Kimberly Gould Week 38: Lost Soul

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Kimberly Gould’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Lost Soul

I walked along the trendy shopping avenue. It was almost uncanny how easily I could weave through the other shoppers. It made it easier to admire window displays, listen to buskers, look at art on the street.

Some might call painting on the temporary wall vandalism, but I thought it was beautiful. The colors were varied and contrasting, the lines crisp in places, blurred in others. The riot reflected the avenue so well. The artist paid tribute to the bustling, shifting, ephemeral nature of the ave. Nothing here was permanent. The clock store was likely to never open again, despite the wiggly arm encouraging customers to enter. The facade was being replaced on the old hotel, trying to hold onto the past when it was inevitable that things would change.

There, under the awning, a cold feeling rushed over me, someone walking over my grave.

I looked back, but saw nothing unusual. I looked forward - nothing. I looked up. There was a dark patch in the awning.

I screamed as I was suddenly lifted upwards, my dark skirts swirling around my legs. Whatever had grabbed me, dropped me on the awning, right on that dark patch.

“Look. See. Understand.”

I covered my ears against the resonating voice. It didn’t help. The voice seemed to be inside my head. I brushed back my long dark hair and looked at my pale hands, trying to comprehend. The awning was dry, but the patch made it appear wet. I pulled my hand back and looked at it, expecting it to be damp.

It was red.

The avenue disappeared. The people that had narrowly avoided me were gone. The art capturing the fleeting nature of life melted away. I looked up at the hotel, at the window on the seventh story with yellow tape on the window.

“Understand.”

I understood. I was dead.

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Kimberly Gould is the author of Cargon: Honour and Privilege and the upcoming Thickness of Blood. She can be found most places as Kimmydonn, including Kimmydonn.com

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