As a child, he feared all the folktales his great grandma would tell him and his sisters. She would narrate them with such passion, his fear revolved around the ghosts and ghouls she based her stories on. He recalls the goosebumps he would get every stormy night. Through the window he could see the ghastly spectacle and remembers he would hid under the covers, as if this would protect him from evil entities.
Fifteen years later, he calls himself naive, as he now recognizes what the real evil entities are. There’s so much violence, lies, pain, and hate, that he recognizes the covers will not be be the best shield tonight.
He recognizes there is good somewhere out there, but it all gets “outshined” by nasty actions. As he has grown, he has been able to bury the skeletons of the stories his great grandma used to tell them. He learned the story doesn’t seem to end the minute he closes his eyes. As much as he hates to admit, the vicious cycle continues.
He wonders when it will all end. He wonders how it will all end. He solely hopes these ghosts don’t haunt forever.