Perhaps It Was A Hug

A peek into childhood memory — its warmth and hurts. The mystery — and gravity — of what we cannot remember. Fractured souls — and minds. Moulding moments that shape us — and the gentle disquiet beneath it all.

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Lying still

Under

The smudged glass coffee table

Fingertips trace the veins

Of wood

Soft laughter

Upstairs

Faint

Distant

Scattered.

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A hand.

No, two.

Reach round

To wrap.

Her shadow?

A gentle creak

Of floorboards.

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A

quick

Warm touch

Against the skin

The scent

of torn petals.

Hurt.

Wilting.

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A voice

Sweet, Sing

Song,

Too

Soft.

Fades without

Warning.

Still.

Why?

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I stumble

Behind the

Shadows

Unseen.

But here, breathing

Looking for

Her.

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.