My Endless Death — A Macabre Story

Siri Khalsa
My Life, Art, and More
2 min readSep 25, 2021

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This short story is about a person’s afterlife. A ghost trapped and haunting their old home.

Here I am. Here I think. Here I feel. Endlessly…

I sometimes see myself—my reflection in a mirror. At least, I think that is me. I feel as if I have been here before. I am not entirely sure where I am or who I am. I am a thought, at least. This, I am sure. I am an endless fold of ideas. I morph and change and crash into something new. Endlessly. I do not think I can stop.

I can sometimes see or picture where I am. Is this a house? The white linoleum floor of a 1960s kitchen? Stained yellow from age and cigarette smoke? An old refrigerator humming along tucked beneath old yellow cabinets. Old brown carpet holding up an old brown couch. I remember this place. I have been here before! I must have. I know where I am.

I am home. Here I am.

Is that me sitting at the kitchen table? An old man? Alone? I must get closer to see. To feel. To think. I get closer. My endless flow of thoughts. I feel them crash over the man. So many new senses. Touch! Smell! I look down to see my old wrinkled arms. My callused hands from years of hard work. I feel important. I finally belong. No more searching. No more anxiety to understand. This man must be me!

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Siri Khalsa
My Life, Art, and More

This is a thought I think. What exactly is a thought I think. It must be what I am thinking. Creative writing, maybe poems, maybe art, and … maybe technology?