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That’s Richmond for you. Everywhere you step, there’s another history lesson just under your feet. This whole city’s a graveyard. You’re standing on graves no matter where you go.
Now we’re stranded in that liminal space between childhood and adulthood, which most days feels like being stuck somewhere between the living and the dead.
But sometimes the best kind of help a friend can offer is to just stop helping.
Here’s the straw, here’s the camel’s back. Listen to it snap like a goddamn bone.
But this is a ghost story. A ghost is someone caught in a loop, doomed to repeat the same actions over and over again. So who’s the real ghost here? Who’s haunting who?
What’s left of our friend is nothing more than a shadow of his former self. A phantom. Silas was a ghost long before he passed away.
“We’ve gotten haunted houses all wrong. It’s people who are really haunted.”
“They’re lost souls. Spirits with no house to haunt.” “Well, they should fucking rent like the rest of us.”
What is a ghost? Is it a shadow of our past clinging to our present? I believe it’s our addictions. The habits we form that end up consuming us if we allow them to take over.