His body was slumped into the chair that seemed to mimic him. He could make out c a r o l er s
* *+*. +.***.**++..**.
through the frost covered windows.The smile faces was
on their pink dustedenough to make him get up and close the curtains. Envelopes, filled with what he'd prefer to be useless cards,
fell
limply
from
the slot
onto the stained carpet. Inside were the numbers owed by the g h o s t o f h i s p a s t.
The boy carried the letters, along with the debt on his shoulders, into the kitchen where he
poured himself
a drink.
The amber liquid
swayed
side
to side
making the ice hit the glass with a clink. As he lifted the vessel to his lips, he saw the
g h o s t o f h i s p r e s e n t.
He distastefully put the glass down as the water swirled with the whiskey. The sound of bells reached his ears. Rushed and hurried, he slipped on his winter coat and gloves. He briskly left the house wanting nothing to do with the cheery group of singers. With his head down and hands buried in his pockets, he took several turns. It wasn't long until he reached the field
lined with stone headboards.The
g h o s t o f h i s f u t u r e
was walking aimlessly somewhere in the field. The boy walked straight to a pair of headboards. His parents were sleeping next to each other, even when they're six feet under. Everyday his ghosts visit him but all he wanted was to see was their ghosts, just once.

YOU ARE READING
Snippets
KurzgeschichtenThis book is filled with ideas that didn't want to be anything more than snippets of something that could have been. Original photo: http://alabamachanin.com/journal/2012/06/lie-still/