The extra circle that looked like a No Smoking sign bugged me so much I had to stop looking up. I knew it was still there, though, could feel it on my head searing through my hair, heating my brain and making me madder.
I tried not going in that room but could hear it calling to me, mocking me from afar. Even out in the grounds its distant call reached me still. Even on holiday, countries away.
So I got them to build the scaffold; went up there myself, touched it.
Now I’m a plasterer three hundred years ago.
I tried not going in that room but could hear it calling to me, mocking me from afar. Even out in the grounds its distant call reached me still. Even on holiday, countries away.
So I got them to build the scaffold; went up there myself, touched it.
Now I’m a plasterer three hundred years ago.
Written for Friday Fictioneers from the following picture prompt:
Looks like the influence of a past life is strong even after 300 years. Nice one.
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