I cried, “Why didn’t they listen years ago when she said it was in her lungs?”
“Woman hush – I am the radiologist and it’s normal.”
His words, like dung, running downstream to pollute the water of life.
The stinging rain came in where the old wooden roof had blown away years ago on the ancient ruins of the castle on the hill. George the ghost lived here, where he performed his job of protecting his wife and children and giving them a happy home. At the beginning of every year, the wind was fierce and the air icy cold inside the castle.
The attic felt like a doorway to another present, where the border between the future and the past was homogenous. The remnants of my grandfather’s life merged with the fragments of dreams that haunted my sleep.