It was the church that she always dreamed of getting married in.
The girl glided silently down the aisle, her face the portrait of quiescent bliss. She was downed in a white gown complete with a veil and the light rays which shone through the cathedral’s mosaic windows collected around her figure as a shimmering aura.
But the aura made her pulsate with brightness, almost spookily. And when you looked closely, when the aura was its brightest, she seemed almost translucent. And when you look even closer, you could see that her feet never touch the floor. But you could see the trail of water that drops in her wake. Listen to it. It goes drip… drip… drip…
While walking on the beach you stumble on a valuable object buried in the sand — say, a piece of jewelry or an envelope full of cash.
What do you do with it? Under what circumstances would you keep it?
“Try raising the right hand.”
The frog stood back on its hind legs and half-raised its right hand.
“Now the left.”
The frog slowly lowered its right hand, but instead of raising its opposite hand,
it raised the same hand again.
“Can’t tell left from right?”
The frog sounded a croak, which oozed with exasperation and defiance. It
attempted to obey its orders again, but to no avail. It kept on trying until it
lost its balance and fell over backwards. Nearby, on a stone, sat Caleb- the
other frog that was giving the orders. Caleb monitored its friend, which was now
struggling on its back, with lazy amusement.
“Alright, give it up. Get out of there.”
A vapory mist drifted out of the upside-down frog and collected in mid-air. The
upside-down frog then deftly rolled over and promptly leapt away. The mist then
reformed itself and took the shape of a young female ghost. As soon as her mouth
materialized itself, she spoke, “Now what?”
“We need to return to the beach. There’s something I need to get,” replied Caleb,
still a frog.
“One foot… then the other foot… then the other- OH CRAP!” The duck tumbled over sidewards.
“[Insert string of swear words of choice here]” The duck was unabashed at exhibiting her extensive esotericism of expletives.
“Woah girl! You kiss your mom with that mouth?” A fellow duck waddled over.
“That does not make any sense at all.” The lopsided duck fixed a stare at the other duck that shocked me (the author) because I thought ducks can’t show expression. I was proven very wrong. This duck epitomised the phrase: ‘If looks could kill.’
The other duck flippantly disregarded the look it received. “Are you going to get up?”
“I’m trying but I can’t.”
“Are you going to help me?”
The lopsided duck let out an enormous sigh. “Oh dear Caleb the wonderful, brilliant and greatest duck in the human and spiritual planes, won’t you please help me up?” If ducks have eyelids, this one batted them enthusiastically as if her life depended on it.
Caleb obliged, and while he helped to upright his friend, I thought to myself, if ducks could grin and look smug, Caleb was the most self-satisfied duck I’ve ever seen.
Moral of the story: Projecting human traits onto ducks is a ton of fun.
or her lack thereof. She was sitting on the shore, where the water ebbed and flowed right through her translucent feet.
“I wish I had someone to show me how to be a proper ghost.” She sighed loudly.
“I can help you!” Annabelle heard a jolly, nasal voice come from behind her.
She drifted up and turned to face her back. But there was nobody there.
“Hee hee hee hee!!” The voice erupted with manic cackling.
Then a spot in the sand began to crumble, revealing a small, round hole. Annabelle peered into it, and something within peered back with glossy eyes.
It was a crab! It crawled out into the open and swung its claws outward, as if welcoming Annabelle with a hug. “I’m Caleb!”
“A talking crab?” Annabelle knitted her brows in confusion.
Then a wisp drifted out of the crab, which then scuttled away.
The vapor materialised into a tall and lanky teenage boy. He was all cheeky smiles as he floated into a comfortable ‘Jack-paint-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls’ position from the Titanic, hovering in midair.
“No, silly, I’m a ghost, just like you. And I can show you how to be a proper ghost!”
Night fell and claimed the land with its shadows. She was free to roam once more.
Burgers, she thought, I have an appetite for burgers today.
She left her hair wet and dripping, just how she liked it, and proceeded to don her favorite white gown. She loved the reactions it elicited from passers-by, especially the males.
No, not wolf-whistles and seductive looks. That’s not what she’s about. She’s all about the jumps-of-terror, the petrified looks and the effeminate squeals.
Oh, I love the squeals. I hope I hear one tonight. She smiled wide as she relished in her imagination.
She slipped into the empty passenger seat beside a charming young driver as he collected his take-away set meal.
“Is that a Swiss Mushroom Whopper? My favorite!” She let the scent of warm mushrooms invade her nostrils, which made her mouth salivate and stomach rumble ravenously.
The set meal was now hers, and she retreated to her lake, her home.
Meanwhile, Timmy rushed home, his stomach unsatisfied, his eyes wide with fear, and with a story to tell, but without proof apart from his memory. Oh, and the drenched passenger seat in his car. Annabelle was real sloppy, wasn’t she?