Visiting a soul departed from this world. I visualize the pain as energy, an aura underneath. A wandering soul tries to speak to still-living family members. Family members who attend the spirit’s funeral. Standing nearby a closed casket, the spirit remains depleted of emotion. Rifle in hand, seeing it no longer serves a purpose, holds it to the air. Dissolving into a mist of crumbs. Without acknowledging the spirit’s own death, it moves behind the still-living family. Motioning their hand like a magic trick. A mild wind fills the disposition. The only level of communication left to the spirit’s control. “Do they know?” It says. “I’m not sure,” I reply. “Before you arrive here permanently, please tell others what you have learned.” A conjured light, dancing underneath the spirit’s feet, carrying to parts unknown. “Many only have an idea of violence. Few experience it as we have,” the spirit, eyes pointed towards the sky. “Try not to forget. When you wake, up, tell them I love them. Tell them that I’m sorry.” The spirit, guilt ridden, drafting liquid from glimmering eye. The droplet, hovers to the air. Defying gravity, begins a journey upward. Tearing a hole in the cloudy sky. The umbra, shortly following, yet to be seen gain.
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