“I’m gonna kill you sons of a bitch,” he said, when he saw the torn sheet.

“I found him on a cold day in a slow spring.” New flash fiction from Dez Walker

And then I knew, after sign upon sign upon sign, I knew as surely as I knew my own self, that I had a ghost living with me.

Both living on their nerves, growing thinner as Tom grew fatter, they refused follow-up visits from the authorities. She missed her post-natal check-up, and they did not attend the vaccination clinic. The authorities became concerned.

All night long they clung to each other, bobbing on a sea of whisky and memories and dreams, lashed to a floating spar that sank and rose and sank and rose again.

When bells ring out the time, the time passes strangely. The space between tolls seems impossible, like it’s hanging, waiting for something. For me.