In the summertime, he keeps the windows open to let the breeze in. Every night he hears the ghost train passing by from his bed, yet it is not the steam whistle that keeps him awake. It is not the chug of the engine firing fuel to pull its weight. It is not the thought of the dead that frighten him so, nor the phantasmagorical events that would unfold during the night. It is the sound of the chains as they rattle accusingly on the iron rails.
Two coins on your eyes for my thoughts…
Sentimental, hateful memories of a boy, and all that he wanted was his grandfather's watch, passed down from his father's father, attached to a chain worn in his breast pocket. How he coveted it, that loud TickTickTick. How he would steal it, just for a minute, just to hold it and pretend that it was his, considering the possibility of never giving it back. He thought he would rather die tomo