Cold Cabin

Photo credit
agroeni.deviantart.com

 

The floor began to creak in the early morning. It was musky, dark, and cold, despite the windows being closed. The wood burning stove cinders were red, which indicated there should be heat.

I walked briskly the crooked mirror tacked on the cracked wall. I was in search for warmth, which never soothed my aching bones.

My goal wasn’t to see my image in the wee hours of the morning. That would come later; much later.

I would throw wood on the stove, grab an old blanket, and sit to watch the flame burn, until the sunrise.

This became a reoccurring process. Time always seemed to elude me. I realized that somehow, the bitter chill that rattled my bones had a connection to the creaking in the floor. It wasn’t until tonight, I was eerily aware that the chill was emitting from me. It is I who also makes the floor-boards creak.

I am a ghost.

Have a  Boo-ti-ful day! 🙂

10:08 AM

Vera Robinson © 2014

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