i’m on a beach and its wet. i can’t escape the mist. it’s damp and uninviting. yet i’m still here. dealing with it whether i like it or not.
i’m digging with my hands. there are two other women with me. one is twice my age and has beach blown sandy hair. she’s probably been doing this for a while. the other woman is faceless. anonymous. but her presence is definitely felt. the sand is wet and keeps getting stuck under my nails. it seems strange to me why we’re doing this here. with our hands. the graves are shallow. and we bury them on their backs. face up. facing the heavens. eventually, the ocean will swallow and carry them out to sea. not the most secure burial but i didn’t make the rules. we’re still here. doing it whether we like it or not.
as my hands become raw from constant exfoliation, i hope for some kind of relief. a shovel. a shell. anything. my hands need a break.
in my lucidity, an object appears. looks like a shell. tan. shiny. oily. everything becomes bright. i’m not fighting to keep my eyes open. the woman with the knotty hair is screaming. crying. in shock. misery. rays of light pierce my eyes. why is this woman wailing?
the object is connected to something larger. a foot. attached to a small girl. but her face is down. she’s been here for at least a week. the ocean failed to swallow her up and take her out to sea. how could we have missed it? now i’m traumatized. maybe the woman next to me is rubbing off. i begin to join her in mourning. why is she lying face down?
the light gets brighter and my eyes can no longer bear it.
i’m awake. but i’m still not in my bed. i’m in my friends bed. again. this time in a very old house. it’s huge and i know it’s haunted. i can feel dead woman with me and she is full of despair. this is her room. and i am her guest. she has long black hair with no face. and she’s wearing a night gown.
i’m on the 4th floor and the windows are open. the breeze is comforting but it sends chills down my spine. just like her.
i’m meeting my friend at church. the one who’s house i’m staying in. she’s left me a note. the note tells me to go to the basement and grab money for the collection plate. the money is on the laundry machine in an envelope. i don’t wanna go down there so i send someone else. the whole house freaks me out. i only feel safe in my friends room where i’ve made friends with the ghost.
i walk down the creaky wooden stairs and escape the house. ready to go to church. i’m in the street. driving. drifting away. looking up at the 4th floor through the open windows. hoping to catch a glimpse of her. i’m scared of what i might see. everything in the room is viciously blowing around. and i see her long black hair dancing with the wind. i blink my eyes in disbelief. she is gone. and now all i can see are plants. and they are dancing in the wind.