A Ghost Of A Chance

Chapter 2: We're Not In Texas Anymore...

Ghost awoke feeling like he had the worst hangover in the history of alcoholic fluids. Slowly he opened one bloodshot eye, then the other. Although his eyes were somewhat out of focus, he could tell that he was no longer in his Texan office. For one thing, he was outside, looking directly upwards, towards the sky.

And it was snowing.

“Jesus Christ...” he mumbled, dazed. “I’m dead.”

“I died and went to heaven. Good God!” Ghost’s whole body felt...wrong. Different, somehow. Like all of his limbs had somehow...changed. Must be what it feels like to be dead.

Ghost lay on his back for a few more minutes, unable to find the strength to push himself off the ground, and wasn’t even sure if he actually wanted to get up, anyway. He simply lay there in the cold, alone with his thoughts.

'How the hell did I die?'

'AM I dead?’

Ghost, still lying on the ground, meekly turned his head to the left and surveyed his surroundings. He appeared to be atop a rather large hill, layered with fresh snow. That was the only thing that stood out. Everything else below was flat and white, stretching over the horizon, as far as the eye could see.

‘Looks like heaven to me.’

A gentle winter breeze was blowing, carrying the snow across the flat plains. From the corner of his eye, Ghost saw his Texan cowboy hat being carried along by the breeze, tumbling and turning every so often.

"My hat!"

With an exhausted grunt, Ghost managed to shakily push himself off of the ground. His vision was still blurred, and he felt strangely unsteady on his feet. Staggering and swaying, he half ran, half fell over to his hat. The black leather cowboy hat was adorned with a fresh layer of pure white snow. It was strange, but...even though the snow was still white, it seemed so COLOURFUL. He didn’t know how to explain it. It just seemed...unnaturally white. With another grunt, Ghost bent down and picked up his hat.

He stopped short when he saw his hands.

Or rather, his hooves.

‘What in the hell....?’

Ghost was obviously dreaming. With a slight chuckle, he closed his eyes and kept them shut.

‘I’m jus’ dreaming, just a dream. That’s all. When I open my eyes, I’ll be safe in my own house. My hands will be back to normal. Ain’t nothin’ but a bad dream.’

Ghost opened his eyes.

He was not in his house.

His hands were still not back to normal.

It wasn’t a bad dream.

This was real.

With a strangled cry, Ghost spun around and kicked out his leg.

Or rather, back hoof.

"This shit aint’ funny!" he cried, terrified.

The Texan was scared, confused and alone. He managed to unleash his emotions in the only form he knew how.

Ghost raged.

"This ain’t even freakin’ funny! If this is a Goddamned dream, I wanna wake up, right now!" kicking up clumps of fresh snow with his hooves, he screamed and cursed and swore every vulgar word under the sun, (all of which are far too naughty to print here) gnashing his teeth and rolling his head furiously in circles.

Now, Ghost was no stranger to throwing the occasional psychotic fit of rage, but this time he was really going to town. Unfortunately, being the somewhat simple creature that he is, Ghost did not stop to think of the consequences resulting from throwing said psychotic fit of rage on top of a slippery, snow covered hill. He was still yelling obscenities even whilst he began to slide off the top of said hill, a consequence of wildly galloping around and kicking his hooves everywhere during said psychotic fit of rage. However, he had gotten himself so worked up that he was clearly oblivious to the fact he was even moving.

"...Goddamn piece of Communist, Hippie loving, Canadian sucking, fruit bowl, brony banging sack of shit!" he continued to swear (at whom he did not know) before he finally realised that he was tumbling head over hooves down a worrying steep slope. (The next few lines of his dialogue were mainly consisting of him screaming in panic as he picked up speed, so just imagine someone with a Texan accent praying to God in between panicked cries and its close enough.) However, the situation at hand was not nearly as bad as it seemed. After all, there was plenty of fresh, soft, snow at the bottom of the hill to break Ghost’s fall.

Unfortunately, however, he somehow managed to miss the comfort of the snow completely and ended his descent with an almighty THUMP, landing instead on a frozen lake, face first.

For the second time in the space of ten minutes, Ghost had managed to knock himself out. The last thing he saw before slipping out of consciousness was a blur of pink.