The Crying Ghost

Life is both splendid and tragic. We exist alongside loneliness and death, illuminated by moments of glory. The melody of the other shore is chilling, like a song.

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When I was thirteen, I saw a person leap from a high building, drawing a graceful arc through the air before crashing heavily onto the hard cement ground, emitting a series of dull, crushing sounds as their bones shattered. Their eyes, bulging like a dead fish, and the white brain matter, along with the soft, twisted, and deformed flesh, were all vividly etched in my memory.