I need to walk. I don’t know what else to do, how else to be. I take flight, head for elsewhere, to a city I visited in the past, a vast place, a forgotten place where I can hide, where I can learn to walk again. The compulsion doesn’t lessen. In fact it deepens, becomes all consuming. I can’t enter. Reluctant, I keep to the periphery, relentlessly seeking a way in.

I don’t need to rest but am elated to discover that I can feel weary. I pause, these moments are fleeting at first. For mere seconds I am able to lean back against a wall or crouch down and place my hands on the earth.

The days pass, the weeks progress. I linger more and more. I sit on a bench and, lifting my head, I look. For the first time in an age I take in my surroundings, the grass in front and the city below and the sky above.

I am sitting in the grounds of the Cathedral and I feel as if I am awakening from a deep sleep. I feel the hole in my chest. Tracing it with my finger through my t-shirt I reach around and touch the exit wound on my back. It gapes like an open, useless mouth.

My clothes are already ragged and I realise I too will become ravaged.




4 thoughts on “GHOST LETTER

  1. chrisnelson61 December 16, 2013 / 7:00 am

    I really like the somewhat resignational tone of this piece. I enjoy your blog, but don’t see as much of it as I should for a couple of reasons: firstly, despite what my blog manager tells me, your posts do not appear in either my e-mail or my reader. Secondly I can. Be quite lazy in catching up with people! Keep up the good work!

  2. markrenney1 December 16, 2013 / 6:53 pm

    Hopefully there will be more Ghost Letters to follow that you enjoy. I know what you mean about finding time to catch up with the many interesting blogs on this site. Write on!

  3. thethinkinglady December 16, 2013 / 8:44 pm

    I don’t know why, but I really like it. I could connect with the narrator.

  4. markrenney1 December 16, 2013 / 9:31 pm

    Thank you. I hope to continue with this character so your comment is encouraging. Mark.

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