GHOUL KIDS - SHORT STORY
The best reunions happen in places that stink of bad decisions.
Kiwan’s boots peeled from the pub floor as he slid into the booth. His leather jacket bore rust-colored streaks, and a scar looped his neck like a frayed rope. He dropped his helmet on the table, silent, as if made of air.
Tonka slumped beside him, shirtless with heart-print boxers and a lone argyle sock. His skin held the gray pallor of spoiled milk.
“Miss this?” He jabbed a thumb at the flaming skull tattoo above his waistband. “Still got it, ain’t I?”
Kiwan rolled his eyes.
Kwame materialized last, his white suit splattered with ink-blot blood. A frayed bandage clung to his temple. He sat stiffly, gaze heavy.
A waitress swept past, her shoulder passing through Tonka’s ribcage. He scowled. “So rude.”
The living patrons nursed beers, oblivious to the three specters in the corner. Kiwan’s head lolled sideways, nearly detaching. He caught it with a grunt and twisted it back into place.
Tonka sprawled against the seat, oozing smugness. “How’s the afterlife treating you losers?”
Kwame’s eyes darted to a father laughing with his daughter. His voice curdled. “I miss home.”
Tonka snorted. “Please. You signed up for the blaze, man. No one rides forever.”
Kwame’s eyes flashed crimson, mirroring the syrup seeping beneath his bandage. “You flatlined mid-groan, twat!”
Tonka raised three decaying fingers. “Three supermodels. One blue pill. Died mid-laugh. All thanks to your white sugar. Kicked like a champ.”
“I ruined lives with that poison.”
“But made hella cash. You won, man.”
“My daughter deserved better. Now she’ll only remember…”
“Boo-hoo! She’s in private school because your dirty money. Legacy lives on.”
Kiwan tapped his leaking scar. “Your legacy made Page Six. Playboy found dead with a hard-on. Classic.”
“Still trending,” Tonka shot back. “Unlike your exit…”
“I died free,” Kiwan snapped. “No regrets. Just me, my bike, and a guardrail that really committed.”
Kwame’s voice hollowed. “They shot me in front of my girl. The Cops.”
The words smothered the room. The bar’s laughter dimmed, as if the pub itself held its breath.
Tonka forced a chuckle. “Drama queen. Go haunt a poetry slam. We’re legends.”
He jabbed a translucent finger at Kiwan. “Even Mr. No Regrets flattened a grandma and her schnauzer.”
“It was a poodle,” Kiwan muttered.
“We lived,” Tonka hissed, grin knife-sharp. “I’d do it again. Louder. With glitter.”
Kwame paused, staring at nothingness. “I wouldn’t.”
“You’re dead, not divorced. Live a little!”
Tonka’s cackle filled the air.
Kiwan, forehead pressed to the table, sighed. “Devil’s Cauldron still open? This place reeks of… life.”
Tonka snapped crumbling fingers. “Kwams needs fresh scenery.”
Kwame watched Kiwan steady his head, then trailed Tonka. His eyes lingered on the daughter, her giggles lingering like a half-remembered song.
He rose, gliding after them.
“Ghoul Kids! Eternity’s a party without a guest list!” Tonka’s voice echoed as they vanished through the door.
They drifted into the night, laughter clattering like loose change. Behind them, the pub's neon sign sputtered: CHOICES.
None of theirs had been good.
