A Writer's Ghost

“I remember when I used to wake up in the morning and you used to be there. Not the sun, not the light, you. And for a moment I would think–”

She grunts, frustration so evidently written on her face that her shoulders contort. Shake. My eyes shoot open, her sudden spike in anger giving me life. What in God's name–

Another irritated scream scratches through my daze and realization dawns on me. I sigh. I’m still in the same place I was yesterday. Still with the same girl, who I’m sure, is a fraction insane. And I’m stuck with her. I’m sitting on her windowsill, the wooden edge of it digging into my back as the wind blows past me, twisting through my hair. My brows furrow. Did I fall asleep?

She groans again and I snap back to her, my eyes widening and my body automatically leaning forward.  

Because this is it. She’s on the verge of having that attack again and–

Thud!

I don’t flinch. I’ve stopped flinching with her. I’ve stopped getting surprised. I just fall back against the wooden edge and watch her from the corner of my eyes in slight disdain as she slams her laptop shut and pushes away from her desk in such fury that the entire wooden thing rattles.

A scoff leaves my throat, but she’s too busy getting up from her seat, pulling at her bright red hair to notice. My feet dangle from the other side of the windowsill, back and forth, back and forth just long enough for her to groan in frustration again. For her to screech and just like every single time…

Start screaming.

I sigh and let my head fall back against the wooden surface of her window, watching her flail and wail around as she curses herself. Looks at herself in the mirror, points to herself, and begins pouring out her heart.

“Out of all things I could’ve chosen,” she says indignantly, “Out of all the careers out there, you had to choose this? You had to pick the one profession that was more isolated than your life? Gods, why did I think I could write stories? Why…” her words to herself trail off in the wind for me. I only watch her actions, her hands, her eyes. They are all so animated, so childish that it pries a smile out of me. It’s the smallest tilt of my lips.

But it’s the first time in decades.

I freeze.

My hands twitch, aching to touch the tilt of my lips just out of pure curiosity but my smile immediately drops. I sigh again and turn to face her.

Curious little thing, she is, so angry in such a degrading way that for a moment I actually mistake her frustration as pain. But then she groans and topples back in her seat. Turns it once, her hair flying around her in a frenzy. Twice.

And then, like an addict, she pushes herself towards her table, throws her laptop open, and starts typing again.

Now, this, her, is what interests me and keeps me from asking questions. Her process, her yells, her smiles—it is all so bright that she sort of blinds me.

To make it more fascinating, she’s just as beautiful as she is crazy. My feet swerve over her windowsill so I’m perched on it and facing her entirely now. She has her back to me, so I watch the sway of her red hair. See her brown skin peep through the t-shirt that slips down her shoulder.

Watch her shoulders move.

She’s writing. She’s passionate. So passionate that she despises it and yet comes back to it every single time. My head tilts, an odd emotion sparking within me.

Was I ever that beautiful?

And I know, I can only see her back, but I can practically feel her power, her burst of creativity shine so bright that she glows.

My eyes automatically gravitate down to my hands. I peer down at them, bandages wrapped around my fingers, devoid of that same light. It’s nothing like hers. Not even a little bit. I breathe out. It’s been days since I began noticing, but the skin around my bones, once taut, begins to sag. Once brown, begins to fade. I fall asleep without meaning to. I dream without meaning to.

I glance up at her.

And a shred of jealousy rips through me.

Was I like that once? Did I love something just that deeply?

“Alright.” She says, rotating her wrists, “Alright, alright, I can do this.”

“Sweetheart!” a female voice calls out, and both our heads snap up at the same time, “Are you ready?”

I’ve been around long enough to recognize her mother’s voice. She huffs, but unlike what I expect, doesn’t complain. Just closes her laptop quietly and pushes away from the table,

“I’m coming!” She yells back and turns. I can make out her entire body like this. She used to be thinner when I saw her for the first time, more gaunt. But now. Now, she’s grown into this magnificence of a woman who ripples with confidence. A strict posture, a ripple of muscles, and a curvaceous body, it’s all twists and turns of perfect imperfections.

She’s already wearing a white dress with white wide pants. The dress reaches her knees, slits on both its side. And it’s such a stark contrast with her red hair that it makes me want to squirm in the spot. She grabs a black coat, and it helps. Hides a bit of her glow.

I sigh, and let my body levitate towards her.

I’ve been around her long enough to recognize the drop of her shoulders when she faces the mirror. I step between her and the mirror, watching the color of her brown eyes dim. And feel the strength in my hands return.

“Are you going to die?” I breathe without meaning to and she tilts her head. But she can’t see me. She can only see herself. I can’t care, “Are you going to let your life fade like mine? Are you going to fly in my arms after you give up?”

She sighs, and tucks her fisted hands in her pockets, “I can do this.” She whispers, and I reel back. I can’t help it, “I will get through it.”

“Will you?” I whisper back but she turns on her heels, her shoulders lifting.

And I’m about to follow. I’m about to latch onto her back like I always do when she goes still. I freeze on the spot, and a rush of emotions washes through me. Surprise, hope, happiness, fear–

Can she see me? Will she hate me? Will she hate the way I look? The way I talk? The way I–

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes stark with such conviction that I rock back on my heels. Her chin dips.

“I will.”

And I know, I know she doesn’t see me.

But I hope like a fool anyway.

* *

I’ve been watching her for longer than I can remember. I’ve seen her jump around. I’ve seen her pour her heart out on that tiny computer of hers for hours. She swims, she drowns in words every day. Comes up for air only for short intervals and drowns again.

Gasps, dies, and goes back down again and again.

Today, I see her do something different. Today, I see her stand at the edge of a beach, an urn in her hands and water crashing at her bare feet. And I want to scream at her to step away from it. To run from the waves that seem tidal to me.

It's futile.

And absolutely stupid.

But my chest throbs and her shoulders fall lower.

“I can’t catch you.” I say anyway, but no one hears me, “I can’t get to you in time.”

Do I want to get to you in time?

Her mother stands at her back, her hand on her shoulder. Both their clothes sway violently with the hurling winds. It’s cold for them. It’s getting close to dark. It’s–

“We stood at this bay together,” she whispers and I stop. Stop thinking. Stop hearing. My hands, fading before, burst to life. I burst to life.

“Hand in hand, not a breath between us.”

My chest throbs. Something moves.

“You know I said I love you and you said it back.” She whispers, and I realize she’s opening the urn. She’s blinking down at it, “You,” her voice quivers, “You said you’d be back in a second.”

Her mother drops her hand from her shoulder. Closes her eyes and presses a shaking hand to her mouth.

But the girl, my girl raises her head. The waves crash closer.

“It’s been months di,” she breaks then, her eyes welling. Her hands shake, “It’s been months–” she gasps, and clutches at her chest, “Where did you go?”

I watch her crash. Watch her fall to her knees, the urn pressed close to her chest. And every single part of my body, every single cell breathes. And for a moment as I look at her, I think this is it. This is what I’ve been missing.

It’s time.

But she’s holding that urn close to her chest. She’s breathing through her gasps. She’s…

She’s getting back up.

“I won’t disappear like you did.” She says, her voice shaking, “I won’t do it. I won’t make that mistake again.” She looks up and the water caresses her feet, softer now. Warmer now. My eyes well. They shouldn’t, but they do.

And she gets to her feet again. Stretches that urn out before her and breathes.

“I’ll make you proud.” She murmurs, and tips that urn. I gasp, startling back, but ashes pour out of it. Curl in the hurling winds and–

“I will remember you.”

Come straight for me.

The ashes twist around me, angry but kind. Screaming but only at me. Only for me.

Go away, they say, go away. Leave.

The lump, the dark ugly mass in my chest throbs. Stalls. And a sob wretches out of me. I stumble backward, but the ashes curl in closer. Surround me. Cage me like I’m some sort of monster.

It’s time for you to go, they say, it’s time for you to leave.

“I will not!” I yell and the ashes scream. Furious and feral, and for a moment I think they will swallow me whole. The storm in me rages, and it rocks them back. They scream, frustration, and anger bleeding in their lifeless souls, before disappearing altogether. I see nothing for a second. Hear nothing.

But then the sounds of waves crash through my mind.

My vision clears, and I immediately see her red hair. She’s facing the ocean, her face drawn in conviction. In strength.

I blink.

The throb in my chest ceases to a null.

And my hands start fading again.

 But she doesn’t see me. She only sees the ocean and what lies within.

And suddenly I know she’s going to write. She’s going to pour her heart out. And I’m going to do nothing but watch.

A sudden rush of anger consumes me. It’s rebellious. It’s futile. But I still turn away from her. For the first time in my life, I turn away and start walking. Wherever the sand will take me. Whoever will have me. Not her. Never her. Not anymore.

I make it ten steps.

Ten steps.

And then I’m hauled back.

I gasp, fear wracking through me, but before I can crash into her, the sight behind me cracks. Fractures and reveals a dark void.

“No,” I breathe, “No, no, no–”

My eyes shut as I get hauled through that dark parting in the world. And for a moment nothing but a faint ringing starts in my ears. But then light bursts behind me, like a torch waiting for me to approach, and the darkness ends.

I slam into a concrete wall.  

Where there should be pain, there’s surprise.

Where there should be fear, there’s anger.

My head snaps up, fury sniping through me, but it’s a foolish emotion for me to have. I’m back beside her. I’m back in her room. Time’s passed, at least a few hours, but I’m back.

I’m here.

And she’s writing.

Her head is limp, her fingers moving like fire on her keyboard – quick and light. I breathe out, desperation crawling through me. What is this hell? Why am I stuck?

Why do I have to be here?

Why does it have to be her?

She’s too bright, she’s too dazzling. Yes, she’s crazy a bit, but the way she shines, I could never shine the same. I could never laugh the same. I could never–

“Where I lack, she completes.”

Her voice startles me out of my spiral. I turn my wide gaze sideways, but she’s talking to herself. She’s reading something she’s written out loud.

And for the first time, I stop to listen.

“What I don’t see, you do.

What I hear, you don’t.

So, was it fate we met like this? On a cold night. Under a snowy sky. Ears and nose red. Eyes tear-shed. Both lost. Both afraid.

Both searching.

And when our eyes met, was it fate we fell like this?”

“Was it fate?” she breathes and collapses back on her seat, “Will he see her again? Will she see him again?"

And then at last I hear her whisper,

“Is it worth it?”

“It is not,” I say and step away from her. Away from her desk. She looks up at the ceiling, her red hair falling behind her, “Nothing’s worth it.”

“It wasn’t fate, you say, it wasn’t destiny.”

I scoff and the skies thunder outside. It’s pouring. Her windows are shut, but the winds crash against them, howling like wolves in the middle of the night. The gaps in her wall whistle. And I walk towards it. I’m about to perch up on that same wooden sill like I always do when her whisper breaks my spell,

“On that cold night, when it snowed, you left, because you saw a reflection.”

And I don’t know why. It’s an absolute coincidence, or because she’s controlling me, but I come to a halt before the mirror in her room. I know I shouldn’t. I know I haven’t.

But I turn.

“You saw what you were.”

I’m watching a glass reflect an image. For a moment, I can’t believe it. Not even for a single second. It can’t be true.

“And you decided you had to change.”

I have the same brown eyes, the same brown skin, the same red hair but I–

I stumble backward. How can this be? I’m–

“So you ran. You challenged fate.”

I’m her.

I’m her but with dull red hair. I’m her but with paler skin. I’m her, but with a gaunt body and face. Where there should be a smile, there’s a frown. Where there should be a glow there’s–

Sadness.

“And you won.”

My eyes slowly turn to her. And this time she’s facing me. She looks at me as if she can see me when she can’t. Her lips part, and form words that are meant solely and utterly for her. For herself. And for me.

“I won.” She says and my body shakes. My hands whither and begin to fade. I begin to fade.

For the first time in my short life of watching her, I look at her. And I don't understand why, but I begin to replicate the very smile she shows herself. My body convulses, but there’s no pain. There’s no struggle.

“You won.” I rasp, through my smile.

Her smile is true this time. It’s utter beauty and grace and nothing like mine. Nothing that can ever go away, now.

I know this because I was her.

And because I will be the only one to remember…