Tag Archives: writing

On the man’s face—for a man it was, old and somehow unpleasant—was painted the definition of surprise. His mouth hung open; his wide eyes boring into mine with terror equal to my own. To this day, I will never forget that sight: a phantom more scared of the living than the living fears the dead. It must be a terrible existence to be an apparition, whose only purpose is to cling to the slowly fading past.