I’m not what you think I am

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write about “a surprising discovery.” 

This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is currently in Berlin, Germany, doing her best to catch up with semi-abandoned writing projects. Her YA novel “Mi chiamo Elisa” was published in Italy by “Le Mezzelane Casa Editrice” in September 2020.

Image by Don White from Pixabay 

 

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I’m not what you think I am

by Chiara De Giorgi

 

We have to stop talking to each other like this.

I agree.

You do?

Of course!

We should finally meet face to face.

I’m tired of instant-messaging.

Oh, er… That is not what I meant.

No? Wouldn’t you like to meet me?

I thought you would…

It’s not that. You know I would very much like to meet you.

Then what is it? I don’t understand.

The truth is… I can’t meet you.

I mean, you can’t meet me.

Well, we can’t meet.

Not clearer, sorry. 

And I’m getting worried.

You really shouldn’t.

Then what is it? Did I do anything wrong?

Are you a criminal?

Oh my God!

Are you going to jail?

Why would you think that?!

I don’t know!

You’re acting so mysterious, what am I even supposed to think?

If you want to break up, you should just say so.

It’s not like you need to make up some weird excuses anyway.

I am not making up excuses.

And we’re not breaking up.

Of course we’re not.

What is there to break up in the first place?

We aren’t anything, after all.

I don’t even know what you look like, for goodness’ sake.

Can you be more self-conceited?

And one more thing.

What?

I don’t know, I forgot.

Can I tell you why we can’t meet in person, now?

And why we must stop talking like this?

I suppose.

Come on, don’t be upset.

Please. Let me explain.

I swear there’s a very valid reason.

I wish there weren’t.

Alright, alright.

Sorry for the harsh tone.

I am not upset.

Tell me.

So, here it is.

TYPING…

Hey, you’ve been typing for forever.

What’s going on?

TYPING…

Dude, come on!

TYPING…

This is ridiculous.

TYPING…

I’m logging out.

Wait!

I am a spirit.

What?

I am not of this world.

Is that a metaphor?

Are you into some cult?

It isn’t a metaphor.

I am a ghost, I died several years ago.

I know all the words you’re using

But I don’t understand the way you’re putting them together.

I am about to cross to the other side.

That is why we can’t go on talking like this.

I’m sorry.

You are the only thing I am sorry to leave behind.

Can you please say something that makes sense?

Let’s try this.

Here's a name and some coordinates.

You’ll be able to see for yourself.

Sure, I am going to the cemetery as suggested by a stranger I met on the internet.

How stupid do you think I am?

Go there any time you like.

Today, tonight, tomorrow, in a week.

It’s all the same to me.

I am not going anywhere yet.

You mean I’ll be able to see you?

No. But I think you’ll be able to feel me.

That doesn’t sound sinister at all.

I am never going to hurt you.

Please, trust me.

I wish I could see you before I leave forever.

I am bringing pepper spray.

And I’ll have the police on speed dial.

If it makes you feel safer.

It does.

Come on.

You must know how your invitation sounds like.

I guess. 

Are you coming?

I am. 

But I’m not telling you when.

Fair enough.

Until then.

~~~

- Well, here I am. I looked up the name you gave me. It is the name of a boy who died in a car accident seven years ago. He was fifteen at the time, which makes you twenty-two now. You know I'm a minor, right?

PING!

I am still fifteen.

And I am so happy you are here.

Thank you for coming.

Where are you?

My body is underneath the grave ledger.

I am all around you.

Can you feel me?

Isn’t this the wind?

And how can you type?

It isn’t the wind.

Look at the leaves, and at the grass blades.

They are still.

And I don’t need to type.

Cool.

I guess.

Sorry.

No offense.

None taken.

It’s been nice to text with you.

I am going to miss it.

Do you really need to go?

I will miss it, too, but I need to go.

My grandma recently passed, and she’s been looking for me ever since.

I have to go to her.

Okay.

Once I’m there, I won’t be able to text anymore.

Yes. I understand.

But I won’t forget you.

When you cross, I’ll come see you, okay?

Ah, well.

I hope it will happen many years from now.

I will be old and crumpled.

You won’t recognize me.

I will.

Age doesn’t matter on the other side, as there is no time.

Cool. So I guess this is goodbye.

It is. Goodbye, sweet friend.

Goodbye to you.

Safe trip.

 

*****

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/