Dying to live

Once a simple man named Leonard, he found himself on an unsettling path of spectral existence, a world starkly different from the tangible one he had known. His death wasn’t sudden, but the realization of it certainly was. He discovered his ethereal abilities when he walked through a wall for the first time. The rush of cold, the eerie tranquility, they were feelings unparalleled.

Leonard’s newfound abilities allowed him to observe humanity at its most authentic, an all-seeing specter in a world of closed doors. What he saw shook him to his very non-corporeal core. He witnessed a husband’s unfaithfulness, a woman crying into her pillow at night, a child being bullied, the lonely elderly, and countless other instances of pain, suffering, and betrayal. Hidden horrors, veiled by facades of normalcy during the day, unfolded unfiltered before his transparent eyes.

His perspective shifted radically as he observed the world in all its unmasked, raw reality. The people, their pain was enormous and unbearable, amplified by the solitude that accompanied it. He understood that these weren’t merely instances, but a part of life’s cruel, merciless cycle.

The sight of their suffering, their vulnerability, their real selves when alone, was almost unbearable. He realized why the world wept with such vehemence, its tears soaking the soil, yet unable to wash away the pain. The man, the observer, had become an unwilling participant in a parade of pain, powerless to comfort, to reach out, to console. The agony of being a silent, invisible presence was a sharp, constant sting.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He was as much a part of the scene as the suffering, a spectator chained by his powerlessness. Even death could not liberate him from the torment, for he was stuck in the grey realm between life and death, the painful reality and the peaceful oblivion.

And then, he understood why people fought so hard to live, to stay a part of the chaotic, yet blissfully ignorant world. In life, you do not see the horrors that lay behind closed doors, hidden in the shadows of smiles, tucked away behind the bravado. Life was a masquerade, a spectacle where reality was often pushed to the background, and he missed it.

With a heavy heart, Leonard bore witness to the humanity’s concealed torment. As he saw their pain, their struggles, he saw their strength as well, their resilience in the face of hardships. It was painful, it was heartbreaking, but it was also illuminating. He realized that the true essence of living was in the courage to face the unknown, to endure the pain, and to emerge stronger. And with that, he finally understood the true meaning of his spectral existence: to observe, to understand, and, most importantly, to remember.

Lord Byron