On my desk sits the skull of a woman no longer present. Another nameless body desecrated for medicine, for the better lives of others. A lifeless bone witness to countless stories soon to be completely forgotten, eliminated. If anything, I gave her a name, Felicia. We have spent a lot of nights together, me studying and writing, she watching over me. Sometimes, when I’m high on pot listening to Vivaldi’s cello and violin concertos, I would put a little flash light inside Felicia and turn my room lights off, Felicia comes to life and talks to me through Vivaldi’s music. I never understand what she says, it gets scary, but we’re friends.

The worst thing about afterlife is that there is no evidence whatsoever in its favor. I will probably never get to know Felicia, that’s how far apart we are.

I never pictured Felicia an old lady on her death bed, in my daydreams she appears vigorous with the spirit of a little girl in her summer holiday, excited to explore life, curious about places to go; a spirit bound only by her imagination. I think she loved, or would have loved, Vivaldi.

A girl I had over last weekend danced jokingly with Felicia, she shared a joint with her. Stoned, I sat watching them with fascination while some psychedelic trance blared through my speakers. As I made love to the girl, Felicia haunted her body, with the help of pot and dim lights I came extremely close to feeling her flesh on my skin, her breath on my face.

Reconstructing facial features from the skull is no easy work, it took me, three fellow doctors, and a computer 3D modeler two solid days of work. The result is not fully accurate of course, the lady in the printout is not necessarily the dead woman, it’s Felicia. She’s in her mid-thirties, caucasian, of average beauty. We gave her black eyes and black hair.

I began asking people everywhere I go, whenever possible, if they have seen the woman in the picture, I don’t know what I was expecting, some said she looked familiar and some gave me names, but stalking random women in pursuit of a ghost didn’t seem like a good idea.

Out of desperation I called on god, of course he didn’t answer, neither did the devil. It’s funny how when you question the presence of god in your life his existence dissipates into nothingness, he has never been there, never helping nor harming, he always gets credit from the actions of others, an identified being haunting the reality of others. I will look for Felicia in every woman I meet, I will give her my sleepless nights and lucid dreams, she will live in my mind’s silence. Like the gods we create and the prophets we revere, friends in our weird worlds.


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