Second-Hand Ghost
And as the last distance between them grew,
the ultimate of her childhood slipped through.
Her most precious gift. A hand me down from a ghost. A terrible accident. The end, and an end to a well bashed beginning. She was thirteen. Still eager and high off life when she met her end.
Calm before the storm, the day was serene and hushed at most. The water of the great river, gray and eerie, splurged with laughter as the two girls chased each other each stepping carefully on the unstable jags that littered the waters end. One short and stocky, having the time of her life. The other four years her elder, tall and lean, seemed grim and grumbled about a past dream. The day, presuming and ironic as ever, ticked by quickly. Midday took its final breathes, the turn for low tide commenced. The younger girl, knowing it was dangerous and assuming she was being once again being chased, rushed to exit. Misstepping, she lurched forward, skidding to a sudden halt on her hands and knees; the godforsaken world seemed to plummet.
Confused and slightly agitated, she made her way through the throng of people with varying sun burns, and reached her mother. After that the girl knows not, for in her tiredness, time fell, she had been lost in her own lucid and lively dreams.
She did not see her cousin again that day. In fact, no one felt the clock tick by in her presence until four days following. And even then it was closed casket.
And as the whirlpool that drained the essence, the high of the girl, ghosts still spiral and dance through her dreams. Dreams that haunt her till this day.