Sangria Ghost

Cameron felt chills. Her own friend’s death was an eerie reminder of her past life. She had escaped that death sentence. But here in her new life she was nothing but a ghost – better off dead. She wasn’t living. No. Not in the slightest.

Drinking sangria in the garden. The summer heat. Bikini clad. Sweat. Glistening. She was alone. In a bubble.

Acted tough – but really was yearning. Yearning to be loved and cared for. Money. Riches. Gucci. No fucking purpose – drains your soul.

Cameron combed her long silky blonde locks. Staring into the mirror. Lost. Why did she jump off that bridge? Why did she have to fall?

Sergei knew nothing. He wouldn’t care anyway – people only pretended to care about the dead they never knew.

The dead were easily forgotten. Cast from thought. But linger in the heart as curses.