Chapter 11: Ghosts

It was a chilly autumn afternoon and a fine gent was walking through the vast open country sides still left unmolested by the feverish ideas of machinery and mass productions. Buttoning up his upper vest to shield himself from the strong highland winds, he trudged on through the mud covered tracks. The sky was bright red and the sun was beginning to set, and in his eyes he saw the multitudinous farmers at work in their fields, beginning to cease and return to their homes. The fields, too, gradually left him in his journey and towering bushes and trees flanked him.

He made a sudden left turn and followed down a path too narrow for two. The overlapping crowns of the trees blocked out whatever sunlight that was left and even his shadow was barely visible. He finally reached a gate and before his eyes were flowers. The colors blinded him momentarily but he managed to navigate his way without stepping disrespectfully on the floral decorations that adorned the stones.

Stumbling clumsily, however, he reached a corner of this vast maze to come face to face with a cross with two names engraved on it. He shut his eyes, and pictured them before him. Their 'meeting' was silent and only their eyes spoke volumes. He swallowed hard as their haunting eyes stared deep into his own. 'Rip me apart, and bare my soul' he thought to himself on his knees. He was frustrated at his inability to communicate in ways that he himself knew. The phantasms and images gradually faded away and he opened his eyes. He was alone again. Seemingly consumed by the moment, he broke down and tears flowed from his eyes. His silent sobs echoed deep into the lazy woods and a million thoughts were on his mind. Shadows were cast over him as the dying sun painted the clouds and prepared to go to its own period of rest. Getting up, he shuffled through the maze once more and left.

The arches of the trees impressed upon as an endless vortex, a journey to eternity. He sneered at his own wild imagination and chided himself to be hasty. Reaching into his pockets, he grabbed a fine tobacco roll and placed it between his parched lips. Producing a match box, he struck a match swiftly along the rough exterior of the box. The flame glowed minimally lighting up the dark and rather depressive path back onto the main road. Burn, and the familiar choking yet calming aroma of smoke filled his nostrils. He squints as the exhaust irritates his eyes. Puff after puff, his body filled with weary, step by step, with feet like lead, he finally makes it out back on to the main road.

He pauses for a moment and takes a deep puff. Letting the smoke reach the deepest part of his lungs, he exhales calmly and slowly. He feels a deep sense of serenity and looks back once more at the long narrow corridor that he had just exited. A million thoughts flash through his mind again. But at the last of his smoke-filled breath, he smiles and leaves the ghosts that haunt him behind. Hurrying again back on the main road, he realizes that he is late.