[open] no one's listening anymore

[spectra]

Spectra

Is she dead, too?
The ghost shakes her head.

The ghost notices immediately when the fangs recede, when they turn dull. One half of her is ghost, one half of her is horse. There is no viper. If she stepped back into the living body, there would be no scales, there would be no reptilian eyes. (But there would still be the pain of hunger and of thirst.)

No, the ghost is not dead.

“No, sister,” the ghost tells Tirza, her tone mournful. So mournful. “No, Tirza sister, ghosts cannot die.” She has longed for death. She has begged for it. But this is as close as the ghost has gotten, hidden away from the hunger. Still, she is not protected from the sadness of it. She is not protected from the Memory.

She inches closer to Tirza sister and lays her ghost head on the living hip. The only living thing for so many miles. The only living thing except for the Memory. “You and me and the Memory are the only living things in the whole world.” 

The ghost closes her eyes. She slips back into her corporeal form, the solid equine form, no longer the viper. She swallows and it burns all the way down her throat. Oh, it burns something so dreadful and she slides back into her ghost skin. 

“It is such a terrible thing, to be alive,” she mutters, “I am so tired, Tirza sister.”

ALL I WANT IS BEACHES FULL OF DEAD BIRDS. A FLOOD OF LIMBS
WASHED UP ONSHORE. SEASCAPES SPARKLING BRIGHT WITH BONE

@[Tirza]