Indie Ghosting

Now that I am dead.

Don't look so shocked. You always knew there was no escape. Always said I'd be back for you.

Well, here I am, a-pageanting through your helpless perception. Two poems a-straining on their leashes. Down, you two! Behave.

No point, Jack. Absolutely no point looking around. Not where I am, silly! I'm here. Yes. Behind .. your eyes.

Now that I am dead.

I've taken to it, Jack love. No surprise there, my life being what it was. But this! O this! The opportunities for mischief! Beyond measure, I can tell you.

I tried out my powers on a taxi driver. He crashed. I was shocked, the thought, shocked. I didn't mean him to. But he did. Seeing my pale face in his rear view.

The power is tremendous. Feel it coursing through me now? So dead, I'm electric!

He didn't die, the driver. I didn't set out to kill him. Though I must admit the thought of expediting another's passage does have a certain novelty appeal. 'Take me to Death, my good man. I tip well, damned well.'

The places I've been to, Jack. Wherever I please. Windsor Castle. The old lady. Because she's there. Curiosity. She sensed I was there, quiet though I was. I think she thought I was death come for her at last. I kept very quiet. I didn't move. I just stood there in the back of her mind, watching. The view through her Britannic majesty's eyes. She knew I was there, alright.

I wander minds. Tis my way. I wouldn't exactly say I haunt them. Do you feel haunted now, love? No, thought not. How could you? I love you, Jack. Still do. Said I would and I still .. do. Love you.
So here I am. Loving you from the great beyond, behind your eyes.

Relax. I said I'd be back. Your pulse is going faster than that..

Sorry, Jack. I know how you felt when I passed. I watched how you were. I realise now you meant all those lovely things you said to me. You know, chickens and children.

If only I hadn't been so stupidly jealous. Things would have been so much easier between us. But then would you have wanted them to be? Honestly now, would you?

I excited you, didn't I? In a dull and disappointing world, your Indie gave you a reason to shave. I'm rather proud of that, actually. Slip of a woman like me with a man like you you! God, I loved you. Yes, I was more intelligent than you. Yes, I was ten times more lucky in my creativity than you.

I always used to think it would end, that my luck would pitter-patter out on me. That's what made me so desperate for another bite of you and another and another. The fear of losing you. How wrong I was!

But then how do and of us ever know? Perhaps it was my crazy fear of losing you, my desperate love that did it for you.

Would you have loved me as you did if I'd been Belgium's number one quilting queen, as calm as a crocheted cloud? Methinks not.

Feeling a little better now? Good boy. I do believe you are. You knew I'd be back. You knew your Indie wouldn't just lie down and die like a loser.

We were winners, Jack. Everything we touched, apart from ourselves. But then the love we made. More than most people make in ten lifetimes. God, we were hot.

Now that I'm dead, I've been wondering how we'd have been had we still been an 'us' at ninety. I think you'd have killed me actually. Or my manic upswings might have driven you over the edge. And that now it would be you ghosting around in my lost mind. Doctor I have a deceased poet's being behind mine eyes. The look on their faces.

Speaking of which, I've been fine since I've been dead. No more annoying cerebral oscillations, existential tipping points. No more of anything actually, but I have to say there is a certain joy in not being all over the place. And, another thing, you notice how delightfully quiet it is once you go ex-body. The gratuitous noise in life is truly awful. Oh yes, death is much less raucous than life's monstrous gannet colony. Pecketty-peck. Heed me, read me.

How do I look, Jack? Come on, in your mind's eye. Focus! How do I look in death? I think my hair suits me longer, don't you? If you like it, I think I'll keep it long. What do you say? Tell me.

Jack, I'm going to do something now. Get ready. I'm going to straddle this synapse. Something tells me..

There. How does that feel?

Something tells me that I can still turn you on, even from the great beyond.

How does this feel? Tell me. It's me Jack Savage, your Indie. Still hot for you, hotter actually. There's been no one else Jack, not before and not since, my death that is. Only you. Can you feel how I am for you, rocking back and forth on this synapse of bliss.

That's it, let me feel you still love me Jack. It's been a while. I've been through a lot. I need you more in death than I ever did in life. Can you cope? I know you found it hard to cope with me in life. Can you cope with me in death? I hope you can because I need you Jack. Kiss me Jack. Kiss me sepulchrally.

That's it my Jack. Sort yourself out for me. I need you too, need to know my womanly power over you lives within you. Do it for me, just do it. I want you to. Go on, your Indie loves you so.

The things they wrote about us, about me, about you. Little did they know! Imagine if they could see us now, engaged in this act of haunting love. Not that I want them to. I know you would, you shameless showman you! But then my body is, ach was, not as drop-dead as yours. You might not be be able to write as good a line as I, but the lines of your ribs! I always loved your ribs the most. My butcher's model you. Even now! Even now, you work me up.

Goooooooood boy, Jack, good boy you, o you.

I confess I've thought of borrowing another's body, taking them over, possessing them for a season, coming to you, Indie re-incarnated, taking you. Some beautiful body, stunning you. Would you like that? And then I'd speak to you through her and you would know it was me, come to you. I'd unleash these two poems into your being. You could write them down, be my amanuensis. You are a man, aren't you?

Save here I am, as I am, your Indie. I wouldn't want you wanting another's body, even with me inside it.

Jaaaaaaack! O Jack. Don't look so sad. There's no need to cry. Don't cry. Please don't cry. You don't want the tears of ghost staining the cushions of your soul. Come on Jack.

Oh no. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Jack. I've upset you. It's all been too much for you. You're still far too alive to cope with my death. I see it. I see it now. I have to go. But I'll be back. Perhaps it will be easier next time. Promise me you won't block me. Promise. Don't block me like some potentially unwanted programme.

The thought of not being able to visit you...

Promise.

Promise Jack! Or this will not end at all well for you - now that one is dead.