Second chances

It’s quite simple – I’m a ghost. I don’t care if you believe in ghosts or not, I am what I am and what I am, etc, etc. I’ve been this way for some years now, since I bumped into a wall. I say bumped, perhaps I should clarify that I was contained in a lump of metal called a car and was travelling at 75 miles-per-hour. It’s those kinds of details that make a difference.

I can’t prove that I’m a ghost and not just some figment of the imagination. Well, maybe I can. Let me give you some instances and then you can judge for yourself.

You ever seen a girl on the dance floor of your local club giving it her all on her own when she appears to be dancing with someone else? Or, perhaps your own girlfriend or wife has woken up in the morning and told you she dreamt about having glorious sex all night? You’ve all seen a certain president look like a startled rabbit with a gaze that suggests someone has just shoved something up his arse? I don’t think I need to spell it out.

Well, I was quite happy in this interim state. I liked floating about, shagging your significant other, dancing with the pretty girls (not to mention having a sly grope now and again) and putting the ‘wind’ up heads of state, let me tell you. Nothing could have made me change this way of… erm, death. Or so I thought.

Now, you’ve got to admit that being dead has its perks: no more taxation; no more having to deal with colleagues that in any other century would have been locked away or burned at the stake; no more shopping for food or taking public transport. No more sleeping, eating, shitting or pissing. Oh, the death. Love every minute of it, if I have to be honest.

And, honest I am. I’m not one of those ghosts that cause harm – girls get to dance, you get a surprise blow job from the other half and I like bringing an element of surprise to state matters. I like to make things fun, do stuff that I would never have been able to do when a mere mortal.

What they don’t tell you in the ghost manual (we all get one given to us as soon as we pass over from the living) is that you are still susceptible to human emotions. This is the bitch. You feel guilty, horny, happy and sad. And yes, you do occasionally fall in love.

This brings me to my current conundrum. She’s amazing, the most beautiful woman your brain can conjure up and much more besides. She’s so gorgeous I haven’t even attempted to touch her! Okay, I’ve had a sneaky peek, who wouldn’t in my position? I’ve never met anyone like it before and I’m not sure I will again. So, what do I do? Shall I kill her and bring her to my side of things and see if I can get her to fall for me? Something tells me that this approach is doomed to failure. I mean, if someone killed you, the last thing you’ll feel is an undying love for them. Pardon the pun.

Which is why, as soon as the offer was made to me I decided to grab it with both hands.

Let me introduce David. What do you mean you don’t know him? Let me jog your memory: God, Mohammad, Buddha, Maitreya, whatever you might know him as. Well, out here we don’t go for the formal naming, we like to be friendly and informal. So, we call him David. Calling him Dave is somewhat taking the piss, so that’s how we refer to him behind his back. That’s another fallacy – he is not all-seeing. Get him out to the nightclub, though, and I can assure you he does actually move in mysterious ways.

I digress. I was having my usual espresso in the morning when David came in. Someone closed the door behind him and muttered something about it being a windy day. He came straight over to me, sat down and said: what would you say to a second chance?

I was bowled over. In the time it takes to say yes I’d said… yes. Turns out I didn’t like this ghost business all that much, not since I’d seen her. I wanted that second chance like some men want a pair of tits (I grant that some men do have them) or a harem of lovely ladies to satisfy their every desire. Or, like some women want more shoes and bags.

We poured over catalogues, looking at the recently deceased who’d passed up the chance to be a ghost and taken the easy way out and ascended to the twelve floor suites, known as Heaven. Granted, some pressed the wrong button and ended up in the boiler room, but stupidity doesn’t leave you when you die. Sorry to break that one to you.

Finally, I found one I thought was perfect. Within days I was in David’s house and we were preparing for the swap. I was nervous, as you’d expect, but I wanted to go through with it like nothing else I’d ever wanted in my whole death – or my whole life come to think of it. In a flash it was over.

I woke up in a strange bed (okay, I admit that’s happened before) and opened my eyes. Turning over I was apprehensive. Who was sharing this bed with me? Had it all turned out right? Please David, don’t let me be next to an ugly pig with bad breath.

But, I needn’t have worried. David is thorough if nothing else. I must thank him for giving me another chance. I’ve got a bone to pick with him, though. What was the sarcastic bastard thinking when he gave me a lisp and a dodgy eye?