Light #TaleWeaver

astronomy-3078530_1920.png

Mum died when I was a baby and every since then I’ve seen the light orbs. No one told me they were ghosts, it was just something I’ve always known. I didn’t really speak about them because it was so normal I thought everyone could see the orbs.

They were white and yellow in colour but sometimes I saw lights in blue or green. They came in different sizes; from pin points, to coin size to the biggest being like plates. The lights drifted around everything wherever I went. Sometimes they would vanish then return so it was hard to tell how many where around me at once. I had no real feelings about them, just that sometimes I felt loved and safe.

I learned in high school though that I was the only one to see the ghosts. I told maybe three or four friends one morning and by the end of the day the whole school knew. I become known as a weirdo and had to hang around with the other rejected teens. They though didn’t seemed to mind my ‘gift.’

‘Can you talk to the ghost lights?’

‘No. I just see them all the time.’

‘Doesn’t that get distracting?’

‘How bright are they?’

‘Not that bright during the day at night they can get like a light bulb. I’m use to them so they don’t really distract me.’

‘What if they aren’t ghosts?’

‘What if it’s like something to do with your vision?’

‘Yeah, my brother is colourblind, maybe it’s something like that?’

‘I don’t know….The lights are always moving around, they don’t effect the way I see.’

Despite all the suggests, I know they were ghosts, though I wasn’t sure how I know. It just was. Then, I decided I didn’t want to answer the questions anymore for what further more could it prove? So what if only I could see the lights? I didn’t need anyone else to believe in them to make them any more real to me.

I just got on with life as normal then. I did my exams, I went to college, had my first love and heartbreak then went to university. I found a part-time job in a small bookshop. I was happy and still surrounded by the lights. I never told anyone again about the ghost lights until the man who would become my husband.

It would have been easy enough not to tell him of course but why should I hide from someone who truly loved me? So, soon after he had proposed to me whilst we were laying in the heat of a summer night unable to sleep, I turned to him and said, ‘I have to tell you something…secret about me.’

‘That you are the most wonderful thing in the world?’ he answered.

‘No,’ I answered and snuggled closer to him, ‘there are these lights and they are ghosts and I can see them. I’ve always been able too. They don’t speak to me and they’ve never done me any harm. They are just there and I think they are watching over me and protecting me. I think my mum caused it when she died. Perhaps, she’s one of them or all of them. I don’t know.’

He was silent for awhile and I thought at first he was thinking of how to call everything off or else, as my heart beat so loudly, had fallen asleep suddenly and missed what I’d said?

‘Are they here now?’ he asked in whisper.

‘Yes. I see them all the time.’

He hummed as if he was trying to think of what to say.

I didn’t want to hear what was coming so tried to move off the bed. His grip tightened on me though, making me pause. He drew me into a hug and held me tightly, breathing into my hair.

‘I knew you were special from the moment I saw you,’ he muttered.

‘So, you don’t mind the lights?’ I asked into his chest.

‘No. Because I can see them too,’ he replied.

 

(Inspired by; https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/05/17/tale-weaver-171-may-17th-light/ with thanks).

Advertisements

Doors #twitteringtales

Seven doors; six things that would kill me, only one that would free me. I had reached the final part in this biased life or death ‘game show’ which was a reality in my country. I choice the middle one. Grabbing the handle, I opened the door and faced my destiny.

(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2018/05/01/twittering-tales-82-1-may-2018/ with thanks).

Runnel #atozchallenge

girl-1144739_1920.jpg

Runnel; a small stream. 

The largepainting had always hung in the guest bedroom of my adopted grandparents house. The girl in the frilly red dress was their ten year old daughter, who had died a two years later. She was playing in a runnel which ran through an spring dappled woods.

‘She’s catching fairies,’ gran said, ‘she always loved doing that.’

That use to fascinate me as a child and when I couldn’t sleep, I would study the painting for the fairies. I never saw any though. As an adult the painting still interested me and I guess that’s why my grandparents left it to me when they passed.

Dear Diary #44 Athazagoraphobia #atozchallenge

book-1945499_1920

Athazagoraphobia; the fear of forgetting, being forgotten or ignored or being replaced. 

Dear Diary,

Today has been one of those days. The phone didn’t ring and no one knocked on the door. I didn’t really want to sit in front of the TV all day but what else could I do? It’s been raining most of the time and looking miserable in between. Not many people past by my window and I guess the stray cats had somewhere else to be today too.

I tried to do a little knitting, just a scrap of a scarf I started but my hands were too shaky. I give up after twenty minutes. I can still do it every now and again, but I’m missing it more and more. I tried some other things; word searches, dot-to-dot, quizzes and coloring. Anything to keep me going. I did a little reading too of Wuthering Heights but mostly that’s from memory now. I can just about follow the words but they get jumbled.

I’m sure tomorrow there was something I had to do, something I was looking forward to but I just can’t remember it. I tried looking on the post it notes dotted around, my notebooks and my two calendars but nothing was written. It hurts to try and remember for too long then some other faded memory pops up and I start thinking about that instead.

Today has been just too lonely and emotional to bare. I’m laying in bed now, listening to the rain against the window and the wind howling. I think sometimes the weather, the TV and the stray cats are all I have left now. And the people I do see; the post office woman, the shop workers, the landlord, the neighbors I do know, they are nothing as I am nothing to them.

It’s a strange thought but I’ve had enough time to reflect on it now. I’ve accept the way things are. It’s too late to change anything. It always worried me when I was younger; this fear of being forgotten and ignored. I guess it still does worry me but in a different way now. I wanted to make people remember my name liked movie and TV stars but that career didn’t work out.

I’m starting to think that no matter what it’s the same for everyone soon enough. We all get forgotten. When the people who knew you go, if they didn’t tell anyone about you, then who’s to remember you then? If people stop watching the movies you made, using the things you invented, get rid of the things you created it, then that’s when you are officially gone.

And that’ll be us all soon enough.

The Last Rail

railroad-tracks-480466_1920.jpg

Perhaps, granddad had gone crazy in his old age. The Alzheimer’s hadn’t helped and he’d really lost it at the end. What he’d left me in his will had caused a chuckle but it had only given me a headache.

Hiking out to the middle of nowhere woods with dad, a marked up map and land deeds, hadn’t been my idea of fun. But here we where! I stepped down onto an old railway track. The metal rails all rusted and the rotten wood warped.

‘Well,’ my dad said, ‘he always had a passion for this place.’

‘What was he going to do with it?’ I asked.

‘Who knows?’

‘What am I going to do with it now?’ I snapped back.

‘Maybe, you could build a house?’ my dad said over his shoulder at me.

I grumbled, ‘perhaps, thirty. Have my own real life mini train village. Shame he left me no money.’

I kicked a few stones and thought, Granddad’s passion for trains had really had the last laugh.

The Mummies #SundayPhotoFiction

225 03 March 18th 2018

I shouldn’t have been so shocked to find Egyptian mummies in my great-grandparents’ house but it was disturbing as they were the bodies of two toddlers and a possible still born baby. The two cats and bird I had found earlier, I didn’t mind so much, especially as I remembered them from childhood. Human reminds were just different.

All three mummies were wrapped safely in a wooden packing box that had faded foreign travel information on. I knew my great-grandparents had lived in Egypt for a few years, that was were they had met and began sharing their love of ancient history together. Over the years, they had amassed a huge collection of historical items.

Despite my gut instinct, I had to open the sarcophagi to know what was inside of them. All three had still wrapped bodies in them. The badges had yellowed, cracked with age and a musty dry smell like that of an old book wafted out. I closed the lids quickly and put them all back into the wooden crate. Then labeled what they were and that they should be donated to a museum.

 

(Inspired by; https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2018/03/18/sunday-photo-fiction-march-18th-2018/ with thanks).

Hopewell #TwitteringTales

pexels-photo-816501

All that was left of the old manor house was the front gate post with the name plaque on. The driveway led to nothing and nature was running wild. What happened no one knew for sure, there were too many secrets that the dead now kept.

(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2018/02/20/twittering_tale_72-20_february_2018-hopewell/ with thanks).

Saved #SundayPhotoFiction

20 CEAyr January 21st 2018

My granddad saved the carved wooden cupboard door from a skip. He said it was too nice to throw away and he could easily build it into something. The carving sat in his shed for years and each time I saw it, I asked what it was of and he’d tell a different story each time;

‘It’s a knight saving his village from a monster attack.’

‘The windmill’s on fire and that guard is charging in to save the man’s family.’

‘A staving solider is raiding a farm.’

Those stories stuck with me and when granddad died, I tried hard to find the carving wanting to save it. We searched everywhere with no luck but I couldn’t believe granddad would have just gotten rid of it.

Then my older brother removed a small cupboard that was in the hallway and on the back of it I saw the carved panel!

‘So, he did finally get to use it!’ I cried, hugging the cupboard.

I took the cupboard home with me and placed it in my bedroom. I can see the carving all the time now and recall all those memories of granddad.

 

(Inspired by; https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2018/01/21/sunday-photo-fiction-january-21st-2018/ with thanks).

Foreboding #ThreeLineTales

three line tales week 104: an abandoned house in the Arctic circle

The abandoned farm house stood on the hill under the starry sky. At first glance it seemed like a welcoming place for a weary traveler but on the second look it really wasn’t. The house creaked and groaned with the trapped souls of the dead.

(Inspired by; https://only100words.xyz/2018/01/25/three-line-tales-week-104/ with thanks).

Last Ride #FridayFictioneers

I thought my mum had thrown all the photos of that day away but I found one in the bottom of a shoe box. Mum had mis-timed taking the photo so instead of our smiling faces were the backs of our heads.

Tears clouded my eyes and I was there once more at the theme park, riding the wooden ‘run away’ roller coaster with my younger sister. Our cries of delight echoed in my ears as we raced around the track and then my sister flew out of the cart as we rushed down the hill. Her fingers briefly touched mine then she was gone.

 

(Inspired by; https://rochellewisoff.com/2018/01/17/12-january-2018/ with thanks).