untitled , a short story by magicks collective
"hi", i say, softly, as i climb on her lap.
her reaction is delayed. a muted scream.
i begin to read her movements.
hmmm. i'm picking up panic, disbelief, hints of frustration?
pinching her arm, blinking, looking around...
she is about to decide that she is in psychosis and i am a hallucination.
"hey, hey, i'm real", I smile wryly, stroking her hand.
"wh-who are you?" she decides to talk. that can't hurt, after all, 'cause maybe she is dreaming, and this would be a pretty innocent dream to have. a strange, translucent, talking creature in her off-white kitchen, that seems to have climbed out from under the table cloth.
she'd just finished her coffee and had been staring at the crumbs of pie left on her plate. they look like sand, waking her daydreams of the sea.
I stretch my back a bit. "I'm Grief."
... "But you already know that, don't you?"
I love the sound of silence. It fills a room quite like nothing else. There is almost never perfect silence, though, but this one is good enough. a buzzing of the refrigerator, a birdsong outside, dogs barking in the distance, it is all drawn out by the heavy weight of her quiet, inconsistent breath.
I know her well. At least, I'd like to think so. We have been together for a while. This is my first time materialising with her, but it feels natural. I also made sure to steal some cigarettes and have a chat with the wind before this. a creature's gotta be prepared for anything, am i right?
and what about her, does she know me well?
she knows the cold, hard, tiled floor of the shower room she lay on for hours after getting the call.
she knows the longing to come back to the place that is now rubble.
she remembers her no-return flights.
she is aware "never looking back" isn't a realistic concept.
I look around. Empty cups in the sink, light dew on the wall behind the percolator, freshly washed, but permanently stained tea towels, some chairs, awkwardly pushed together under the not-tall-enough table, on which reside some napkins, a paper cup with pens and pencils, and an old yellow lamp with a bending neck.
My human did not get to say goodbye to her first love.
she kind of found a way around that, though, six years after.
"just talk to her in your headspace. you carry her forever in your heart", a soft guiding voice of her then-therapist. I mean, hell, it worked. she told the girl she loves her, misses her, that she wishes things have gone differently.
Does she still blame herself? I'd have to ask Guilt. We're not besties, by the way, contrary to the... somewhat popular belief. I, very reasonably, one might add, consider myself important and more of a friend to humans. Guilt, however, with their destructive tendencies...
she's staring right at me now.
-sooo, this is happening, right?
-okay, - I smile at her again.
She frowns. "Wanna tell me more?"
"Let me ask you first, how do you feel? You seem to have come around to my materialising rather quickly. Can't say I'm not impressed."
"I feel much lighter than usual. Clearer. Is it cause you got out of me?" - hungry for the truth, as usual.
"yes and no. I am, indeed, out of your chest, where I usually reside, so you can feel the shift physically, but I am still with you. The main reason you feel lighter is the fact you're facing me. you haven't run or try to hide from me, or damage me."
"I guess." She looks at the floor. "I'm good at that now. Better than before. You used to be so hard to feel, you used to be too much, too much..."
It is my turn to give her silence. I know this to be true. Not long ago, her organs barely had space with me right there, pushing her lungs, making her heart feel like it's sinking. I was suffocating, until her ribcage began to expand. it was beautiful, like a cathedral. it mesmerised me.
"It's fine though. Glad to meet you."
she reaches her arms out. i rub my face on her skin, soft with rough patches. i'm feeling hot where my cheeks would be.
she lets me know its ok to climb back in whenever i am ready.
we sit like this for while, in an imperfect, warm, safe silence.
tangentwithtanner
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