Kiteley exercise 101

In today’s exercise, Kiteley asks the writer to speak as a ghost that is overwhelmed with the length of the afterlife or the intimacy that comes with it. I like the idea. I know I could have done it more justice, but here it is for now.

It was only shortly after I died that I realized I should have just walked toward that damn light. Chalk it up to fear of the unknown or a lack of drive, but I just wanted to stay where I was. But I couldn’t just stay there, it wasn’t allowed. After all, if I was meant to be alive, I’d be alive. So here I am, day after day, so far from the unknown that I’ve begun to hate what I know.

I know everything. Everything about everyone. Two nights after I died, I had to get out of my apartment. Janet’s mood alternated from suicidal to jubilant depending on what she had on the television. Though the intricacies of human emotion are not my strongpoint, I think most people would find it hard to understand how a grieving widow can turn off her pain by turning on the cable box.

It was then that I came to avoid my family and friends completely. I’ve always loved to have my own secrets and the idea that they can no longer keep theirs from me is not an avenue I want to explore. There is no give and take any more. I keep hidden while they pour their heart out to what they think is an empty room. How do voyeurs even perceive that what they are doing is exciting?

I’ve been doing a lot of sleeping on park benches these days. The vastness of space and the variety of people allows me to pretend that I’m not invisible. But I am invisible, no matter what. So I hear about the gossip, the butcher is dating the dog groomer and they’re both married. Her cousin is having a baby, his sister is having a lobotomy. It’s all here, inside my head, and I’ve got this to look forward to from now until the end of time. And when exactly will time end?

I’ve developed a fantastic habit for the melodramatic, in case you can’t tell. It’s not that I find myself to be any sadder or more serious now that I’m dead, quite the opposite. It’s dreadfully boring. Deadful is the word I’m using to describe it. I wish I could send that term to the folks at Merriam Webster.

dead-ful [ded-fuh-l] adj. extremely boring, causing great aimlessness, feeling of intimacy with strangers on park benches, derived from state of disenchantment that comes with death

If I could pick up a pen and paper, I’d write it down. If I could lick a stamp, I’d send it in. For now I’ll just head to the dry cleaners and see what kind of stains Rosalind has to combat this week.

The exact exercise can be found on p. 135 of Kiteley's book, I encourage anybody to pick up the book for his or herself.