Pretext Comment: The following conversation is occurring between two ghosts. They happen to be sitting on a yacht together and one of the ghost, the protagonist, is a young female, currently battling the forces of Satan and God in her present afterlife state. She tweets to the world of the living.
“So why Jesus?” asks the luminous blue ghost of Mr. K. “Why did you fall for Jesus?” My thumbs twitching across the keys of my PDA, I shrug. At the time I was on the cusp of puberty. I was eleven years old with menarche barreling down on me like a speeding bloodmobile. Meaning: my first menstruation. Meaning: Menarche is not some Old Testament who’s-it. Any morning I expected to wake up with some huge burden of mammary glands attached to my chest. Thickets of hair would be sprouting in all of my secret places, and I’d be rendered a hormonal zombie. Time and time again, I’d seen it happen at my Swiss school. One day girls would be spunky, brainy flat-chested superheroes, and the next day they’d be simpering Miss Sexy Sexpots.
“So why Jesus?” asks Mr. Ketamine’s ghost. We’re two ghosts sitting in the main salon of the megayacht, keeping watch over my conked-out mom. The blue of Mr. K’s spirit matches exactly the blue that my tongues sees when I eat crushed ice. Not that I get to eat anything, not anymore. Not that I’m shedding pounds either.
Continuing to keyboard, I explain that my parents are little more than their physical appetites, their recreational drugs and sex. They’re just hungry carnal stomachs forever consuming. By dating Jesus, I wanted to sidestep all of the blood and spit and sperm that seemed to loom in my immediate future.
Chuck Palahniuk 2013