A little while ago I visited what used to be the Ragged School in Swansea. It is a strange, haunting, fascinating place full of what I can only describe as 'trace memories.' The visit affected me deeply and inspired the beginning of a story. Below is what I've written so far.
I went there; to the Ragged School. I stay there still though you do not see me. Once when you came with your fat tears; knowing our cruel history, I stood right next to you and whispered my life; soft and gentle. You did not want to hear me. But I felt you shudder, just a little, as your spirit traced the memory and understood. It’s like that for me now. And, sometimes when I recall life’s small sweet mysteries and her darkness I remember that moment. I think that you do too.
My brother clings to the walls of his own imprisonment. They say that he is lost, but I know that he isn’t. There is a shell; smooth and shiny, that he’s built around his mind; a solid black impenetrable tower of resistance. But I know the way in.
I would start at the beginning; if I could find it. Perhaps you know. Perhaps you can see a beginning and an end when I cannot. Why is that do you think? I talk to you as if you were there. And you are, but I am a shadow and you do not talk back. No matter. I will tell you anyway.