The GhostA Story by Mike MitchellA very short piece about Kaspar Hauser.
I dream. It's the only thing I can do. I can’t see; I can’t move; I can’t speak. I can hear, sometimes. A man whose name I don’t know takes care of me. He feeds me; washes me; cuts my hair. Whenever my arms and legs start to ache from moving, or whenever my eyes sting from the light, he makes me drink medicine. It tastes horrible. I’ll never get used to it. But he says I must, so I do. And then I go back to normal; back to sleep; back to dreaming. I know his voice, the man whose name I don’t know. He sounds old, and frail, and weary. He calls me Kaspar. Sometimes I dream what the old man reads to me; I’m a knight, or a pirate, or a monk. Sometimes I dream of other things. I don’t know what they are, but I like them. The old man talks about God a lot. And sometimes I dream of Him too. I like Him. He’s very nice. He tells me a lot. You will leave this place He says. You will move. You will see. You will speak. Other nights He tells me: Your name will be known throughout the world. Your name will be remembered. He says: You will be a riddle, a mystery, an enigma. You will inspire. You will cause uproar. He tells me. You will be hated. You will be a prince, a pauper, and a victim. You will be murdered. When He says things like that, my heart beats faster. I can hear it. I breathe faster. I get scared. He tells me these things, and I wonder about them. I think about them. I dream about them. Where will they happen. Why will they happen. I ask God, “When will they happen?” The only thing He says is: Soon, Kaspar. Soon. I can’t wait. © 2008 Mike MitchellAuthor's Note
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6 Reviews Added on September 6, 2008 Last Updated on October 29, 2008 AuthorMike MitchellRockland County, NYAboutHelllooooo..... I'm Mike.... ummm..... I'm not very good at summing myself up into a quaint little paragraph, which I'm guessing should be a problem for a writer, but f**k it: I'm a sophomore in colle.. more..Writing
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