[I’ve reworked my postscript. If you check it out, let me know what you think.]

My Mum still lives in the house I grew up in. By and large we still have the same neighbours. I can walk through the town centre and see a dozen acquaintances spanning a couple of decades. The ghost of my youth wafts down the streets, haunting every encounter.

Fiction Bite - Magellan’s Curios: An item for every inclination

Dust motes hung in the air, flitting between mountains of curios that towered on every available surface. She drifted around the warren of shelves, stopping here and there. She picked up a toy ship with a steam powered paddle wheel; the enamel faded and chipped, soot crusted round the chimney.

“Can I help you?”

She gasped, the boat slipping from her hand and clattering against the warped floorboards. The man folded his already stooped frame to the floor.

“You scared me.” He turned the boat in his hands and rubbed a finger over the floorboards before standing.

“The sign says no touching.”

“I was going to buy it.”

“It’ll be on the counter.” He vanished behind a stack of faded magazines. She sighed and weaved her way to the old shop till.

“You can keep looking, just don’t touch.”

“I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“First visit?”

“I lived here as a kid.”

“Back for the holidays?”

“Funeral.”

He wrapped the boat in sheets of brown paper, tucked in a small bottle of oil, and tied the parcel with sisal string.

The bell tingled as she pushed back through to reality. “She was a good woman, your Mum.” the shopkeeper called, the sound distorting around many lifetimes of junk, “she deserved better.”

He was right.

The dying sun burnt the old pond’s surface into shimmering fire. Her eyes were bloodshot, her throat hoarse. She’d skipped the wake; the whole village would be there, pretending to ask how she was, but really asking why she left. Why she hadn’t come back sooner, when Mum was alive. She filled the fuel tank and the water reservoir. The lighter shook in her hand as she coaxed the wick into life. A glint of flame flickered through holes in the metalwork and smoke wafted out of the chimney. The paddle wheel creaked, then crawled into motion. She smiled and knelt by the water’s edge, watching the boat chug across the water and into the oncoming darkness. It wouldn’t return. Neither would she.

Quote of the Week

“You really didn't see the sadness or the longing unless you already knew it was there. But that was the trick, wasn't it? Everyone had their disappointment and their baggage; only, some people carried it in their inside pockets and not on their backs.” ― Maggie Stiefvater, The Dream Thieves

Book recommendation - Blue Horses by Mary Oliver [Poetry]

Final Words

I fled, though I visit often. And when I do, I crash against an old self. Recently we’ve moved a lot, and that’s made it easy to reinvent myself. But to recraft my identity living alongside people who’ve known me my entire life, who’ve seen all my fads and follies. Could I ever outrun the ghosts?

With Love,

Josiah

What did you think? Hit reply and let me know.

If you enjoy these emails, would you forward it to a friend so they can join the joy?

Been forwarded this email? You can subscribe here. Also, send my thanks to your friend, they’re AWESOME. You’re pretty cool too.