Amara sits still…

Amara sits still, lost in trance. A pale spectre forms behind her. It’s face an ashen white, except for the two black stars over each eye. I count the rays. Eight. I search my mind for references, metaphors, similes, anything that could give meaning to the symbolism. The lips are feminine, as is the demeanour.

I am frozen in terror. I watch Amara with a mixture of awe and horror. This is not my world. What am I doing here? Amara’s calm is the only thing keeping me from running. I watch as her lips move silently. I watch as the entity moves back and forth as if whispering in Amara’s ear.

I take out the flask of spiced rum from my pocket… unscrew the top and drink deeply… I look up to see Amara and the spirit looking directly at me… I stop drinking and slowly return the flask to my pocket… they both resume their conversation… okay… no alcohol… I must remember… no alcohol… even the spirits do not approve of alcohol… that sounds like an oxymoron… no matter… I drink too much anyway… maybe it’s time to stop… hmmm… never said that before…

My self-indulgent thoughts are broken by the broken glass and the racist words of the ignorant. I look to Amara. Her expression tells me this isn’t the first time. I look to the spirit… I see only her rage and I feel… justice… a swirl of movement and the entity is with those responsible… but then I feel… remorse… guilt… are their deaths on my conscience..?

I need to be better than this…