Ghost

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A dark look into the relationship between a ghost writer and his subject.

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Ghost Koji A. Iizuka “I was born on February 5, 1984,” he said. “My grandparents were immigrants from Poland and we settled in a small town called Old Orchard after high school.” He stared at the wall across him, deep in thought. Thus began Julian’s relationship with Roman, one of the country’s best authors, a wunderkind who wrote six books in six years. At 24, he was notorious for satirizing man and his weaknesses through his works. His voice was razor-sharp, witty, and he wasn’t afraid to let you know what he thought of things. His books were always well-received. “Many have said that what I write is outrageous. Well, fuck them,” he said. “I write for myself, not for critics. If they can’t handle what I write, it just means that they’re afraid to face the truth.” He was notorious for another thing – for being painfully reclusive. Unlike other young novelists, he didn’t enjoy his fame by partying with other scenesters. He was a troglodyte and he spent most of his time churning what critics call masterpieces. Like Roman, Julian was also a writer. However, he was a different breed. He was a ghost writer who specialized in autobiographies. Because of his abilities to adapt to different writing styles, he was often tapped by great people to write their stories. Usually, these people had little writing abilities or they didn’t have the time so they paid people like Julian to write their tales. The latter was Roman’s reason why he hired Julian. “As you know, I usually write one book a year. Because of my success, publishers lap my works up so it only takes a couple of months before it gets printed and sold. I really don’t have the time to write something I already know. When I write, I want a challenge.” Julian and Roman met every week at Roman’s apartment. At their first meeting, Roman talked about his past. “I started writing when I entered college. I didn’t have money to pay my way through school so I entered odd jobs. I became an intern for a local newspaper and that’s where my passion for writing began.” We’re not so different, Julian thought. He also discovered writing by accident when he was forced to write to earn money for his family. He wrote ads in newspapers and graduated to ghostwriting when his editor introduced him to an agency. He didn’t earn a lot but it was enough to move out and live on his own. Roman continued to tell him stories of his past and through these, Julian got to know more about him. “My first book was about a young boy who goes to the city to find love. He becomes bitter and decides to sell love by becoming a prostitute. I wrote that when I was 18, when I first fell for a girl. She turned out to be a whore so I wrote that about her. She was so proud to date multiple guys at a time and now she has five kids. She gave away what she could not get. Shame, really.”

Julian knew that book. He read it when he was in college and it was one of his favorites because it seemed to speak to him and to a generation of jaded boys and girls. He had spent hours debating the moral implications of the book with his friends and from then on, he became a fan. The book was lauded for its honesty and the fact that it was written by a teenager. Everyone went crazy and tried to look for him but he denied all requests for interviews and autographs. Through an e-mail sent to his publisher, he said that his work should speak for itself, and that he was nothing but a vessel for an idea sent to him by a divine being. The media went crazy and called him a teenage god. “I’m not exactly a sociable person. I had no friends in school and I was a quiet kid in college. After I got all the attention people from my class didn’t even recognize me. No one knows what I look like. Most of my relatives are dead. It’s funny when I’d go out, girls would look at me and flirt with me without knowing I wrote six bestsellers.” Julian regarded Roman carefully. It was his first time to see him and was probably one of the few who have. He was a handsome fellow with short dark hair and framed glasses. He was of medium built and had a debonair stance Julian thought women admired. Julian was the complete opposite. His hair was wiry and he had freckles all over his face. His nose was flat and his eyes were close together. He was not popular with the ladies and he knew this for a fact. He was constantly rejected when he asked girls out and each rejection brought his self-esteem even lower. “I earn over a million per book. It’s a lot of money, considering I’m holed up in here and I spend the day writing. I usually give it to charity. Or if I’m bored I buy random stuff like clothes,” Roman said, pointing to a closet Julian suspected was full of designer items. He felt a pang of jealousy. Julian had always dreamed of becoming an established author. He would send short stories to magazines but they would always send it back with a variety of reasons, from there’s no space to his work isn’t good enough. It was painful but he continued to send them in hopes that one day they would change their mind. Over the course of several months, Julian knew about Roman’s childhood, his school life, his sources of inspiration and his past girlfriends. He knew his favorite books, colors, and restaurants. It got to the point that they would sometimes just sit together and talk about each other. Sometimes they would work on their separate books. “My next book is about a woman who gives birth to twins and has to sell one to survive,” Roman said casually. He had an easygoing nature which Julian was starting to hate. He was jealous because Roman had all the things he could never have. They were roughly the same age but Roman was more successful, more accomplished. He didn’t even try; he didn’t even need to make public appearances. Julian had to fight his way to get projects, unlike Roman who only needed to e-mail his work and expect an advance within the week. He was jealous because Roman never had to experience starving for a night. He wondered what it would feel like to be Roman, to have everything at his disposal.

“Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I died,” Roman said one day over coffee. They spent the entire morning talking and they decided to have a quick break. “I mean, no one knows what I look like. Someone could just appear on Oprah and claim to be me. “Wouldn’t that be funny?” he continued, laughing. Julian had an idea. Their next meeting, he brought an axe. Several months later, a huge banquet was being thrown at one of the most exclusive hotels in the city. Everybody was there. It was a barrage of journalists, writers, celebrities, and PR people who were celebrating the success of an author. A young man with wiry hair and freckles all over his face entered the ballroom and everybody was silent. He gave a smile, his flat nose and too-close eyes scrunched together as he made his way to the stage. Everybody clapped. The host calmed everybody down and smiled at the young man. “Welcome, Roman. Thank you for finally coming out. You are one of the most successful authors in the country and it was wise of you to reveal yourself. Do you know that there are many people your age who would kill to be you?” The boy just agreed and smiled.

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