You'd Look Better as a Ghost

by Joanna Wallace

The little girl turns away and stares at each raindrop hitting the windscreen. Each one so free. Free to fall. Free to be.

Maybe if I sprint as fast as I can for as long as I can, I will outrun all thought. Leave everything far, far behind. I run and I run and at the end, I’m exactly where I started.

Anyone who describes murder and suicide as a funny turn gets my vote.

Maybe that’s the cornerstone of motherly love—a belief that the happiness of a child overrides everything else, even the truth.

I sit perfectly still and watch her in silence. Stillness and silence. The most underrated weapons in any given armory. People will do anything to avoid the discomfort created by stillness and silence.

“Is it possible that a person can present an image to the world that is so completely at odds with who they truly are?” Yep.

I’ve always been fascinated by this particular aspect of human nature—the insatiable need to be envied and admired.

I stare at this disgusting exhibit of ordinariness and wonder

I’m not sure why but I quite like the heron today. Is it possible I like making her laugh? What’s wrong with me? I need to snap out of