but those things gave her a bad, bad feeling. No one else could see them, as far as she could tell. Under her feet, the vibration of the engine changed slightly. Yay! They were going to get back on the road soon. The rumble ratcheted up another notch and Camelia decided to look at the thing one more time. She turned her head and recoiled in shock. Its face was pressed up against the window, empty sockets with wriggling black holes locked onto her face.

————

 

So, I know this story has some (OK, lots) of issues. But this idea has been bouncing around my noggin for a long time. I wanted to set it down, see what it looked like in words outside my head.
I still like the idea – ghosts nailed into place by loved one’s pain & suffering, marked and held by the little memorial crosses you see everywhere.
I think I am going to play with this idea some more. It may be that it is just too much for a flash or micro fiction piece.

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