the visuals of grief (2026)it looks like iced tea bottle caps(for as much as it confused the onlookers,as we played 'hockey' on our wooden table;back when they were sold in glass)and it smells like those greasy fried noodles,in styrofoam clamshells, andthe chemical air from the nail salon down the hallin the old mall's foodcourt, which is nowa relic of the past; the noodle shop, probably haunted it looks like the orange wrapper,of a peanut and chocolate candy(as much as mother wanted you to,and as much as she dreaded that sugar rush;you never did forget how much i loved those-)that you'd bribe me with after schoolso i would help you carry the groceries,from your beat up pontiac sunfirewhile your favourite rock n' roll blared from the radio it looks like the butcher's peach paperthat kept your favourite meats and produce fresh,(for as unhealthy as they were,and for as much as you coveted your lunch;you always shared it with me, after some pleading)you really did love that deli, and those sausagesthe shop of which is still there,and i wonder if they remember you,if they do, i hope it's with the same fondness as i. and it looks like burnt banana bread, and dried out steakswe ate it anyway, because it was always made with love,pancakes on a sunday, and mint candies in your glove compartment,and hair fading with age, and blue eyes, and a crooked grin- then suddenly, everything i took for granted,just like you, it was gone too soon.and so nothing ever looked the same again.little momentsHe’s four when he realises he isn’t quite like the other children his age. His frail hands, yet unmarked by war or weaponry, shake when he reaches for his mother’s own, and he stumbles and trips over himself and has trouble carrying anything too heavy. He often goes to bed exhausted and wakes up cold and shivering, and some part of his young mind wonders if there’s something wrong with him. Why isn’t he as strong as his peers? Why isn’t he allowed to play with them yet? He does not know why he’s so tired but he wants to become stronger one day. — He’s six when he sees his father cry for the first time. He wakes in the middle of the winter night, awkwardly waddling to the door of his tiny room, his favourite blanket in tow. He peeks around the wall and sees his father sitting by the hearth, head in his hands, his shoulders quaking. He doesn’t understand that he will never see his mother again. He doesn’t understand that every time his father looks him in the eyes, he sees the woman he loved so dearly. Oblivious to his father’s grief, he throws himself into the man’s lap, and stares up at him. Why are you sad, he asks, his green eyes wide and round. His father doesn’t respond, instead falling silent and then embracing him fiercely, as if his son is the last thing keeping him alive. He’s not sure why his father is crying but he wants to make him happy again. — He’s fifteen when he realises the body he was born in isn’t his. He quickly learns to avoid his reflection, to change quickly, to hide himself and the inner turmoil he’s feeling. He begins to despise bathing, seeing his bare skin and face in the water becomes distressing. He wishes he could tell someone but he’s too afraid. His mind harkens back to feeling as if there was something wrong with himself, even as a child. Why does the very thought of being in front of a mirror petrify him? He wishes he understood why his body now feels like a prison but he’s not sure he ever will. — He’s eighteen when his world is turned upside down. His father takes his last breath as he screams, begs, pleads for him not to leave his son behind. He sits by the bedside for hours more, his father’s voice now silent and his hands, stone-cold. Everything hurts. His mind becomes a whirlwind of dark, pained thoughts and he spirals over and over and over. He forgets to eat, he isolates himself, he refuses to leave the home his family once shared. He begs and prays for a miracle to bring his father back but deep down, he knows his cries will ultimately be unanswered. — He’s twenty five when he loses the last things he held dear. He’s dragged off across the river by his bound wrists, and he hangs his head, blood dripping from his brow from the strike of a halberd. His chest aches and his eyes sting with tears. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s seemingly forgotten how to speak and he closes his eyes, shaking his head, berating himself for being such a failure. How could he let the people he vowed to serve go unprotected? He tries to find the words, a sorry, a reassurance, anything, but he can’t. — He’s not much older when a merciful death comes for him and he wonders. He wonders if it was all worth it.SpiritsToday, a day without anything I need to do, I decide to make some tea in my office as I wait for anyone to come in with any problems that need a detective to solve it. A woman frantically runs into my office,worried look on her face, and tries to tell me what is happening to her, but she’s unable to clearly speak about what she’s so frightened about. “Hey, I know you’re panicked right now, but I can’t understand what you’re trying to tell me if you don’t slow down.” I said. “GHOST! MY HOUSE!! MESS!!” The woman stammers out. “I see” I exclaim as I take out my notebook. “And what else can you tell me?” “I’ve – I’ve been dealing with this for a w-week” The woman takes a deep breath “And I j-ust can’t deal with it a-any more” I nod as I write down the important details. “And did anything of note happen around a week ago that would have your house be haunted?” There is a moment of uncomfortable silence until the woman in front of me speaks. “For whatever reason, I don’t remember last week. Everything before and after that I remember, but it’s just.. last week I can’t remember.” “Interesting… Is it possible that I can go to your house to check out what is going on there?” The woman nods her head. “Wait, I forgot to ask for your name” “It’s Julia” “Julia, it’s time to figure out why that ghost is haunting you” Once Julia and I arrive at her house, we could already hear the noise of the ghost. Julia was clearly nervous about this, less nervous than in the office, but still nervous. “Are you ready to go in?” I blurted out in the silence. “There’s no other choice, is there?” Julia muttered out. We both go into her house and I take out a piece of paper and a pencil. If this ghost can move things around, it surely can write stuff. “If there really is a ghost in here, then write down why you’re here” exclaimed. We wait around for a few seconds until the pencil starts moving and writing something down. The ghost wrote down “Friend”. “Friend? But I don’t remember any of my friends dying recently.” Julia confusingly said. “Remember how you said that you don’t remember last week? The friend who’s dead could’ve died that week and you just don’t remember it.” I pointed out. “Maybe the trauma of losing a close friend is the reason that you lost some of your memory. Let’s ask the ghost about who they are. We watch as the ghost decides to write “Guess” onto the paper. I’m used to having to search for people’s names. “So, Julia, have any of your friends or family not responded to any of your texts recently?” “Um… Let me check…” Julia looks through her phone. “It doesn’t appear that any one of my contacts haven’t responded to me.” “Do you know any one who would frequent your house? That will narrow down the list.” “The only two are my boyfriend Merlin and my best friend Krystal. I’ve only seen Merlin in person this week, so I have no idea if Krystal is still alive.” “Why don’t you call your friend Krystal to see if they’re still alive and wants to come to your house. It’ll prove that they’re either still alive or that they’re possibly the ghost that’s haunting the house.” “Good idea Dee!” Julia calls Krystal on her phone and it goes to voice mail. Again and again. Julia has a sad look on her face, like she’s about to cry. There’s the noise of the ghost writing on the paper. They wrote “I’m Krystal. You guessed right!” I noticed the new writing on the paper and softly stated “Hey Julia, you should look at the paper.” Julia looks at the paper and starts silently crying. “If you were Krystal, Sniff , then why where you making such a mess of my house?” Julia exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’d do such a thing!” “You didn’t recognize me when I became a ghost, obviously.” Krystal wrote down. “I’m sniff Sorry about that. I was so mentally fucked up because of your death sniff That I couldn’t recognize you.” I sit there awkwardly as the two remissness about their time when they were both alive. Part way through, Julia remembers that I’m here and remembers to give me my payment. “Thank you for helping me out, Dee. I don’t think I would’ve found out it was my friend without you.” “You’re welcome!”headphones