Jag har länge funderat på att testa att skriva på engelska. Så, nu under julen skrev jag en mikronovell för att testa.
Jag lägger ut den här som en sen julklapp! Hoppas att ni gillar den!
A Tale of Christmas Lost
Inspired by the classic Dickens Christmas Carol
I do not exist, not in the manner that you do. When you go to sleep at night I stay awake and sometimes cause those creepy noises that keeps your well deserved nightly rest away.
Let there be no doubt between us. I am one of the dead that once failed to prosper. My place is neither in hell nor in heaven. My doom is to wander the world in total oblivion, remembered by noone. I come to you only once a year and whether I do good or evil is a point of view.
Christmas time is dark, rainy and whipped by gusting winds. The cold is not so bad as the sight of warm lights from the apartment building windows. Snow would be a blessing for the children and the cold death of you, my living kin. I find you where you slumber, because sleep is not for you either.
”Who’s there?”, you croak between coughs of cold. I feel the grip of winter on your bones, rotted deep in your soul.
I stand between the streetlight and the shadow under the bridge that is your roof. Your home when the shelters do not permit you entry.
”It is I”, I say. ”Don’t you know me, not even when you see me at this night?”
You rustle under the blanket, its edges frayed and soiled by muddy waters.
”This was once my home, too.” I look around the place. Dripping concrete, a bumpy bike path and the sound of the occasional car passing on the road overhead. Spiked tyres rustle like a thousand badly clipped dog claws.
”Well, you can’t have it. It’s mine. Mine!” You knock over the empty bottle at your side, the reason for your stay here tonight rather than at the shelter only a few minutes walk away. I was there earlier. The seats in the cantina were filled with broken people enjoying a simple meal for Christmas. Some had a bed waiting for them, others not. But all had just enough of a spark of hope in their souls for me to leave them alone.
Not you. You cough again and I watch for a long time. I see no such hope and therefore I stay.
”Quit staring at me and get the fuck out of here”, you say.
”You do know what time of year it is?” I respond, squatting down so we are on the same level. I meet your gaze and watch your eyes turn to angry slits.
”Fucking Christmas, it is,” you say. ”Who the fuck gives a shit. Eh?”
”I once did.”
”Well, I don’t. So scram.”
”So did you.”
You mumble an illegible reply and turn your back to me.
”What if you could again?”
Now your eyes widen and I see a glint somewhere. Hope? No. You look me up and down before you speak again.
”What do you care?”
”I simply do”, I say. ”Do you believe in ghosts?”
”Not even if I tell you that I am one?” The wind blows a wisp of icy rain on you blanket. The water that should have splashed my back glistens on your face.
”I’d say stay off the drugs, man. That shit aint no good. Even I get that much.” You laugh another scraping, coughing sound. Your teeth show and I feel your breath on the air. It explains your brown teeth. I can do nothing about that so I merely watch as you stop laughing.
”Now tell me what you want or get lost. I don’t share my place, not with anyone.”
”I want to show you what you have lost, if you’ll let me.”
”I don’t let you anything, asshole, now…
I don’t care. I show you anyway. It is what I do, and it is all that I can do. It is what I am. The next gust of wind blows me into oblivion again and I am no more seen for a year. The wind that was me flows in through your mouth and nose when you inhale and you are filled with warmth and memory.
The smell of bread and candlelight. A fire that crackles in the fireplace. The company of friends and loved ones, all surrounded by the glittering of children’s eyes and deep red decorations everywhere in your safe home. There is snow and ice outside to the children’s delight and doom of your kin. I show you this, for it is what I came to show you.
For I am the Ghost of Christmas Lost.