I was in the grocery store when I saw a man struggling with his groceries. I felt bad when I saw him, but in my ignorance, I walked right past. I did notice that he had no arms or legs or body whatsoever. I could tell just by looking at him that his spirit had been torn from his physical body many decades ago.
When I got to the checkout I saw that there was a long line starting to form behind the man I had seen earlier. People were groaning loudly as he tried to put his groceries on the belt. Every time the translucent man touched his box of macaroni, however, his hand passed right through it.
A bald man near the back of the line slammed his fists on his cart. "Some of us have LIVES to get to." When the bald man said "lives" I could see the ghost's dust-colored lip tremble. His life had clearly ended many years ago.
"It's quite alright," said the young cashier, doing her best to be polite, though I saw a single bead of sweat roll down her temple, then onto her cheek, neck, shoulder, curve around her arm three times, and then off the tip of her finger.
"No it's not alright!" said the bald man. He was yelling now, so loud that everyone around us stopped what they were doing to watch. "I have a football game I need to get to, so I don't have time to be sympathetic towards a situation that I do not fully understand!"
The dead man at the front of the line apologized, clearly flustered. As he spoke I felt a deep chill, as though his voice had come from a frozen lake of the dead. Everyone around me had goosebumps.
If the bald man near the back had goosebumps he didn't show it. "Just go back to your grave," he said scowling, and then muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes, "Phantoms."
At this the lights in the store began to flicker. Everyone in the store gasped. A loud voice spoke, but it did not come from the intercom. Instead it seemed to come from the air, emanating from every one of the minuscule particles that surrounded us. "†Ḩ ̧ ñÖ† JÚ§† Ä þHÄñ†ÖM, ̆ ̧ Ä §þÌR̆ Ö£ †RÚÈ ßRÄVÈR¥ ÄñÐ HÖñÖR."
The bald man was no longer scowling. His eyes were as wide as the apples in his cart. I could tell that he was going to learn a valuable lesson about judging others.
"†HÖ§È WHÖ ÇÖñÐÈMñ †Ḩ §þÌR̆ ÇÖñÐÈMñ ÄMÈRÌÇÄ Ì†§ÈL£. †HÖ§È WHÖ ÇÖñÐÈMñ †Ḩ §þÌR̆ ÄRÈ þÚņ̃HÈÐ. †HÖ§È WHÖ ÇÖñÐÈMñ †Ḩ §þÌR̆ ÐÖ ñÖ† §ÚRVÌVÈ." A sound that reminded me of a thousand angry souls screaming errupted at the check out line. At this point everyone in the store was listening.
The bald man was crying now, but instead of tears blood flowed from his eyes. "Ì HÖþÈ ¥ÖÚ HÄVÈ LÈÄRñÈÐ Ä VÄLÚÄßLÈ Lȧ§Öñ ÄßÖÚ† ÇR̆ÌÇÌZÌñG Ö†HÈR§," said the voice.
"I have!" said the bald man, as his clothes errupted in flame. Everyone in the store cheered as the man ran from the store screaming in agony.
Those of us that were left helped put the ghost's groceries on the belt. As he was about to pay I stopped him. "Please, allow me. It's the least I can do." The man smiled to show his decayed teeth and thanked me as he floated away. I looked at the cashier who had tears in her eyes. "I wonder who he was," I said as she handed me my change.
"I'm pretty sure you've heard of him," she said, and pointed to the one dollar bill in my hand.
I looked at it and realized that it had the same face as the person standing in front of me in line.
I had just bought groceries for George Washington.
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