The Ghost of John

My brother, John, died last Tuesday. A freak incident with salmonella tainted cucumbers. The poor guy puked to death. I know how callous I must seem, to joke so quickly after my brother’s death. But you don’t know the whole story. John’s body died, but he is by no means gone.

You may think I’m speaking of “his spirit living on” but I am being quite literal when I say that he is still here, still cranking out his excel spreadsheets. It gave me quite the fright when I heard the familiar clack of computer keys and not seeing the man who made the strokes. I go throughout my day, watching and listening as john makes coffee, waters the garden, and takes a shower. His car even disappears from the driveway, as he leaves for work.

But how strange I find it, that no one else can see. The idiosyncrasies of John, to them, are not visible. They repeatedly try to “calm” me, telling me that John isn’t here, and that these remnants of my brother are made up by my grief stricken mind. But what they don’t know, is that when they leave, I sit at the carved wooden table, coffee mug in hand, and watch as John makes the coffee yet again.

They don’t know that every so often he speaks, and the voice is as real as the world is round:

“Remember.”

*1st Place Winner in the Flash Fiction category in Glendale Community College’s “The Traveler” (Volume 49)