Ghostland

Chapter 2

If it were not for the enticing roar of the sea, he would be marveling at the injustice of it all. 

At the fact that his friends and brothers are not able to bring him justice, only one of the soldiers who did nothing when he was shot. 

At the fact that only now, as a ghost, is he getting the chance to see the place where his ancestors flourished.

But the sea is shimmering from the lights near the coast, and spray is emanating from it. 

Its smell is unfamiliar to him, salty but more pungent. 

As he skims closer to the sea, he sees that mist covers it like a veil.

His senses are dimmed, but he can still detect the chill colder than a soul not resting when a drop of water hits him.

After the sweat of fear and adrenaline and the smoky heat of that day, he craves it, and suddenly he's frolicking in the sea, dipping in and out of the waves, trying to get enough for a lifetime lost -- until he, again, remembers. 

He pulls himself out of the sea resignedly and remembers the last words he heard. 

"Don't sho-"

He pictures the face of the soldier in his mind and glides through the air, tracing the route as if he has followed it thousands of times.

As he soars through the air, the sense of the injustice of it all ripples through him again, and the wind, as if sensing his pain, howls.

He wants to howl with it too, and for a moment he does, but the howl can't undo the past.

Nothing can.

He sees a soldier dressed in civilian's clothes standing on the balcony ahead, an anguished expression on the soldier's face, and waits a moment, going over what he's going to say in his mind before revealing himself (another cruelty is the fact that he can't reveal himself to those who were at his funeral). 

When he's ready, he imagines that last moment in his head, and the image of him then, eyes wide as the bullet speeds toward him, is projected into the air. 

The soldier gasps, but the ghost pays no mind. 

Instead, he speaks. 

"You know who I am."

The soldier nods, eyes scared and sad, a tear leaking out. 

"I deserve justice."

The soldier displays no new reaction, his expression the same as before. 

"You can get me that justice."

At this, the soldier quakes. Any sign of pity or guilt on his face has been wiped off. 

"I repeat, you can give me justice! Will you?" 

All of his anger floods into his words, and he hates the part of himself that feels desperation as well. 

He looks at the soldier, hoping he has made some kind of difference. 

He is met with a nod.