Short Ghost story
Well hello there, The below was my entry into a 250-word 'micro fiction' story contest: Requirements: Ghost Story -Genre Word to use: Person Action: Resting Crimson Whispers ‘Twas a wicked November evening, winds battered the once proud windows. The building, my building, which once stood as a monument to greatness, now lay in a state of disrepair. I often think back, to time spent in the luxurious living room, sipping the finest red a pretty penny could buy. I’d never considered myself a cynical person, but even I used to occasionally shudder when a faint breeze would flutter the room, I’d shake it off as my imagination. After all, no man, dead or alive, would have the audacity, nay temerity to obtrude with my business. I’d grown stronger as I aged, whilst creatures bellowed into the night, and man fought with man, with the inevitable conclusions of war. I focused on taking what was mine and doing it in plain sight. It’s what afforded me such a lavish lifestyle. The young