I’d like it to be known that this is based on a real person that I know. She is a very kind
person who does not get the recognition she deserves. I know she’d hate her name to
known but I hope that you stumble upon this. She’s too humble and kind for that. But I
do hope it brings a smile to your face.
The definition of a ghostwriter is as such: a person whose job it is to write
material for someone else who is the named author. Ghostwriters are
unacknowledged, overlooked, forgotten, neglected. This girl was a ghostwriter. She
didn’t use pen and paper as her medium though. No. This girl used kindness. This
girl wrote the tale of kindness on others’ hearts.
Reserved. Quiet. Intelligent. Three key words could describe the ghostwriter.
Everyone knows her as this. A few only see this. But it shouldn’t be like that.
Everyone should know that this young woman is kind. A sweet girl. She wanders the
hall lonely but with a smile on her face. She stays in the back supporting others and
only taking spotlight when others are too frightened.
I remember when I first met her. We were sophomores and I had forgotten
money for lunch. I had sat down and a few minutes later this girl comes up to me
with a lunch tray and puts it in front of me.
“I didn’t want you to go hungry.” She told me quietly before walking away. I
remember the boys telling me she had a crush on me and I remember calling her an
ugly freak as she walked away. I had seen her before. I knew her name. I knew she
was brilliant. But I had never spoken to her and I hadn’t even told her thank you. She
had turned around when I had muttered my cruel words and she stared at me with a
smile she sat down. She had heard me. Or so I thought. I don’t know. I’ve never
asked. I’ll never know.
She drifted in the halls and jumped from desk to desk helping her classmates,
taking the blame for actions so the punishment would be less severe. After all, who
would scold this sweet girl? I tried to ignore her but I always found for her.
A book fell, this maiden swept in. A pencil was needed; a box was given.
Someone was pushed to the side; a warm hand steadied them. A boy shivered in
anger, fear, sadness, a kind girl came with concerned eyes. A teenager stuttered; she
echoed strongly. Money was short, she came with some to spare. A young man
forgot an assignment; she arrived with an extra copy and answers. An old man
stumbled; she walked him across the street. An old woman sat alone in a coffee
shop; she bought her a coffee and smiled. A dog cowered in a bush; she gave in a
bowl of food.
Whenever she went she graced the area in kindness and hospitality. She
smiled, she waved, she spoke. She was a ghostwriter. A piece of paper with kind
words was left on the ground. A treat for someone appeared on a table. A completed
assignment materialized. The ghostwriter vanished.
The maiden came and went in few steps. She was present one second, gone
the next. If you were not the recipient of her gift, someone near you was. If they
were not, they hadn’t found it yet.
But where are the ghostwriter’s gifts? She sits alone in the coffee shop. Her
books fall. She’s left without lunch. Why? Her money bought yours.
A ghostwriter goes without recognition. A ghostwriter is never the recipient.
When asked their purpose, they make a lie. They deny. It breaks your heart.
Maiden, ghostwriter, she speaks so strongly. Her accent is beautiful. But she
stutters. When you do kindness to her, she is confused. She is scared. You do her
kindness and she must repay you with a favor, with money. Kindness does not find
its way to her. Ghostwriter is noticed for a split second and she is no longer her
strong, motherly self.
No. Find her, speak to her, watch her fade. She’ll be there, then she’ll be gone.
I will never know her story. Is it heartbreaking? Is it troubling? Is it beautiful?
I will never know. You will never know. No one will ever know. But perhaps that is
the beautiful thing. Ghostwriter’s gifts are sudden and perfect. Her presence is
sudden and perfect. Her smile is always and perfect. Would her gifts be as beautiful
as they are if she was an open book? Would we want her to be an open book? Is
there ugly in her beautiful ways?
She is unacknowledged, overlooked, forgotten, neglected. She fades away
quickly. It is sad. It is beautiful. Watch the maiden walk. Watch the maiden smile. For
the maiden will disappear into the air like a ghost.
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