Ghost

You know something is wrong the moment you open the door to your apartment. As yellow light from the hall pours in, glowing against wooden floorboards and your form cutting a deep shadow, you hesitate. 

There’s a shallow breathing coming from within.

You step inward, closing the door before feeling around for the light switch. Click. There’s a hitch between wet breaths of air, followed by a low whimper. You set your shoes to the side and step past the entryway. The scene becomes clear. 

He struggles to live on your floor. Hands pressed heavy against his side, life slipping through his fingers and staining your floor– he looks up at you. The ceiling light catches in his eyes, watery and red, as aggression changes to recognition and recognition to elation.

He smiles at you. The motion is hindered by the very beginnings of swelling on his cheek. There’s blood on his teeth, a thin coat of it.

Like this he looks pathetic. Equivalent to some domestic dog that ran away in defiance, only to come back, scratching at your door, begging for your embrace. And as he looks at you with this unabashed joy, you think: No– he’s less than that. He is man, deceiving and ignorant, believing himself to be above reason when he is, in truth, beyond it. 

“M–” he coughs as his voice catches onto his next breath. He curls into it, hunching over himself as his grip loosens, before pressing again. The pooling blood grows and stains the edge of your carpet. You’ll have to get rid of it after this.

“Vincent,” you say, deciding to speak up before he tries again.