"I don't belong here," said Harold. He put his coffee mug back down on its saucer, trying to stop it from shaking uncontrollably clutched in bony fingers. "It's as though," he paused and peered out the window at the sunlight. It was turning out to be quite a beautiful day. Turning away, he resumed, "as though I'm a missing piece of some other puzzle."
The ghost smirked. Harold frowned in response.
"I'm serious," he sighed. "Like you would understand."
"And what exactly makes you feel this way?" the ghost queried.
"I..I don't know. It feels as though I'm walking forward and everything around me is trying to get out of my way whilst yelling at me irritably for being in the way." He picked up his mug again. "In the way of what?!" Slurp.
The ghost watched Harold shakily replace the mug, amused by the lack of coffee on the floor. Harold battled onward.
"I just don't belong. It's that simple."
"And how exactly," the ghost said, making itself quite comfy in the booth, "did you get the notion that anyone cares about how you feel? No one and everyone belongs here. Billions of cells flying about one another, and you honestly think that just because you feel out of sorts that you suddenly don't belong in the same bucket as the rest?"
Harold narrowed his eyes in anger and felt his entire body start to quiver. He spoke through jittery teeth.
"It.. wasn't.. my.. fault."
The ghost laughed merrily and shot Harold in the head with a rubber band.
"Grow up, Harold."