I wake for the last time and I don’t know how it will be different but I have to cope. Gripping the mattress I push myself up. I don’t feel groggy, not as I usually do on a workday morning. I don’t need to stretch and yawn.

In the bathroom I splash my face. I feel the water but it isn’t necessary. I can taste the minty toothpaste but it isn’t in any way beneficial. Stalled in front of the mirror, I have no need to shave so I brush my hair. I mess it and brush it, again and again.

In the kitchen I think about food. I’m not hungry but I reach for the jar of raspberry jam. I stick in my finger to taste and there it is; that familiar tang both sweet and tart. But it is only a memory, no more than that and even if I continue to indulge I will forget.

I make myself a coffee, four heaped spoonfuls with no milk or sugar. It isn’t how I take it but I just want to smell it and, standing at the counter, I lean over the mug and inhale.

I move to the stove and turn on the dial. I place my hand on top of the ring and I press down waiting for the heat. And there it is.



2 thoughts on “GHOST LETTER 2

  1. I wish I could effectively articulate how this affected me, but I just can’t. It made me burst into tears, I’ll tell you that much. Keep writing, Mark. Your words have a quiet, unannounced way of disarming the reader.

  2. Tony, I am so heartened by your response. I was a little worried about Ghost Letter, moving as it does into the surreal, but your kind words are inspiring. Thank you so much. Regards Mark.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: