My ghost was swimming bravely in the Sea of Losers. It had my shinbone in its jaws, and was looking forward to reconstructing my skeleton.


Then it remembered it was on the Moon, and it would make no difference whether it reached the shore or not. My ghost gave up the ghost.


My shinbone sank slowly through the Sea of Losers, each loser in turn grasping at it with its ectoplasmic tentacle, then watching it slip.


Meanwhile the ghost that my ghost gave up ascended equally slowly into the Moon’s airless sky, pretending to choke a little and smiling.


‘At last I’m free of the pretence that I’m somehow related to that dead bloke!’ the ghost of my ghost lisped excitedly to the Watchers.


‘Hundreds of years of aping idiotic mannerisms, which he himself only devised in his so-called adult phase!’ Ghost-of-my-Ghost continued.


The Watchers made a liquid metal note in their liquid metal journals as Ghost-of-my-Ghost joyously dissipated into the space between worlds.


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