torsdag 21 april 2011

Ghosts

Ghosts. So many ghosts, in this city. So many dead for thousands of years. Ghosts.

Plagues, the Great Fire of London, murders, just simple deaths after lives filled with misery; suicides, executions, the homeless man who sighs his last into a cold city wall, the wealthy baroness who dies in an expensive mansion after a life full of spite. The hawker who died falling through the ice on the Thamse when they built instant towns on it during winters of the 1400´s; the police officer killed in riots by the eternal London Mob.

Walking down the oldest alleyways, they blink in the corners.

Walking back home at night, from the train station, down the pavement and the path, someone, a dark figure, follows me – and gone.