I’ve got pleurisy at the moment. It’s my second bout in two years and although this one is far less severe than the last it does make me very tired and as such I should be resting.
And I’m going to rest. But I really felt like writing something first. Just something short and not altogether sweet.
A one hundred word ghost story.
The ghost of the boy is back. He sits on the pavement opposite the house. I watch him while I stand at the changing table on nappy duty for my daughter hoping he will leave.
Later, I go walking and he runs ahead waving and smiling. I long for his laugh but the world between us does not permit such luxuries.
As always he leads me to the bridge. Climbs the fence carrying sticks. Three for him, two for me. We throw in turns. As his last finds the water his hand passes through my cheek.
Then he is gone.