I was a commoner like any other, a person performing in the great stage of life. I had a job, a home, a life.
Until it was taken away from me. Forcibly.
Standing in front of myself, I had no knowledge what to do next. Death seemed to come like a blur, changing my world from a colorful sea of wonder to a dark, grim scene of pain. As I pondered what comes next, the Light stopped me.
"Life does not end with death." the voice asked, a woman's.
"Who says that?" I asked, looking around the colorless world I now move into.
"It is I who guide the reborn anew."
As she spoke, she appeared, shining like a brilliant beacon in front of me.
"Will you guide me?"
"Nay, for you are not yet prepared. Fate has played a cruel trick upon you and more are in store."
"What is to be done?"
"Tell me, young man - what is it you do?"
"I was a writer."
"Are. You are a writer."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Wander the worlds, revisit the past, explore the present, and delve into the future. Bear witness to wondrous things both good and evil, and then capture them in words."
From her words appeared a black journal and a silvery pen. I opened its contents with a ghostly hand, and found its black pages empty.
"A hundred days. A hundred stories. Let your mind and soul wander to the deepest reaches and fill its barren pages with all that you witness." the voice continued. "Now sign its very first page with what you wish others to see as its author."
The Light vanished as mysteriously as it came. As I held the black journal with one hand, the silvery pen in the other, words that flowed from my mind coursed through the pen like blood, wounding the obsidian pages as its argent tip passed my very first thoughts on it.
"The Ghost Writer"
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