Painfully aware of the presence of my Chinese ghost again.
It’s a warm kind of pain. Most odd. Sometimes she disappears and I fall into a
state of mind in which I think she doesn’t really exist. Then she creeps up
behind me and hugs me so hard I can’t breathe for a second.
I’m reminded of a story I wrote a few years ago, one that
hasn’t gone up at the other place yet because it remains unpublished. It
concerns an enigmatic wraith who comes closer and closer as the story
progresses. It starts with my favourite opening line:
My name is Abigail.
Treat me with respect.
The protagonist eventually realises what it means:
Don’t insult me by
believing I’m not real.
So it is with Chinese ghosts. Time for lunch and then a walk
in the cold, October sunshine.
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