Category: ** PROJECTS **

I have some writing to catch up on. Will be mashing up the last item from the last set and the first item from this one:

Care to join me in a train journey?

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30. Title: The Skeleton in the Village
31. Subject: Write about a train journey

There’s something about slow, intentional travels that make sojourners like me sink into a deep melancholy. Today’s journey is no different. Especially since I’m headed to a place one can’t help but feel nostalgic about.

Today, I’m going back to the past.

The train chugs along lazily. Trees wave surreal branches at me as I pass from one station to another. A thousand suns rise and set with each mile passed and, with each burst of golden orange, I know I’m closer to my destination.

By the time my ride draws to a stop I already know that I’m here. I’m in the Past. I’m in a village filled with remnants of my childhood, of my teenage years, of some early days of my adulthood, too. I breathe in — slowly — take my bags, and get out of my coach.

Everything’s exactly as I remembered. The squeaky swing sets are still there. Mr. Chipmunk’s store is still up and running like it’s business as usual. The driveway is filled with bicycles, scooters, roller blades, and a roller skate that I’ve always claimed as mine. I want to get on the swings, buy tsoknut from the store, put on the old skate, but I stop myself.

I’m here to retrieve one thing.

There’s a skeleton hiding somewhere in this village. I need to bring it with me to the present. People don’t usually do that. People usually keep these skeletons locked up in the past, in the darkness, where no one can bring them to the light. But that’s exactly what I need to do — bring it to the light.

I once read that if you shine light on something, you can set that something free. I want to be free. I don’t want to be haunted by that skeleton anymore. But the light in the past isn’t enough. Only the light in the present is.

I find the skeleton underneath the staircase leading up our house. Its pungent aroma hits my nose. I’m surprised nobody’s found it. I’m surprised nobody’s dared to relocate it, bury it, or even throw it away. But then, of course, nobody lives in the Past. Nobody’s bothered by it.

Only I, who knows it’s there, am.

I throw my black travelling bag over it. Fix it up. Zip it up. Pick it up as I head back to the train station so that I could make my way back into the present.

It’s time to set myself free.