Ghosts to Carry, Stories to Keep
Where memory meets the page, one moment at a time.
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Category: Stories
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The occasional tannoy announcement — delivered in a tone that suggested I should already know what was being said — drifted across the platform.
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Then there were the plastic seats — back-to-back rows that discouraged comfort and punished optimism. I tried one once, briefly, before realising they were designed for people who had already given in.
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My camera had accidentally captured the twilight of Sezam.
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… she demanded: “Co tam takiego ciekawego do fotografowania?”
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Fledermausgauben lifting from the tiles,
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And yes, it features a possessed bicycle.
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… two people repeating “Wi‑Fi” at each other like confused parrots.
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I often thought of Jeanette Winterson’s novel Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit — except for me, they were.
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Half-awake most mornings, I found myself wondering whether they ever swapped places just to confuse the guests.
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Snow? Not a problem. I woke to the sound of movement downstairs — soft, deliberate, domestic. When I pulled back the curtain, I realised why the house felt so different. The first flakes of snow had begun falling the previous evening during our visit to Katowice, sticking to our coats before tailing us all the…