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 He Crawled Out of the Sea


Ghosts
“I’mawfully sorry,” he says.

               Thelight from our favorite coffee shop illuminates the truth in his eyes. Heshuffled the Polaroids on the table, all of their eyes endless, hungry and allof their hair wild. He slurps his coffee between his teeth andcracks his knuckles. He knows I hate it when he cracks his knuckles. These are just ghosts that broke my heartbefore I met you, these are just ghosts that broke my heart before I met you.

  “You do understand, don’t you?Haven’t you had your heart broken before?”

It’s being broken now.

“Yes.”

 Had we even been anything? Was Ijust a shoulder for him to lean on, a rest stop on his highway of lovers? I’dthought it was real. There was something real, wasn’t there?

  “Listen, Nora, I’ve got to run, butI’ll call you? You’ve still got my flannel.” I nod.

  He scoops up the polaroids, hisghosts, the ghosts that broke his heart, and his camera, walks steadily away. Helooks back and raises his hand. He hasn’t taken a picture.

I’m no ghost.

gone
Published:

gone

This is some of the flash fiction I've been working on lately.

Published:

Creative Fields