The Visitor

A week after the ghost incident, someone broke into my house while I was there and stole my keys and all my credit cards. I was laying in my bed when it happened. I wasn’t entirely sure that the noises I heard from the kitchen were about anything, although I’m sure somewhere in my body I knew they were. I ignored them once, and then again, as I scroll -scroll-scrolled the morning away. I’m sure a box of cereal fell. I’m sure a broom was dislodged by gravity from its place in the corner.

Only this and nothing more.



This is where I experiment. This is where I learn to write.

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