History of a ghost: Denver´s death

History of a ghost: Denver´s death

Hi. My name is Denver. Sorry, was; I was murdered a few hours ago. Most people would hate their killer, but I don´t regret anything about last night.

I met Desiree at a Happy hour; we just clicked. That night she was going out with some friends, so we arranged a date for the next day (a Saturday). I went to pick her up at 8 pm at her apartment on 56th Street. She looked stunning; I loved how her lipstick matched her red blouse. We complimented each other looks and afterward, I took her to this Japanese Teppanyaki place I knew, really fancy. As the chef made its maneuvers and the audience clapped loudly, we spoke a bit about everything. Her voice was very soft, yet I could feel her strength on my chest and the fire of her eyes: she was an independent and decided woman. I admit I tended to like damsels in distress, but she was something different. She was a sweet, yet imposing woman that gave me a lot of curiosity.

I insisted on paying for dinner, basing myself on the “I am a gentleman” argument, but she wouldn´t agree. “I am here because I want to be with you, not because I want a reward for my time”, she said. At first, my pride was a little hurt (one part of me wanted to impress her), then I just ignored it: she was indeed one of a kind, at least from the girls I´ve dated. When we were out, I asked her what would she want to do: she suggested to grab a drink at my place because she was getting the floor of her apartment changed and we couldn´t go there.

The conversation went on smoothly. Somehow, I found myself soul-naked, telling her everything about me, even my darkest spots; as I looked into her eyes, I felt like drowning in a sea full of stars. Yes, I was suffocating, but I loved the feeling, just as I was starting to love her. This was all too new for me. In my mind, I could picture myself asking her out again, maybe even having something formal. I don´t know, she felt like a dream I wanted to make real.

One bottle of wine and several confidences later, things got hotter. We approached, I slid my arm behind her shoulder, she started caressing my hair, and “suddenly”, we started kissing. The table, the room, the whole city disappeared: everything melted and turned black, except her intoxicating presence. Out of the sudden, she stood up and went to fill the bathtub. Then, she went back to me, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bathroom. I stripped off and got in the water. My head was still dizzy, I swore I was already panting.

With her clothes still on, she sat on the border of the tub. With a maternal touch, she kissed my forehead softly, leaving a ruby mark on it. I could never imagine the lipstick on my skin as a target until the bullet trespassed my skull. I died immediately. A few seconds later, I saw my body covered in crimson water and Desiree picking up my wallet.

Well, that is how I died. As I said before, I don´t blame Desiree (if that was her real name). After all, I was never a saint: many tears were shed because of my selfishness and my pride. I did a lot of mistakes and I only regret seeing them just now, when I cannot repair them, or at least apologize. All that rests for me is waiting for Tina, my maid, comes and finds me. Maybe I´ll stay to see if someone comes to my funeral and then just wander around this dead and putrid city. Let´s see if I have more success as a ghost than I did as a man.

YSFP