I’m hallucinating, today.
Last night I fell asleep under the influence of this strange and sweet liquor, Liquor 43 it’s called. Before I slept, the world was normal, but this morning it was surreal. The window was frosted over so I never looked outside before venturing out.
But I could swear as I walked down Maxstrasse, I saw ghosts. Ghosts strolling through the streets, ghosts whispering together as they walked past me. Something was terribly wrong. I had walked right into another reality – where all of them were dead, these people – all of them were spirits. Life was in monochrome, fading in and out like the reception from a 1986 Sony Trinitron – like the little one that used to sit in the living room when I was four. But in 1986, I wasn’t even born. These must be someone else’s memories.
Lost in thought, I never saw him sneaking toward me – a particularly nasty ghost, grey blood pouring from his mouth and the bottom of his ghostly eyes a well of dried tears. “Whore!” He was screaming. Was he screaming at me? He lunged at me and I braced myself for the charge. But it never came.
He had gone right through me.