One Way or Another (Solo, Human)
Posted: 12 Jun 2014, 00:53
I had blackened the windows by boarding them up and covering them with sheets. My landlord wasn’t going to be happy with me about it, but I needed the light to be obscured. The energy put off by the sun would interfere with the spirit’s, just like electrical currents would tear through ectoplasm and interfere with my ability to reach him. I have to reach him. I need to find out who took him from me. It had to have been drugs, or gangs, or some sick ritual murder made to look like a suicide, because, to think about it, nothing I know of him would indicate that his stuff and his family go without closure, let alone me. Things were really good up until he died. I think I was the love of his life. I know he was the love of mine. He wouldn’t have killed himself and left us like that. I made him really, really happy, and he made me really, really happy. Why would you want to die if you’re really, really happy?
After the windows were blocked off and the room was completely black, I had lined the room with candles, thick and white and with big, flickering flames. They provided the extra light I needed to be able to see, to draw the symbols on the floor like Declan told me to. I had them written down on a legal pad, and I copied them with the paint he gave me. He said it was handmade, special paint, that would loosen the molecules in the concrete of the building and create a rift in the realms, so that the spirit could come through. It was thick, gritty, black paint, with almost silver specks all the way throughout. I smeared it on the floor with my hand, following the drawings in my notebook, trying to match the degree of circumference, to follow the size and shape he told me to dry, so the portal was big enough for my love. When I was done, I washed my hands and dusted the portal with crumbled bits of dried sage from my spice pantry. I knew I had to cleanse the area afterwards, but he said that the dried sage would keep any bad spirits from seeking entry through my portal. When I was done, I lined the portal with candles as well, lit from a traveling wick, and I set out the rest of my supplies. I didn’t use incense. He didn't like all the weird smells. It would probably keep him away. I learned that lesson last time. I had sweetgrass to hold in my lap, another protective measure against demons and unsavory ghosts. I had a glass vase placed upside down in the center of the portal, which would trap his spirit as it came through and hold him there until I could talk to him. I had to find out what happened to him. He didn’t kill himself. He would never. We used to be happy.
When I’m ready to conduct the seance, I sit in the middle of the portal cross-legged and clutch the sweetgrass to my chest. I’m still new to mediumship and I can’t channel, which is why I have to use the vase. It works, though. Declan showed me when he summoned his grandma. I just need to find the threads leading back to him and pull his spirit out of there. Declan says that memories are the most powerful thing, so I think about him. I think of his blue eyes, I think of his smile, the way his lips were when he kissed me. I think of how his fingers dug into my skin and bruised my shoulders when he desired me. He was so passionate. I loved him so much. I think of giving my virginity to him, my most powerful memory, because I pleasure and love and pain mixed together and I realized then that it didn’t have to be gentle or kind. If it’s gentle, if it’s kind, it means he doesn’t love you. It means he doesn’t desire you, because he’s only wants you. If it’s gentle, if it’s kind, he doesn’t need you. Not the way he needed me. Just thinking of it makes me shiver, makes my body respond, but it’s not the time for that. I need to find his spirit. I need to know what happened to him. Someone had to kill him.
I lean forward and place my hands, palm down, on the floor on either side of the vase. I remember him so vividly now. How he smelled, how I always wanted to hold his hand. How when he woke up in the morning his hair stuck out on one side and he always tried to smooth it down or cover it up. I remember eating next to him, sneaking bits from his plates with my fingers, and flicking them back at him whenever he protested. I used all of this, all this longing for him, this desire for the love we shared, and I poured it into the floor, through the portal, looking for his soul with my memories. If I could just grab a tendril of his spirit, I could pull him into the vase and we could talk. I just want to talk.
I’m like this for hours. Hunched over the vase, until my shoulderblades burn and tears are streaming down my face. It’s not because my back hurts. It’s because I want him so much. Nobody else could touch me like him. It’s been over a year, but I don’t even want to try. I want him. If seances are possible, Declan could show me how to put someone’s soul in a new body. We could share my body if we had to. Or Declan’s. Then we could get back at the evil fuckers who killed him, like Bonnie and Clyde, totally in love and together. We could get married and have kids. I know he’s older than me but he taught me so much. I’m not ready to let him go yet.
The sun has long since gone down, which is good. Seances are stronger at night. The candles are burned almost to the floor. My sweat has dripped off of my face and pearled on the surface of the vase. I’m hoping that will only make him come for me more. He used to love me sweaty, and writhing in pain, and wanting him. He should come. I’m not ready to let him go yet.
The sun is starting to come up. The candles are long since burnt out, wax puddled onto the floor. My palms are burned from friction and sweat causing them to rub against the floor. Parts of my portal are smudged. I’ve messed it up again. It won’t work if the portal is smudged. I’m never going to find him tonight. This morning. Now.
I need to go find Declan.
I’m not ready to let him go yet.
After the windows were blocked off and the room was completely black, I had lined the room with candles, thick and white and with big, flickering flames. They provided the extra light I needed to be able to see, to draw the symbols on the floor like Declan told me to. I had them written down on a legal pad, and I copied them with the paint he gave me. He said it was handmade, special paint, that would loosen the molecules in the concrete of the building and create a rift in the realms, so that the spirit could come through. It was thick, gritty, black paint, with almost silver specks all the way throughout. I smeared it on the floor with my hand, following the drawings in my notebook, trying to match the degree of circumference, to follow the size and shape he told me to dry, so the portal was big enough for my love. When I was done, I washed my hands and dusted the portal with crumbled bits of dried sage from my spice pantry. I knew I had to cleanse the area afterwards, but he said that the dried sage would keep any bad spirits from seeking entry through my portal. When I was done, I lined the portal with candles as well, lit from a traveling wick, and I set out the rest of my supplies. I didn’t use incense. He didn't like all the weird smells. It would probably keep him away. I learned that lesson last time. I had sweetgrass to hold in my lap, another protective measure against demons and unsavory ghosts. I had a glass vase placed upside down in the center of the portal, which would trap his spirit as it came through and hold him there until I could talk to him. I had to find out what happened to him. He didn’t kill himself. He would never. We used to be happy.
When I’m ready to conduct the seance, I sit in the middle of the portal cross-legged and clutch the sweetgrass to my chest. I’m still new to mediumship and I can’t channel, which is why I have to use the vase. It works, though. Declan showed me when he summoned his grandma. I just need to find the threads leading back to him and pull his spirit out of there. Declan says that memories are the most powerful thing, so I think about him. I think of his blue eyes, I think of his smile, the way his lips were when he kissed me. I think of how his fingers dug into my skin and bruised my shoulders when he desired me. He was so passionate. I loved him so much. I think of giving my virginity to him, my most powerful memory, because I pleasure and love and pain mixed together and I realized then that it didn’t have to be gentle or kind. If it’s gentle, if it’s kind, it means he doesn’t love you. It means he doesn’t desire you, because he’s only wants you. If it’s gentle, if it’s kind, he doesn’t need you. Not the way he needed me. Just thinking of it makes me shiver, makes my body respond, but it’s not the time for that. I need to find his spirit. I need to know what happened to him. Someone had to kill him.
I lean forward and place my hands, palm down, on the floor on either side of the vase. I remember him so vividly now. How he smelled, how I always wanted to hold his hand. How when he woke up in the morning his hair stuck out on one side and he always tried to smooth it down or cover it up. I remember eating next to him, sneaking bits from his plates with my fingers, and flicking them back at him whenever he protested. I used all of this, all this longing for him, this desire for the love we shared, and I poured it into the floor, through the portal, looking for his soul with my memories. If I could just grab a tendril of his spirit, I could pull him into the vase and we could talk. I just want to talk.
I’m like this for hours. Hunched over the vase, until my shoulderblades burn and tears are streaming down my face. It’s not because my back hurts. It’s because I want him so much. Nobody else could touch me like him. It’s been over a year, but I don’t even want to try. I want him. If seances are possible, Declan could show me how to put someone’s soul in a new body. We could share my body if we had to. Or Declan’s. Then we could get back at the evil fuckers who killed him, like Bonnie and Clyde, totally in love and together. We could get married and have kids. I know he’s older than me but he taught me so much. I’m not ready to let him go yet.
The sun has long since gone down, which is good. Seances are stronger at night. The candles are burned almost to the floor. My sweat has dripped off of my face and pearled on the surface of the vase. I’m hoping that will only make him come for me more. He used to love me sweaty, and writhing in pain, and wanting him. He should come. I’m not ready to let him go yet.
The sun is starting to come up. The candles are long since burnt out, wax puddled onto the floor. My palms are burned from friction and sweat causing them to rub against the floor. Parts of my portal are smudged. I’ve messed it up again. It won’t work if the portal is smudged. I’m never going to find him tonight. This morning. Now.
I need to go find Declan.
I’m not ready to let him go yet.