Dear Reader,
A casket sat under the hushed wind of winters' past. Snow fell carefully around the shiny oak object. There, from the shrouding wind, a girl walked up to the casket. At about one foot away from it, she stopped to observe. Engraved on the side were two initials, still clearly etched in the wood. The girl watched the casket with suspicion as if waiting for something to jump out at her. And in her ruminating moment, her past climbed out of the ground, and into her view. A moment of stopped time, from when she was nine. It was the week after her grandmother died, and she and her father were sitting side-by-side in a pew. A portrait of the old woman leaned back on an easel, sitting in the center of the room on a podium. When it was time to pray, the adolescent girl quietly leaned into her father, and whispered in his ear, she was a mean, haggard old lady anyway. With an air of offense, he said curtly, respect the dead. With that, the church slowly faded away, and she returned to the barren, white land where the casket lay in the wind.
The snow around her clung to her clothing like a stain on a white dress. Desolation shrouded her in the midst of the lonely winter. Her eyes were blue as the June sky, and she wore a lace, white dress traveling down to her knees. Glancing down at the casket, she wondered who lay in there. But through her thought, she was taken to a new reality. One where her own body stood two feet away from her, but it was older and unfamiliar. Clearly, the woman couldn't see the adolescent version of herself wearing a white dress. They stood together in a bright penthouse, with large windows planted into the walls, where the woman stared.
"Could this be the end?" the older woman whispered, facing the window.
Her arms were drawn down to her sides, stiff and immovable. Her small hands were clenched into fists - red as a rose. The woman looked exactly the same as the girl in the white dress, yet the lace-covered girl was in awe of the woman's beauty. Both of their faces were plastered with pain, but the girl hadn't seen the worst. She knew not what was to come.
The stiff left hand of the woman came up to her hair, and she brushed a blonde curl off of her forehead. Her eyes seemed to kill, while she spoke softly out of the window - as if anyone could hear - "Help me, for I am lost."
She was not a damsel, and her apartment was not a tower. The only shackles tying her up were the pestering thoughts of her lost winter days. A beam of sunlight pushed through her window, and she was reminded of a particular lonesome night.
"Wake up!" the shout came hurtling from her past.
Her dad shook her awake on a dark December night. He held a suitcase in one hand, and his last shred of jubilance in the other.
"Pack your belongings" He yelled in her ear.
"Where is mom?" the voice of a familiar, small girl whimpered.
"I told you to pack your belongings." He insisted as he began to grab objects from her shelves.
She slowly pulled herself out of bed and she grabbed the suitcase from his outstretched hand. The little girl wore a white, lace dress as she grabbed items from around her room. She had seen her mother wearing the exact dress, and afterward, she insisted on wearing it every night to bed. A chilling winter breeze flowed through the room, and it hugged her tightly. After only a few moments, her dad ran to the doorway where he turned toward the girl. His eyes were bulging out of his head, and his feet were tapping vigorously on the floor. When she met his eyes, she realized his serious nature, and she picked up her pace. She grabbed everything she could fit in her small, black suitcase. She grabbed the participation trophy from her first spelling bee and she took the tiny picture book her mother used to read to her and she grabbed her journal from her desk and she took her favorite pen, which she used to write poetry.
Swiftly, she moved to the doorway where her father still stood. Quietly, he took her hand and they hurried away - never to return.
The fading sunlight beamed through the penthouse, and the woman stood perfectly still. However, her lips were beginning to quiver as she looked onward out of the window.
The little girl in her memory realized the fate of her old home as she ran to the car with her father. The scent of smoke found her nose, and soon a red light carried into the sky: the house was on fire.
"Where is mother?" She asked again.
Her father only shook his head. She began to shout, to scream, to kick as to make her father return to the building to save her mother. But, he only put a finger to his lips and pushed the girl into his car. The little girl looked out of the backseat window, her teary eyes following the wreckage of her home. When the sight left her view, she leaned into her father.
"We could have saved her," she whispered, sorrow filling her eyes.
He looked back, and he shook his head.
Returning to the present, the woman began to cry as the day turned quickly into the night. Her body began shaking with an unequivocal force, and her lips trembled as tears streamed down her face. She wanted to break out of the window and jump. She wanted to break free from the shackles of regret.
As she pondered, the girl in the lace dress walked close to her and inspected her slowly. A revelation glowed within her as she whispered something in the woman's ear.
And then, the apartment faded away back into the misty wintry scene, and the girl stood alone once more. With drooping eyes and a heavy head, she carried herself to the casket. Then, she opened the casket, and she looked carefully inside. Surprise cascaded over her face, as the emptiness inside became apparent: it was waiting for her. Without a shred of pride or respect, she laid herself to rest. The initials carved onto the side of it shone brightly in the cold, snowy mist - ME. In the woman’s mind, a casket lay, shrouded in the hushed wind of winters' past, filled with the body of a girl she longed to forget.
The woman smiled fondly out of the window, as the memory of her childhood faded into obscurity. Mysterious words began to play in her head in a familiar adolescent voice.
"The past cannot change, but you can grow."
Now the girl in the lace dress was dead, the product of a lost time.
Sincerely,
A Ghost of the Past
A casket sat under the hushed wind of winters' past. Snow fell carefully around the shiny oak object. There, from the shrouding wind, a girl walked up to the casket. At about one foot away from it, she stopped to observe. Engraved on the side were two initials, still clearly etched in the wood. The girl watched the casket with suspicion as if waiting for something to jump out at her. And in her ruminating moment, her past climbed out of the ground, and into her view. A moment of stopped time, from when she was nine. It was the week after her grandmother died, and she and her father were sitting side-by-side in a pew. A portrait of the old woman leaned back on an easel, sitting in the center of the room on a podium. When it was time to pray, the adolescent girl quietly leaned into her father, and whispered in his ear, she was a mean, haggard old lady anyway. With an air of offense, he said curtly, respect the dead. With that, the church slowly faded away, and she returned to the barren, white land where the casket lay in the wind.
The snow around her clung to her clothing like a stain on a white dress. Desolation shrouded her in the midst of the lonely winter. Her eyes were blue as the June sky, and she wore a lace, white dress traveling down to her knees. Glancing down at the casket, she wondered who lay in there. But through her thought, she was taken to a new reality. One where her own body stood two feet away from her, but it was older and unfamiliar. Clearly, the woman couldn't see the adolescent version of herself wearing a white dress. They stood together in a bright penthouse, with large windows planted into the walls, where the woman stared.
"Could this be the end?" the older woman whispered, facing the window.
Her arms were drawn down to her sides, stiff and immovable. Her small hands were clenched into fists - red as a rose. The woman looked exactly the same as the girl in the white dress, yet the lace-covered girl was in awe of the woman's beauty. Both of their faces were plastered with pain, but the girl hadn't seen the worst. She knew not what was to come.
The stiff left hand of the woman came up to her hair, and she brushed a blonde curl off of her forehead. Her eyes seemed to kill, while she spoke softly out of the window - as if anyone could hear - "Help me, for I am lost."
She was not a damsel, and her apartment was not a tower. The only shackles tying her up were the pestering thoughts of her lost winter days. A beam of sunlight pushed through her window, and she was reminded of a particular lonesome night.
"Wake up!" the shout came hurtling from her past.
Her dad shook her awake on a dark December night. He held a suitcase in one hand, and his last shred of jubilance in the other.
"Pack your belongings" He yelled in her ear.
"Where is mom?" the voice of a familiar, small girl whimpered.
"I told you to pack your belongings." He insisted as he began to grab objects from her shelves.
She slowly pulled herself out of bed and she grabbed the suitcase from his outstretched hand. The little girl wore a white, lace dress as she grabbed items from around her room. She had seen her mother wearing the exact dress, and afterward, she insisted on wearing it every night to bed. A chilling winter breeze flowed through the room, and it hugged her tightly. After only a few moments, her dad ran to the doorway where he turned toward the girl. His eyes were bulging out of his head, and his feet were tapping vigorously on the floor. When she met his eyes, she realized his serious nature, and she picked up her pace. She grabbed everything she could fit in her small, black suitcase. She grabbed the participation trophy from her first spelling bee and she took the tiny picture book her mother used to read to her and she grabbed her journal from her desk and she took her favorite pen, which she used to write poetry.
Swiftly, she moved to the doorway where her father still stood. Quietly, he took her hand and they hurried away - never to return.
The fading sunlight beamed through the penthouse, and the woman stood perfectly still. However, her lips were beginning to quiver as she looked onward out of the window.
The little girl in her memory realized the fate of her old home as she ran to the car with her father. The scent of smoke found her nose, and soon a red light carried into the sky: the house was on fire.
"Where is mother?" She asked again.
Her father only shook his head. She began to shout, to scream, to kick as to make her father return to the building to save her mother. But, he only put a finger to his lips and pushed the girl into his car. The little girl looked out of the backseat window, her teary eyes following the wreckage of her home. When the sight left her view, she leaned into her father.
"We could have saved her," she whispered, sorrow filling her eyes.
He looked back, and he shook his head.
Returning to the present, the woman began to cry as the day turned quickly into the night. Her body began shaking with an unequivocal force, and her lips trembled as tears streamed down her face. She wanted to break out of the window and jump. She wanted to break free from the shackles of regret.
As she pondered, the girl in the lace dress walked close to her and inspected her slowly. A revelation glowed within her as she whispered something in the woman's ear.
And then, the apartment faded away back into the misty wintry scene, and the girl stood alone once more. With drooping eyes and a heavy head, she carried herself to the casket. Then, she opened the casket, and she looked carefully inside. Surprise cascaded over her face, as the emptiness inside became apparent: it was waiting for her. Without a shred of pride or respect, she laid herself to rest. The initials carved onto the side of it shone brightly in the cold, snowy mist - ME. In the woman’s mind, a casket lay, shrouded in the hushed wind of winters' past, filled with the body of a girl she longed to forget.
The woman smiled fondly out of the window, as the memory of her childhood faded into obscurity. Mysterious words began to play in her head in a familiar adolescent voice.
"The past cannot change, but you can grow."
Now the girl in the lace dress was dead, the product of a lost time.
Sincerely,
A Ghost of the Past