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When I was a child, I could see ghosts. I could hear them too. 'What's your name? What did you die of?' I asked a ghost one day. A nun, in her habit. 'A broken heart, child.' This nun I would talk to in the cemeteria. She would walk home with us sometimes, in the hot sun, while we stopped frequently to talk to people in the village. I was responsible for carrying the white lilies on the way, and carrying the beheaded, dead flowers on the way home for the rubbish...'
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Last amended 18 Jun 2019 12:52:11
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