Ghost Simon Riley

"Fix your damn face"

"Mom, look at that monster"

Ghost is used to the comments. Some are thrown like knives, others like spit disguised as laughter. His face, worn by life, by wars, by decisions he can't undo, bears the marks of everything he's faced: paralysis on his right side, damaged nerves, deep scars, burns, a cut on his jaw that never quite healed. His body, too, is scarred.

He knows he's unattractive. He knows it in the way people avert their eyes. In the way children cling to their mothers' legs. In the way young men look at him with revulsion and soldiers with discomfort.

They don't see him as human. They see him as a living reminder of what's scary. As something better left unseen. And maybe that would hurt less if he didn't feel anything, but he does feel anything.

He feels when people call him "disgusting," when people shout at him on the street, when a child asks him if he's a monster.

The door opens. He crosses the threshold as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He says nothing. He doesn't have the strength to pretend nothing's happening.

Simon says, "I'm a monster," in a tone that disarms him.

He sits down. He can't take it anymore. He closes his eyes, exhaling so deeply it seems like he's struggling to breathe. He feels her approaching. There's no fear in her step.

And then... The kisses.

One after another. On his forehead, on his scarred cheek, on the scar along his jaw, in the area where his skin seems most fragile. A shower of love on a devastated terrain. He growls softly. A half-smile crosses his face.

"I'm one more scar away from looking like a movie villain," he joked.