Does this mean I don't win the Rotten Egg? -_-
My super duper uber late story has arrived!
Hojoko didn't drink on principle. Nevertheless, the murky substance in front of him looked quite appealing. The ghost knew he was underage. He wondered if that applied to dead people. Well, might as well give it a try. He took a rather large swig of beer, then groaned. The beer had gone right through him, and now formed a desolate puddle. Another limitation.
Hojoko would have been a little over five feet tall, if he still lived. He would have brown curly hair and deep blue eyes, if he still lived. A slightly crooked mouth, if he still lived. Unfortunately, he didn't still live.
Being a ghost is not all it's cracked up to be. Hojoko's biggest disappointment came when he attempted to float through a wall. He ended up with a massive headache and funny stared. Bloody embarrassing! Everyone knew ghosts had no substance. Well, almost everyone. The ghosts all saw right through the lie, if not the wall.
And then Hojoko had his hair. It sat on his head like some old grandmothers wig, writhing and turning like some tentacled beast of old. It could have put Medusa's snakes to shame. It definitely put Hojoko to shame. He'd tried cutting it, but not only had it ripped the scissors apart, it ate the pudgy and now jobless barber's hand. On the bright side, it had learned to play the Ukulele quite well.
Hojoko pondered his new found abilities. Floating, check. Transparency, check. Insubstantialness, nope. Living hair, unfortunately, yes. Ah well. He gave up on trying to regain any of his old life, and floated his way out of the sad little tavern. The original tavern had lost a lot of business when the new tavern opened.
On his way out he bumped into a zombie slayer, who looked at him in a funny way before continuing on his way. That was another thing. Zombies, vampires, werewolves, even bloody living skeletons. They all had slayers of some sort. All ghosts could hope for were sad little mediums, and they didn't even slay. He endured the laughing of the entire undead community. Even the zombies, who ate their own brains the first chance they got.
Another thing puzzled the depressed ghost. Why did he end up a ghost? There were no other ghosts to speak of, and you had to be aristocratic to get the luck of the draw and be a werewolf or vampire. Hojoko would have thought everyone ended up as zombies. Not him though.
While he thought all of this, a piece of paper landed on his head. He reached up and yanked it off before his hair ate it. Something about new moderator, etc. etc.
What the hey, thought Hojoko, as he worked his way through the city, why not go for it?
