Copyright 2013 Douglas T. Vale
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Ernhart floated slowly towards the log cabin nestled between tall green trees, squinting and trying vainly to shield his eyes with his arm. But the rays passed right through his translucent flesh.
"God's wounds," He muttered, lowering his arm. The log house seemed isolated at first, but a short flight around the area would reveal a number of similar houses. And the power lines and telephone poles and paved roads connecting them all together provided other hints. Ernhart had been shocked when he saw the first paved road, in awe when the first automobile rumbled right through him. Now they just annoyed him. Noisy, dirty, chaotic things. All they did was help people speed up ever faster towards goals they couldn't name. They didn't know where they were going, but they had to get there FAST.
It was his daily amusement now to look in on houses. To spy. He was already dead, after all. Why not amuse himself however he could? He couldn't eat anymore, couldn't drink, or sleep, or make love, or do any of those common human things. He'd thought much of it base and sinful while alive, but now that he couldn't do any of it he thought differently. The flesh did have blessings, so long as one knew how to properly enjoy them.