Haint Blue

I was naive thinking the porch ceiling could protect me. A paint color, Haint blue, that supposedly called to any ghosts here, “Look, I am the sky. Come. Do not stay in this house.” 

But the ghost stayed and so did I. It fucked with me like ghosts do, stealing and moving things. One day it crossed the line. I opened my computer to find my GME all sold off. Motherfucker. 

I painted the ceilings in every room, every fan blade, bellies of tables, beds, appliances, even the undersides of shelves. I fielded an army of fake blue skies. 

I missed my shoes. The ghost didn’t.

The woman was naive. Now we’re not.



M.M. Kaufman is the Managing Editor at Rejection Letters and holds a BA, MFA, and a Fulbright Scholarship. Find her work at Slush Pile Magazine, Memoir MixtapesTuck MagazineThe Normal SchoolHobartShiftMetonym JournalSundog LitOrangeblush Zine, and HAD. Twitter @mm_kaufman & mmkaufman.com.

Categories: Fiction

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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