Snippets

Ghosts

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 dusted

enough 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.