A Spirit’s Lament

Tonight, he finally gets to see her again. 

Finn felt the veil thinning, dragging his consciousness from the depth of the abyss. 

The moon had risen in its full form. The night bled its luminous aura onto the streets, the same streets he used to call home. 

He awoke with ravenous hunger. An intoxicating desire to feel, see and hear. Trapped in a limbo of nothingness for what felt like an eternity; he longed for the tangible- the real.

He inhaled the atmosphere and dug his feet into the soil. His frayed hair swam in the brash wind. 

At last, he was free.  

Hibernated memories rose to the surface. 

Honey curls bobbing on lean shoulders. Pearl skin adorned by rosy cheeks. Eyes: almond-shaped, mossy green. 

Celine. 

His Celine. 

Finn began his journey down the beaten path bordered by naked trees. His eyes lingered on one tree. Long fingers caressed the small cracks and creases that tattooed its trunk. 

Midday in summer, the tree leaves were green and lush. Celine was basking under its shade, bare legs extended. Her arms were calling him forth, beckoning him to join her. Finn obeyed. She smiled at him and pulled him close by the hem of his shirt. Her lips met his, tenderly, slowly. She tasted of strawberry lemonade. 

Their first kiss.

Finn closed his eyes, drowning himself in the memory, then resumed his path out of the forest onto the streets of Linville town.

Every October, he found himself someplace new, yet familiar. 

Last year, he had awakened in a cemetery. The first thing he saw was his name engraved on a headstone. There were no flowers on his grave. No one had come to visit. Had Celine forgotten about him? 

He spent the night mourning for himself. He sat and pondered, wondering how he had died but couldn't recollect. It was for the best, he had thought. Then midnight came and purged him back to his realm. 

——————

The town was bustling with activity. Children were running in the streets in packs. They hopped from house to house, clutching paper bags smothered in candy. 

A little boy masquerading as an elf ran past him. The little boy's waxed pointy ears jiggled with his hastened movements. A chocolate bar fell on the concrete. 

Finn leaned down to scoop the foil-wrapped rectangle by his feet. A gift for Celine, he thought. But his hands wouldn't connect to matter. 

He was distraught and vexed. He wanted to belong, even for a little while. He didn't want to exist only at the edge. 

He shook the perplexing anxiety away from his thoughts. Even in death, what remained of his human personality was a thorn to his flesh. 

Finn arrived at the apartment complex where he assumed Celine still lived. It was a five-story building, cobalt blue. 

One. Two. Three. He counted, stopping at four. Celine’s apartment. The curtain-sealed window showed no shadows on the other side. The lights were out. He deduced so was she. He wanted to go inside and to sit on her yellow couch; as they had once one cold December night. 

Celine was smiling, wine glass in hand. They were both wrapped in a blanket, her fingertips toying with his hair. ''Spend the night with me.'' She had whispered in his ear. 

They made love that night. He left when the sun rose, and the rain dwelled. His jacket stayed sprawled on her bed. Was it still there? Hanged, ironed, and cared for. Or had she thrown it out? Forgotten and lost. 

His steps became agile and wide. Celine’s apartment faded to black. If he still belonged to this physical realm, passersby would have glared. Those who paid him notice shared his fate. He tried to avert his eyes from their fathomless form. If he couldn't see them, they didn't exist. 

Finn despised them. They reminded him of his predicament. They smelled of death and decay. He hated the idea of smelling the same. Their eyes were sullen and void. Lost spirits.

He wasn’t like them. 

He was Finn. Celine’s Finn. 

Always.

A sudden revelation sobered him from his raging stupor. An oak bench to his left sent him back in time. The sun was shining, the birds chirping a soft lullaby. His back rested on the marbled wood, a drawing pad in his lap.

Finn was sketching a stray cat that slept on the roof of a parked black SUV. Ginger fur, like the color of leaves that wept from the trees. His hands danced on the parchment paper, lines and dots that would then connect.

Approaching footsteps caught his attention. A woman jogging down the pavement. Her Hips swayed like waves demanding to be seen and felt. He wanted them to crash onto him, to drown in their splendor. 

Finn froze as she strode closer. She bent and picked up the ink pen that had dropped on the ground. 

Her hair was tied up in a bun. Curly strands rebelled against the tight restraints and had escaped the entrapment of her white hair-chain. A breeze of the wind carried her scent, lavender, and berries. 

She was talking to him now. “You dropped this.” 

He took the pen from her extended hand. His skin met hers halfway. It sent a ripple down his spine. 

“I’m Celine.” She said with a smile.

That was the first time they had met.

Loud music shook him out of his reverie. A festival was being held in the town square. Red and orange lights glowed in his face. He counted ten to fifteen booths of different sizes and shapes lodged right next to the other.

One exhibited jewelry of distinct forms and colors. The booth owner called them gemstones. He told his customers that they help ward off bad spirits and cleanse sinister energies. 

Finn watched a redheaded girl in a witch's hat buy a luminous purple stone necklace. It took her three tries to tie it correctly. He wondered if the stone could sense him if it would flicker and glow. 

The redheaded witch walked away with a silent jewel around her neck. 

An old woman who claimed to foresee the future sat behind an esoteric stand. Her wrinkled fingers were caressing a glass globe, eyes were closed. A young couple sat facing her holding hands.

He waited for her to tell them that their relationship was in despair. He wanted to see them suffer, to see them fall prey to the melancholy that besieged him.

Alas, the couple smiled and kissed instead. 

He retreated to the shadows to quench the envy the two lovers lit within him.

The night was starting to grow weary. Celine was still nowhere in sight. Had she left? No, Celine wouldn't leave him behind. Finn soothed himself. He will find her, and she will bring him back. That was the plan. 

Find Celine.

Be with Celine. 

Blonde curls danced in the corner of his vision. His head wiped to the side in such haste that it would have been knocked off his shoulders if he wasn’t already dead.

There she was.

Celine.

His Celine.

She was wearing a knee-length feathered white dress. Her hair had grown, now it spiraled down to her back. She was the sun to his endless nights, his anchor to a world that turned him down. 

Finn rushed forward. 

She was eating candied popcorn and chatting with her friends. 

He was almost at her side.

She turned her back to him, she was on her way out. 

Finn wanted to scream, to howl like a wolf bereaved. His body was in dissonance with his mind. 

Couldn’t she see him? He was right there. He had finally come this close, only to watch her disappear. 

Stranded amidst a fog of strangers, he was but a ghost enslaved to his past. He believed that love would liberate him, but could it be what’s holding him back? 

The clock reached its apex. 

Finn’s heart quenched. This pain, this longing…when will it end? 

He fell into an empty slumber, beyond a border that can’t be seen. He surrendered to his fate knowing that when trees began to shed, when flowers shredded to weeds, when pumpkins transformed to masks and when it was finally all Hallows’ Eve, he would be back to see Celine.