autobiography of a ghost using 3-4 paragraphs and using brilliant adjective and adverb
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I feel as if I’ve been dead, not for forever, but longer than I can remember. Occasionally, during strange and obscure moments of sobriety, I glimpse bright, fleeting images. I assume these images are from my previous life, before I was a ghost. However, I don’t know that. I suppose, particularly being a ghost, one never really knows anything for sure.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GHOST
THE ETERNITY SHOW
I stood in the wings, in the dark, a thin line of light seeped under the stage’s curtain. It’s enough to reveal the vague, shadowy images surrounding me. Besides the ropes and rigging, the ladders and catwalks, a stern faced woman with a clipboard lit by a small black light and wearing a headset, gripped my arm with a force which belied her thin, spiderlike body.
Pacing nervously in the green room, eating too many chocolate covered peanuts and drinking too much soda, she’d introduced herself as Naomi, stage manager. She would be the one escorting me to the stage.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked, glancing around the tables with their assorted allotment of snacks and beverages.
“No. No,” I said, also glancing around at the menagerie of items, “I think I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” she said with a firm, forceful sincerity, automatically causing me to reconsider my position.
Maybe I was wrong? Perhaps I did need something?
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GHOST
THE ETERNITY SHOW
I stood in the wings, in the dark, a thin line of light seeped under the stage’s curtain. It’s enough to reveal the vague, shadowy images surrounding me. Besides the ropes and rigging, the ladders and catwalks, a stern faced woman with a clipboard lit by a small black light and wearing a headset, gripped my arm with a force which belied her thin, spiderlike body.
Pacing nervously in the green room, eating too many chocolate covered peanuts and drinking too much soda, she’d introduced herself as Naomi, stage manager. She would be the one escorting me to the stage.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked, glancing around the tables with their assorted allotment of snacks and beverages.
“No. No,” I said, also glancing around at the menagerie of items, “I think I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” she said with a firm, forceful sincerity, automatically causing me to reconsider my position.
Maybe I was wrong? Perhaps I did need something?
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