A short story I wrote for my friends with a line for every wish.
In a town not too far away lived a ghost staring across a highway.
This ghost filled its days guessing the speed and temperament of those unsteady and unruly riders, whom always seemed easily befuddled by the ghost’s presence and longing gaze.
That ghost lurked and loomed as the cars swept past like rhinos hurtling their massive bulk across a scarecrow’s path.
When it finally came to stop staring, the ghost put one ethereal foot in front of the other and strode as if on a cloud across the highway.
As the ghost came up on the center of this raging torrent, one driver decided that ghosts don’t exist and twisted their wheel to such an extent that their bulk reeled over end on end.
Once the car stopped turning, the ghost stood still for a moment, dumbfounded by what it had caused.
Cars piled up on the highway converging upon that point with tires spinning and pulling on the ground.
With a great ruckus the ghost pulled at its petty coat and twiddled its buttons, the screams that erupted around it made things awkward. So awkward in fact that the ghost decided to recede to its former post at the side of the highway.
It leaned its weightless mass against a traffic sign, shrugging and sliding down to its destination, a soft, peat-covered bump in the ground. But when it hit that an unearthly momentum carried him on.