I pushed him and he fell, his skull breaking on rock and his
body swallowed by the river. He was the one who died
but we both became ghosts tirelessly haunting each other. I
sat in his mother’s garden, told her that it was an accident.
We were playing
and he fell. And it was almost the truth, only I pushed him
and then I followed him into the dark fields. I saw him live
a whole life
in the half-light; he married a pretty corpse girl, had a few
babies, got greyer and greyer. He even had a little affair
with a dark-haired suicide
from the mausoleum across town. He looked happy in his
little stone house.
I want to think he is. I don’t mean to keep calling him back
when he’s having such a good time over there, it’s just
I have trouble figuring out who’s calling out to whom.
Sometimes it seems like it’s both of us standing on
opposite sides of the bridge shouting
ghost come back come back.
Lillian Kwok is originally from Philadelphia and now lives and studies in Sweden. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Hawaii Pacific Review, Off the Coast, NANO Fiction, and other journals. She holds an MFA in writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts.
Illustration by Meghan Irwin.