Haunt Me Forever

A man who would do anything to reunite with his lover.

 

   Magnidad J. Runes, 16th January 1974 - 23rd November 1998, carved on your gravestone. It was my 42nd time I visited you. Henceforth, you left me I went to the cemetery every evening to talk to you. You gave me brainspin every night, causing me weary and weak. You could never feel my loneliness, my desperation for you.

 

   You were selfish. You were inconsiderate. You never cared for anybody but yourself, for if you did, you would not kill yourself. I despised you. You left me the time when I really needed you. I would not let you rest, I wanted you to haunt me forever, so that my life wouldn’t be that cold and isolated.

 

 

   En route home from the cemetery, I had a walk down the street. I saw accordionists and fiddlers busking. People walked pass them without noticing them. I remembered you used to give them money. Your eyes became teary every time they finished a song, like you understood them. I watched the performance for a while, gave the money collector a coin and left.

 

   The street was jovial today. It was a festive night. The dark sky was lit by the full moon. The street was crowded with night shoppers and buskers. Fortune-tellers were spreading their tarot cards and getting into trances. There were musicians, clowns, dancers, gypsies, snake charmers, mimes and all sorts of street performers. All in one narrow street.

 

   Today was your favourite day. I would take you out every 3rd and 4th day of January for it is Busking Day. You had a great interest in buskers and street performing because you were once one. You were a puppeteer and you performed for children. You made them laugh, you envied them. You couldn’t laugh. You couldn’t feel the happiness in the world. Depression killed you. You couldn’t stand the sorrows that had stayed inside you for a lifetime; you decided to sleep forever by swallowing a whole bottle of sleeping pills.

 

   Some of the performers were your acquaintances. They knew about your death and thought how foolish you were. I thought the same. You made me mad. You didn’t even leave me a suicide note or anything. You know how I cared for you.

 

   I walked further, not minding how far I had left my living place. As I walked, somebody called out to me. I turned my head to the direction where the voice had come from. I saw a weirdly-dressed, gypsy lady. She had long black hair and deep dark eyes. She showed me a gesture that she wanted me to come to her. I walked towards her and sat on a stool, prepared for her clients. On the table laid a deck of tarot cards and stuff for divination.

 

“Your eyes reflected your trouble. It is visible for me to see,” said the séance, looking deeply into my eyes.

 

I stayed silent.

 

“Something keeps you awake at night; it makes you weak and sad. You want to get rid of it. It’s an acquaintance of yours, a really close one. Is it true?” said the séance, looking deeper into my eyes.

 

“Most of them are, but I never want to get rid of it. I want to keep her forever,” I said, looking at the tarot cards.

 

“So she was a lover. You want to keep her?”

 

“She left me without leaving me any of her possessions. She didn’t tell me anything, she didn’t even show me a signal. I want her to be with me. I want her back,” I replied, teardrops dripped from my eyes.

 

“I can see. She didn’t like you. And you were the cause of her suicide.”

 

I looked at her; my eyes were going to pop out.

 

“Can you perform a séance? I want you to summon her. I’ve got a lot to talk,” I said to her, trying to control my temper and disappointment.

 

The séance stared at me, thinking that I was joking.

 

“I’ll pay you as much as you want.”

 

“No, I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous,” said the séance, looking at her hands nervously.

 

“I beg you please. I’m sick of this isolation that I’ll do anything to keep her with me.”

 

She looked at me, thinking. I casted my innocent green eyes at her. She was still thinking. I waited.

 

“We have to go to the cemetery to perform the séance.”

 

 

   The séance settled down above you. She gave me a crystal pendant; she said it was for protection. She put down the glass she brought earlier and she told me to ask you if you were here or not and make a noise if you were. I proceeded and nothing happened.

 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” the séance said. She turned the glass upside down on the ground and instructed me to put my finger on the glass. She closed her eyes and chanted in a language I didn’t understand. I waited patiently.

“You have to coax her to move the glass. If she doesn’t, you better just give up,” said the séance.

 

   Coax. Did I have to do that to invoke you? If that was what I have to do, I’ll do it. I spoke to you from my heart, begging you, coaxing you. I just wanted to talk to you. I just wanted you to do what I’ve did to you; I wanted you to love me.

 

   The glass moved, spiraling. The séance looked at me, smiling. I smiled, triumphantly, at her. Then, she told me to ask you some questions and, if I managed to, call you out. I thought of you, your countenance sorrowful, and your red hair resting on your shoulders. The blue in your eyes shone.

 

   I tried to summon you. I really wanted you. My desperation burnt. My teardrops washed your grave. I begged with all my sadness. I burst into tears when your countenance appeared on my mind. I would kill you for making me so helpless.

 

   I wept and all of a sudden, I felt your presence. Wind blew against my pale skin. The light of your shining countenance washed my face. I looked at you, hopefully. Now, this is my chance. I grabbed the glass and tossed it, breaking it. You were trapped forever between your world and my world. The séance cried. You disappeared, but I still could feel your presence, lingering around me. I knew you were haunting me. I didn’t care, for I was not alone anymore.

 

Author's Note

Hope you like this piece and review please :)

Reviews

[frivolous treasures]

Haunting and surreal, this sent chills up and down my spine... your imagery is powerful and paints watercolors that I'll be pondering over...
Maika'i no, great write!

[Ciaran O'Keefe]

I agree, some of the imagery is affecting.