Mark is a ghost

Here we go again…


He set his back to the wall and relaxed. The bricks had been warmed by the sun but he barely felt it. It was early Autumn, almost his time. He shifted, the heel of his worn-out sneaker found a gap in the mortar and used it as a resting point.

No one was out on the street. He looked at his watch; an affectation out of time, but it made him feel better. Two in the afternoon. The children were all in school, the adults all at work. He’d been dead for fifteen years exactly. At least he’d seen the Millennium in. That was some party. In his memory it was only a few months ago, but remembering in sequence was hard now. Nothing that had happened since he died seemed to fit in the usual order.

After five minutes of silence, he heard footsteps. Slow, scuffing on the pavement, reluctant to be here. He watched her resist every step until she stood by the wall right in front of him.

He put his hand on her fallen shoulder, said that he loved her. She looked at his shoes. Carefully, she placed an identical pair against the wall, then stood and walked away again, stepping more lightly on the dusty slabs that were, he knew, about to be washed with a dirty rain.

His feet slipped in to the new sneakers. In a year he would return for fresh ones; until her memory faded, until she was here with him.

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