Another Writing Sample from Creative Writing.

Enjoy!

The Ghost of the Past Lives Here

The opaque darkness is always present and bone-chilling in this place that no one can seem to make heads or tails of. Many have tried but try as they might, all they have is a best guess for what is going on here. My doctor will admit that fact does not prevail and truth is open for interpretation. I close my eyes and see a helpless blackness until a vivid memory begins to play over and over like a movie. Sometimes the movie I watch is pleasant, reminding me of favorable times that bring a smile to my face or a happy tear to my eye. Other times the movie is haunting and even if I open my eyes in terror, the movie plays on. That is when I realize that no matter how far I have come, the ghost of the past lives here.
The thumping sound of rhythmic beating like the eternal ticking of a clock is reliable; it has never ceased thus far. The warm blood flows. Thick. I have a choice. I can feel light or I can feel heavy. When I feel light, I am surrounded by sun rays and daisies. When I feel heavy, though, I am surrounded by water, and I am drowning. I fight and fight to reach air and breathe but I can not. The darkness becomes eternal as suddenly I find my self locked in a cold cell. Have I died? How can I explain being surrounded by water in one moment and in another being locked in a jail? I can't, but nonetheless, here I am. The bars are made of cold, sharp steel that cuts into my hands making them bleed the reddest version of my blood that I have ever seen. Those bars are so strong that I can not escape them. I am trapped in the helpless with nothing but my thoughts. That is when I realize, no matter where I am, the thoughts will follow. The ghost of the past lives here.
Her office is inviting with her Remembrant paintings hung high with pride. Knowledge is overtly displayed with every leather-bound book penned by a Ph.D that is showcased in the mahognany bookcase. I sit comfortably in my chair with anxious feelings about what we will speak of today. My mind is rushing. Do I tell her? What will she say? What will she think? Why, God, am I sitting here? I have to escape but I can't. This is not a new situation, however. I have seen her before. Why would today's session be any different than last week's or the week before. It isn't. Anxiously I stand to my feet and reach for the door. Doctors have always made me nervous, and she is no different from those that came before her. But before I reach for the cold steel of the doorknob, trepidaously as if one grab will open the bleeding wounds on my imagined palms, she enters. After a moment, she tells me that our time is finished. She has done all that she can for me. It is now time for me to go into the world and live my life. Today. Not the life of yesteryear. How can I though, when in my mind and in my heart, the ghost of the past lives here?
"Dear child, the ghosts will always live here. They will never go away. Still, you have the strength to live at peace with your ghosts, as we all do. Go child, and prosper." she said to me.
She turned and walked out of her colorful office with her expensive paintings and books that mock me. I didn't know if I believed her, but I had to try. That's when I realized, no matter who we are, the ghost of the past lives here.