I sit here staring at the blank,
white screen before me; the blinking cursor mocks me as it
flashes. "Blink, blink, blink, your mind is blank, blank, blank,"
it whispers to me. Or maybe that is just those little voices in
my head again.
The wind is tearing apart my
favorite tree, the house is still and creaking, preparing itself
for a night's rest. Soft sounds from the baby's room, a dog
snoring softly on my foot. All seems well.
Inside, however, is a raging storm
of pain and anger, fear and guilt. Fire floods my system, blood
boiling with the thoughts of that fateful night, almost exactly
four years ago.
I hear his voice now and then, my
husbands. I hear him teasing me or degrading something or someone
near me. He was never much of a voice of reason, but he was the
balance for me.
Tears burn my eyes, I know they
are darkened grey with the pent moisture, the checked rage. I do
not need to look at them, I have seen them in this state many
My hands shake, body craves
numbness that will never come. I am alone, here, and yet I feel
the weight of a dozen entitites clamoring to speak to me. I hear
them, they know it, and yet tonight, for once, I can ignore
The ghosts walk my hall, restless.
I wonder if my husband still walks this world alone.
Fingers touch my cheek, it is the
woman. She is drawn to me because of the sorrow and pain I
emanate nightly. I cannot help her find peace, for I cannot find
The ghosts are all I have tonight.
The ghosts, a strong wind, and the pleasing scent of rain.