A Safe Haven

Dear Avid Reader,

Another little scribble, I hope you like ghost stories, albeit ones with a twist. This story is quite personal (though I have never had any experiences with ghosts and such but that has never stopped me with any other subjects) and follows neatly on from ‘Home’. Hope you enjoy…


The taxi dropped her off, just after ten in the morning, at the foot of the lane. She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to drive up to the house; brambles and branches stuck out of the hedges at irregular intervals and would soon have reduced his paintwork to a maze of scratches. The lane wasn’t as bad as she had feared; she supposed the local farmers would still be using it to get to their fields beyond her Ma’s house. She still thought of it as her Ma’s even though she had been dead for almost seven years; it had been empty for almost the last five years since she turned the key in the lock the day after her Da’s funeral.

She made her way up the lane her case trundling behind, bouncing up and over the bedrock where it broke through the hardened tracks, a bag of shopping bouncing against her knee; she thought of her Da sitting in front of the hearth forever re-lighting his pipe with the sulphurous smell of the matches overpowering the occasional wafts of tobacco. He had looked so ‘temporary’ after her Ma had died. He had always been the sort of man quick to smile and slow to frown and when he knew he was being watched he had seemed no different; it was the times when he didn’t know you were watching; those were the times when she felt her heart would tear. Some of the locals had gossiped about her decision to leave directly after he had been laid to rest; that she had been waiting for him to die just so she could get away. She knew in one respect they were right but she had never begrudged him a single second and she had never wanted him to pass away. She had never told anyone but it was those times when she saw him staring into the grate, whether it was burning fiercely or just glowing with embers waiting for more fuel; that she knew he was counting the days till he would see his beloved Kathleen again; those were the times that she had wished to run away and hide.

As she reached the top of the lane the hedges stopped and the old cottage was revealed sitting just below the top of the hill. She smiled even though the white-wash was faded along the north corner of the gable, the tiles of the roof were heavy with moss and the plant pots on the front window were cracked and only bore the dead skeletons of vegetation. She looked to the chimney and saw no smoke rising from the short stacks and realised it was the first time she had seen it this way. The day she left she hadn’t looked back.

She remembered as a young girl sitting on the back step watching her mother gathering wood and being told that the fire in the house was hundreds of years old. She had laughed and her mother told her that the fire within had been lit from embers carried across from her Grandmother’s house and the fire was always fully stocked at the end of the night and the next morning kindling would be placed on the glowing embers till they took light and the fire could be built up. “Even during the summer?” she had asked.

“Even during the summer, Maeve, even during the summer” her mother had replied. Now some quarter of a century later she laughed herself as she remembered the look of puzzlement followed by her mothers’ high pitched laugh while shaking her head after she had asked “Why?” with all the innocence of a five year old.

The morning air was heavy with the threat of a storm building slowly with the heat from the summer sun. She looked at the sky to the north and could see large white fluffy clouds slowly rolling over the mountains, “When the mountains the clouds do blight… thunder all through the night… when the mountains so hard and so clear… the sky has nothing to fear… ”she whispered.

She unfastened the wire twist that held the gate closed and walked up the short path to the front door; she smiled as she saw the pile of logs beneath plastic sheeting that her cousin Finbarr must have left within the last few days. She turned and looked at the front garden and the fields beyond and realised that Finbarr had obviously been maintaining the smallholding while she was away. She had told him to rent out the fields but looking at the condition of them she figured Finbarr had been running them himself. No-one renting them would have been so conscientious with them. She reached for the small brass weather-beaten bell that hung to the side of the door and unhooked the clapper within and turned it over in her palm revealing the key she had left.

It took her over two minutes to work the key into the lock and open the door; pausing for a moment before stepping into the house of her birth. The stale air within made her sneeze, which in its turn stirred up dust motes which hung lazily in the air lit by the sun struggling to pierce the grimy windows. She stepped fully into the kitchen/main room of the cottage, the open fire looking like a gravestone with no fire within; “well… I’d better get busy…” she said to the room.

It was half way through the afternoon before Maeve felt she had cleaned enough to take a short break. Reaching up to clear the cobwebs and remove the dust from atop the “kings’ trusses” had proved tiring as she could only just reach when standing on the table she had to pull around the room. A county of small men, she thought; small women as well! All the windows had been opened and the freshening breeze had managed to banish the mustiness, though once or twice she felt that she had sniffed the old familiar smell of sulphur in the kitchen; she had unpacked the bedclothes from their shrink-wrap and hung them out on the line to freshen and gradually got the kitchen clean enough for the moment. After a small snack and a bottle of water she tackled her bedroom feeling that she wouldn’t be able to face her parents’ room until at least the next day. After two hours the bedroom was habitable enough for her to spend the night. She looked out of the window she had peered out of so often and noticed it had grown considerably darker.

Stepping out through the front door she saw that the clouds had built up considerably and a complete blanket stretched almost to the horizon. The wind had picked up as well so she walked around the cottage and gathered up the blankets and sheets she had hung up to air.

She returned to the kitchen and looked at the cold dark fireplace; she hadn’t realised she had been putting off the lighting the fire but she realised then that she knew when she lit the fire she would be home for good. She found herself smiling at the thought. She returned to the front door and pulled the sheeting of the logs that Finbarr had left; four small wraps of kindling were lying on top of the pile with an old copy of the local newspaper. Of all her cousins Finbarr, though almost five years her junior; was her favourite. When she had left he had offered her no accusing look but had simply hugged her tightly and whispered into her ear to take care of herself and keep in touch. He had been the first person locally to get the internet and she was almost positive it was especially so he could e-mail and chat to her.

She knelt in front of the hearth stone realising she had never seen her Ma or her Da light a fire from cold. She tore the pages from the newspaper and crumpled them up into small tight balls arranging them in a rough circle before loosely rolling another page and placing it so the pattern formed a capital ‘Q’. She looked at it for a moment and began to hum a quiet refrain while she unwrapped the kindling and spread it on top of the papers. Two more trips outside and she had a pile of wood that should last well into the night and a few dozen twigs she had gathered from the path to place on top her small unlit pyre.

Still humming to herself she reached up to the mantel shelf and lifted down the box of matches from under the clock. Her eyes moistened as she looked at the swan image on the box that must have been lying in the same place for the last five years. A touch of mildew stained one corner as she slowly slid the box open and lifted out one of the matches. “Enough tears…” she said to the match as she struck it along the side of the box. For a brief moment nothing happened till it flared into life and her Da was with her once again. She let the flame take hold and lowered it down to the tail of paper sticking out from beneath the kindling; the flames quickly spread beneath the pile and thick slow smoke began to seep between the small twigs. She stayed crouched until the flames began to engulf the pile and the thicker twigs first blackened and then burst into flame themselves.

She carefully added a couple of the smallest logs and then moved to the sink beneath the back window and filled the kettle. She lifted the shopping bag from the floor and began to empty the contents onto the table; she reached up to the shelf and lifted down two mugs and was washing the second one when she realised she was on her own. She stopped and looked out of the window; the layer of cloud was almost black with a bright strip of blue at the far horizon; a flood of deep red light flowed towards her across the hilly landscape as the bottom edge of the sun seemed to cut through the turbulent ceiling. A tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away roughly as the blazing red disc turned the world beneath the clouds into a crimson vista.

“This is what I should have shown you Alan…” she slipped her purse from the shopping bag and opened it carefully; extracting a small passport sized photo of a dark haired man in his mid-twenties laughing wildly. His hair is soaked and plastered to his skin reaching down to his shoulders as the hand of the photographer stretches into frame pulling the errant hairs away from his dark brown eyes. “…will I ever stop crying Alan? Will I ever stop hurting?”

It was only a moment or two after the sun had fully appeared beneath the cloud layer before it began to sink below the horizon; shadows stretched rapidly across the hills and the clouds seem to boil and froth as they turned a bright red. She watched as the landscape darkened and the clouds paled from their fiery red through to pink till the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the colours fled across the canopy towards the horizon. She carefully replaced the photograph as she remembered the storm barely two months previously and almost half a world away.


The day had been so like this day, the slow build up of clouds, the air itself getting heavier as afternoon turned to evening and the ground still dry beneath their bare feet as evening finally turned to night. Then the rain came, sudden and complete; where they could see across the wide valley one minute, the pouring rain meant they could only just make out their tent barely twenty feet away. They had dived beneath the canvas already soaked to the skin, laughing and smiling; as they had pulled of their wet clothing in the close confines of the tent the laughter had turned to kisses that had turned to caresses that had turned to slow sweet love-making. She had screamed loudly as she came; her rapture fighting against the noise of the hammering of the rain on the flimsy material above his head.

As they both lay entwined in post-orgasmic bliss he had remembered the satellite phone left outside where they had watched elephants wander across the savannah towards the local drinking hole. She had told him to leave it till the morning or at least till the rain had stopped; it was safe enough in its water-proof holder. He said it might get washed away. She said they could cope without it; they were both reasonably experienced. He said it was only a hundred yards away.

She wrapped her hand around his flaccid cock, feeling the slickness of their combined juices upon his flesh slowly drying. He grinned, telling her he would only be a moment. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean. He hesitated before kneeling and reassuring her it would be okay. She frowned at him before sliding her hand back to her still-wet pussy; slipping two fingers deep within herself. His eyes dilated as he watched her. She said she’d be finished if he didn’t hurry back. She watched him pull open the tent, a waterproof coat pulled over his head; his pale bare ass atop his tanned legs as he disappeared into the darkness.

She began to twist her fingers inside her pussy as her left hand reached down to roll her clit beneath her first and fore-fingers. She never came.

He never came back.


Huge black spots began to appear on the concrete path leading up to the front door, first one, then two, then four; she looked down at her silhouette etched on the grey surface by the single bulb hanging in the room behind her. Her shadow moved slightly as the breeze stiffened flowing past her; she heard the fire in the hearth crackle as the burning logs were fed with fresh air. Her eyes watched her shape slowly disappear as rain came down harder turning the path black; she almost felt that she was disappearing along with her shadow before she stepped forward and turned her face up to the flow of water from the invisible heavens.

Her hair had quickly matted to her skull before she shook herself from her reverie and returned to smoky warmth of the house. She opened her case which had still been laying against the stool that always sat beside the door; tugging the towel (Alan had always put his towel in last, covering his clothes and tucking it down the sides of the case; she had never asked him why but had always smiled when she saw him packing) free of her clothes she pulled a chair from beside the table and hung it over the back to warm in front of the fire. She reached up to the mantel shelf and lifted down the candle that always sat there. Lighting it from the fire she walked across the room, her hand wrapped around the flame; and placed the beacon in front of the window.

She returned to the fire and lifted the towel and vigorously rubbed her hair dry. As she dropped the towel back onto the chair she saw the single electric bulb flicker; she bent over and placed another log onto the fire and settled herself into the chair. She had no idea how long she had sat there watching the myriad of shapes created in the ever changing flow of the flame. The mug of tea held between her palms had long since gone cold as the wind swirled around the cottage, the rain drummed heavily on the roof above the trusses and the creaks and groans of the old cottage played a tune known only to itself.

From her statue-like torpor she suddenly looked across to the window, the flame of the candle seemed to waver as her eyes fixed upon it. The lamp above her flickered twice and held steady for a moment before winking out; momentarily her eyes revealed nothing till the room seemingly brightened to the light of the fire. The chairs, ornaments, the trusses of the roof, even herself cast dancing showers to the rhythm of the fire. She returned her gaze to the fire and imagined her Da sitting where she was, her young self leaning against his legs, arms wrapped around her slim legs gazing into the flames of a long dead fire as he told her stories told to him by the Shanachie. Her Ma sitting at the table, slowly turning cards as she played endless games of Patience; often smiling to herself and sometimes correcting him only to be told to tell the story herself if she knew better. She always replied, with a small smile, she could tell the stories better but that then she couldn’t listen to his voice. He would lean down and whisper conspiratorially into the young Maeve’s ear “daft old cow”, always followed by a light kiss upon her cheek.

On a night like this, when the electricity failed, the tales would turn to ghost stories or the tales of the mythical warriors. Time and again she would ask for his rendition of the Táin Bó Cuailnge about the heroes of old and their battles that had raged all around the place where she now sat. Each time she heard the tales she would notice parts missed or stories embellished and as she sat alone in a small cottage on the top of a hill in the middle of a raging storm she thought she could hear her Da once again tell her of the “Hound of Culain” and his glorious deeds.

The windows would rattle as a particularly ferocious gust of wind and rain assaulted the small cottage, she would glance up at the candle flame wavering on the sill to check it was still alight unable to remember when she learnt of the tradition to “light the way home”. If only I’d been able to “light the way home” for Alan she thought to herself.

Her eyes were fixed on the movement of the flames in the fireplace when she heard the faint sound, her gaze once again moved to the candle and the glass beyond it; her brow furrowed as she tried to work out what it was. Maybe a fox trying to get to shelter or a broken branch being blown along the garden wall; she got up slowly and made her way to the window. The rain washed across the panes distorting the dim shadows outside. Stepping up to the door her hand lingered on the latch before pressing it down; the released door slammed open against the jamb with the force of the gale behind it. Her shadow streamed into the night seeming to dance in the flowing curtain of rain; the white-washed garden wall ghosted in out of vision even though it was barely eight yards away as water washed down the path towards the gate.

There was a flash from behind the house lighting up the garden wall and the lane beyond; as the heavy rumble of thunder shook the doorstep beneath her feet the image etched on her eyes began to fade. She stared into her temporary blindness at the strange shape that had appeared beyond the wall as the image began to fade. Once again the area around the house blazed into her eyes and the ground shook almost simultaneously as lightning grounded itself close by. The frozen image of the garden wall with the gate in the centre was burned into her vision; the ghostly shape of a figure leant against one of the gate pillars. Her scream was silent as light and sound flooded her senses; the electrical fork split her sight as an explosion of sparks erupted less than fifty yards from where she stood in the field beyond the lane. The figure was no longer leaning against the pillar but now lay collapsed in the gap; the gate swinging wildly bouncing of the humped form as water washed around it.

She stood frozen for a second before dashing into the tempest; she ran, half slipped along the concrete path. The water seemed to instantly be washing all over her; her clothes offering no barrier to the relentless rain, her long hair sweeping across her face as she bent to the prone figure. Reaching under the stranger’s arms she pulled and lifted finding strength beyond her slight frame; the man, she now saw, groaned and struggled to help as the two of them retreated up the slight incline to the warmth and safety of her cottage.

After a seemingly herculean effort they collapsed through the front door, the man gasping as he rolled onto his back; Maeve pulled herself up and managed to push the door closed and drop the latch. Almost as soon as the outside world could no longer be seen the sound of the storm seemed to fade. She looked down at the man lying at her feet, he appeared to be in his early thirties; his blonde hair plastered across his head above a broad weather-worn face. An old scar, about an inch long, segmented his left eye brow and his chin had a couple of day’s worth of stubble framing his lips which were light blue from the cold. She watched as his pupils shifted back and forth beneath his eyelids. He looked lean beneath his sodden clothes; he was wearing a dark blue suit with a collar-less white shirt beneath. It seemed dated to her; something her Da might have worn to Mass on a Sunday, the thin material was almost transparent with the rain and she could see a patch of his chest hair between his hard nipples. His slowly rising and falling chest was muscular without being grotesque like a body-builder; her eyes wandered down over his flat stomach to see a second patch of hair rising from beneath his belted trousers.

Maeve shook herself out of her reverie and moved into the bedroom pulling the freshly made blankets of the bed and returning to the main room and draping them over a couple of chairs she positioned in front of the hearth; she reached to the pile of wood and added three fresh pieces to the fire. Returning to the bedroom she pulled a duvet from the drawer beneath the cupboard and ripped of the protective cellophane wrapping. It smelled musty from its storage and she flapped it a couple of times before walking back and placing it on the floor in front of the fire. She turned to the kettle and flicked its switch on before realising the electric was still out.

Going back to the stranger lying beside the door she reached beneath his armpits and tried vainly to pull him across to the heat. She knelt forwards behind his head and looked down on his handsome features. She wondered how she had managed to pull him up the path as he began to stir. His eyelids twitched a couple of times before fully opening to reveal dark brown irises. She bit her lip as they stared into each other’s upside-down eyes; his lips curled slightly into a smile before puzzlement spread across his face. “Hello?” his voice was quiet and deep.

“Hello” replied Maeve; both of them said nothing for some moments as they continued to look at each other’s faces, “I think you’d better come over by the fire…”

He tilted his head slightly; “Rain… wind… lightning… thunder?” Maeve asked.

He suddenly shivered and seemingly became aware of his situation, with a little aid he managed to sit up leaning against the wall beside the door; “…I … err… You’ve done enough… already. I’ll just catch my breath… and I’ll be on my way…” At that moment the windows flashed followed by the loud rumble of thunder.

“Certainly!” replied Maeve; “You only half drowned yourself… may as well drown the other half too!”

“I’ve been too much trouble already…” Eejit, stupid fucking eejit Maeve thought, damn cute though!

“Away with ya” Maeve stood helping the man to his feet and leading him to the now roaring fire stepping around the eider down duvet on the floor.

He stood shakily before the fire; “You’re going to have to get out of those wet clothes as well” she instructed him as she pulled out two hinged sets of arms from either side of the mantelpiece; “Hang them on these and they’ll be dry in no time” she almost laughed as he blushed deeply and his eyes flicked down to her own wet blouse. Even without looking down she knew her nipples were hard and erect though she had the idea that it might not be the cold rain that was solely responsible. “Aye… I’ll have to be doing the same…” she lifted one of the warm blankets to his hand and picked one up for herself.

He looked around and saw the door that led to the bedroom and made to head for it; “We’ll both have to strip in here, it’s the only heated room in the house at the moment…” His cheeks seemed to redden even more; “I promise I won’t look!” her serious mouth slipping into a grin as she turned away.

She faced away from him and dropped the blanket onto the table before beginning to unbutton her blouse; her eyes were focused on the glass fronted dresser in front of her that showed the stranger hesitating before turning to the fire and pulling of his suit jacket and hanging it from arm beside the fire. Maeve licked her lips as she pulled her own blouse off and proceeded to unclasp her bra dropping them onto the floor at her feet. She slowly rolled her nipple beneath her thumb as she watched him peel his shirt from his torso revealing a broad tanned back. She unfastened her slacks and pushed them down, her eyes never leaving the reflected image before her, Fuck but I’m horny she thought to herself. She pushed her soaking moccasins off, realising that her toes were almost blue from cold and watching the stranger drop his trousers to reveal a tight muscular ass beneath his wet boxers; she quickly bent pulling off her wet panties.

As she picked up her clothes she rubbed the crotch of her panties between her thumb and forefinger detecting a slipperiness that had nothing to do with water. She lifted the blanket around her shoulders and held it together with one hand as she said “Are ye decent yet?”

She smiled to herself as he wondered whether or not to remove his soaking boxers before leaving them on and pulling the blanket around his shoulders and sitting in one of the chairs. “Err… yes…” he stammered.

Maeve walked over to the right side of the fire and began to hang her clothes leaving her purple lacy bra and panties till last; almost giggling as she sensed him quickly dropping his eyes to the flames in front. She paused for a moment wondering what had come over her; Brazen Hussy, that’s what me Ma would have called me she thought to herself. If her Ma had known what she had been like when she had left home she was sure her Ma would have kicked her all the way down to the hill and all the way to the church for confession. She had never behaved like this at home, had never wanted too, had never, well rarely, ever thought about it.

She reached beside the hearth and pulled a stool over between them and the bent to open the cupboard to the right of the chimney breast; she pulled out a couple of glasses and then a plain bottle half full of clear liquid. “Sorry but as the electrics are out I can’t offer you a cup of tea”; she pulled the blanket around her shoulders and over her lap freeing her arms to unscrew the bottle and pouring two liberal measures of the clear liquid. She raised her glass; “Slainté!” she toasted.

He looked nervously at the glass and then lifted it, “Cheers!” he replied. He took a sip and she saw his nostrils flare slightly before he downed two fingers worth. She lifted her own glass to her lips and felt the slightly sweet liquid burn its way down her throat. The firelight flickered through the facets of the tumbler as she marvelled at the desires welling up within her. She could barely remember ever feeling this turned on and never with just meeting a perfect stranger who she realised she didn’t even know his name. There seemed to be something about him, not quite right, out of kilter; almost as if he was from another time or another place. She began to wonder what his cock would feel like in her hands, what it would taste like, would it fill her wet pussy. She felt her muscles twitch involuntarily within her and her juices slowly trickle down between her labia; she squeezed her thighs together desperate to have the sensations sated.

She noticed him squirm slightly in his seat as he put the glass down on the stool; she reached for the bottle, aware that the blanket was hanging forward exposing the inside curve of her right breast, the rough material scratching the sensitive tip of her erect nipple; she poured two further generous measures into the glasses. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

He looked away from the fire, his eyes glancing down to her chest; again he shifted in his seat as he replied “Warming up nicely, thank you very much”

Maeve looked up at his clothes hanging neatly on the wall bracket, steam rising from them in slow twisting columns; she smiled, licking her lips “I did say you had to get out of your wet clothes…” her gaze flicked between his eyes and the drying clothes. His cheeks flushed once again as her eyes dropped to his lap and she arched her eyebrow, “… you don’t want to be getting chills, now!”

He coughed and his eyes tried to appeal beyond her reason till he succumbed and stood up turning away. He bent forward and shuffled the wet underwear down his legs; Maeve reached to her breast and squeezed it tightly through the rough fabric of the blanket as her foot moved to stand on the blanket pooled on the floor. As he stood up the blanket pulled off his shoulders and landed in a pile at his feet; he span around clutching the wet boxers across his crotch. Maeve smiled and stood leaving her blanket on the chair and stepped towards him; his eyes fixed rigidly on hers as she reached down between them and pulled the wet underwear from his grasp. She stretched past him, her aching nipples pressed to his chest as she hung the boxers on the drying bracket. She moved back, a small moan escaping her lips as her nipples slid over his broad chest to rest against his own; the boxers slipped from the arm and fell down into the fire where they sizzled.

Neither of them paid any heed to the fire, his eyes still locked on hers as her fingernails traced a light tattoo down the sides of his chest; he groaned as her warm hands found his erection and wrapped themselves around it gently pulling it, rubbing the sensitive head against the folds of her soaking wet pussy. Maeve looked down between them and gazed upon the cock in her hands. It looked perfect. Slowly she began to bend her knees, planting kisses across his chest, nibbling his left nipple to elicit a further groan from the nameless stranger before continuing down over his flat stomach. As her knees found the duvet beneath them she held his cock as it throbbed slightly in front of her face. She wrapped both hands around it, one atop the other; his glans protruded and his foreskin rolled back and forth under her slow strokes. She smiled to herself as she saw how thick it was; her fingertips could not touch her thumbs as she twisted her hands in opposite directions around his hot member.

She tentatively reached her tongue forward to slide across the slit tasting the salty pre-cum as it oozed from it; “Too long… it’s been far too long… “ she whispered to herself as she opened her lips and slowly slid her mouth down his length…


I slowly swim upwards from the warm embrace of sleep, fragments of memory surfacing from the night before as I feel the tenderness and aches satisfied register across my body. I smell the mustiness of the blankets and feel them scratch my skin as I slowly stretch beneath their warm folds. As my mind finally nears the border of dreams and reality I become aware of the bright light turned pink by my closed eyelids. I feel the bruises and the bites incurred from the frenzied passion as a chill breeze cools the exposed flesh of my face. I smile to myself as I reach for the warm body beside me. It takes me a moment to realise she isn’t there.

I open my eyes, the vision blurred in the bright morning sunshine streaming through the window. As my focus steadies it takes me seconds to comprehend what I am seeing. I sit up rapidly, dizzy for a moment with my sudden movement, and look at the room around me.

The walls are damp, the paint peeling all around, a bare patch of stone exposed where the lime plaster has fallen away. A pane of glass missing from the window, the rest cracked and covered in spider’s webs. The front door hangs ajar, its bottom hinge broken; the dust scuffed around it and over to where I am sitting. The far corner of the floor covered in a pool of water around a pile of moss covered masonry and tiles; I look upward to see a gaping hole in the roof and for a moment think I see a rope hanging from the truss above my head. I blink and it is gone.

I stand up, the musty mildewed blanket falling from my naked form as I spin around. My clothes are hanging from a bracket beside the mantel piece; the hearth below damp and cold from years of idleness.


I have dressed myself in a state of utter bewilderment; my clothes were dry but rumpled and my boxers were missing. As I move towards the door I see a piece of paper covered in dust lying on the woodworm riddled table. I pick it up and read the contents…

“There all gone.

Ma, Da. I knew they would go one day.

Then Alan saved me. Then he too was gone. I shouldn’t have let him go, I should have made him stay, I COULD have made him stay, but I didn’t.

I thought I could return here and start again.

I was wrong.

Finbarr, I’m sorry. I know you will be the one to find me and for that I am sorry.

Maybe I will find them all but I know I can’t stay here.

Please understand Finbarr.


The door shifts and squeaks on its solitary hinge and I glance over. When I return my gaze to my hand the note is gone.

The End

~ by ftfagos on April 25, 2011.

One Response to “A Safe Haven”

  1. […] A personal favourite of mine… A Safe Haven […]

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