The Ghosts – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant eat Corn Flakes for breakfast
And here in France he cannot buy Ricicles
But even after the storm
He finds it quite warm
He does not agree that icicles are twicicles as nicicles*

*AnElephant plagiarises a TV advert which is familiar to his reader in the UK.
To his other reader he says:
Yeah, get over it!
This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to see some chilling thrillers in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please first cast an eye over AnElephant’s shivering shambles.

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

The Ghosts

When the ghosts return I am surprised and disappointed.
It is the first time they have appeared for almost two years.
I really hoped, even believed, that they had gone to sleep forever.
But it seems not.
I realise now that there is no escape from the past.
Or from the terrible things I have done.
Or, most of all, from the people I let down, abused and hurt.
Here on the Mediterranean, I live in a little corner of paradise.
Even the weather is so much kinder, relieving the aches in my old bones.
In my home land, far to the north, the temperatures are already below freezing.
But, more importantly, for the first time in my life, my soul has found peace.
I strive to be a better person.
I try to forget what has gone before.
But, apparently, they cannot, and will not.
I go onto my little terrasse, gaze at the night sky which is suddenly so much darker.
Then look down four storeys to the pavement below.
And I sigh.
Because I now understand that is the only way I can be free.

About AnElephantCant

An artist/writer/poet combination whose blogs reflect an approach to life that celebrates nature and takes a tongue-in-cheek view of most issues. So you get rhymes and doodles, photographs and comment. Irreverent and irrelevant. Occasionally funny, sometimes serious, mostly pointless. https://anelephantcant.me/
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16 Responses to The Ghosts – Sunday Photo Fiction

  1. emmylgant says:

    Ghosts are like harpies, hard to get rid of.
    I sold mine… He carried them away
    Ghosts aren’t part of our DNA
    But lines and textures of our journey
    Wrap them in samite cloth
    with love and a kiss shoo them off.
    and breathe the night’s starlight.

    Like

  2. sindigo says:

    Incredibly insightful. Death is always the end of the journey, but you know you’ve got one or two more adventures to battle through first!

    Like

  3. Lyn says:

    The introspection of your MC was both wonderful and sad. Another great post my friend.

    Like

  4. That is a chilling realization to come to. Those ghosts of the past can be powerful.

    Like

  5. Bonnie says:

    I love this one. It made me very happy. It’s like a little mosaic of mirrors -words- and cheaper than a shrink.

    Like

  6. Al says:

    A sad and chilling tale.

    Like

  7. Oh there has to be another option. How easily we let hopelessness contain the possibilities.

    Like

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