Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Dᴇᴀᴛʜ Iɴ Oᴛʜᴇʀ Eʏᴇs

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 54

Life has a way of being everywhere, all at once, at all times.

Its Lover— its aberration, death, as it may seem, has a way of rearing its head.

Both exist codependently, without one, there couldn't be the other. Like the Moon and Sun, Stars and Clouds, Dark and Light, without its counterpart, the other ceases to exist. But, paradoxically, with the other, one ceases to exist.

This tandem that works infinitely between the days of mortality, walks the fine line between existence and notional.

Life will always be before your eyes. But occasionally, rare beyond the blades of lively grass, death reared its head.

To you, this glimmer of the afterlife came in the form of many things— corpses, unconsciousness, graves, but above all else. The ghost. The man you had been chasing for weeks now. The man who made you ruin your relationship with Reich. The man who almost got you killed.

He was the death that revealed itself in your life.

The one thing that brought you closer to what he was. To where his soul resided.

Now he was staring at you.

His glowing white sclera's boring into you.

You had stood there for so long. Frozen still, just staring silently at each other. The eyes of death watching without expression as your chest thumped and knuckles whitened. You could have passed out, you felt sick everywhere, your legs began to buckle.

But he just stared— unyielding and empty, his royal blue complexion turned and dim in the sullen room. His fingers over a can of something you couldn't make out. His trilby hat slanted downwards, his fancy woollen suit brushing the counter behind him.

He looked late 30's maybe. Defined cheekbones protruded from his face. His eyebrows bushy and wild— lips tight and puffy, his nose curled, Roman-esc. A mop of messy red hair fell across his eyes. Lines worked across his forehead and under his irises, tracing his blue skin under the hue of the flickering light above.

You breathed out, your mouth agape, and found your mind again. You pushed the door open more, then stepped in, shutting it behind you. Confining yourself alone in a room with this apparition.

His head tilted curiously. Your voice shook as you spoke. "What are you? What do you want from me? I see you everywhere, why are you haunting me, I don't understand what you are. What the hell are you doing to me?"

You braced your chest, gripping your hand against the handle in case you had to bolt, your eyes stretched open wide— panting as the mouldy room seemed to desperately suffocate you.

The man drew his head back straight, leaning a little against the counter behind him— casually. Then he held out the can he was holding, blankly staring at you. "Would ya like a can o' beans?" He asked with a heavy Gaelic-British hybrid accent.

Your brows raised, your breathing calmed.

This was the thing you were so scared of?

"No thanks?" You humbly declined, staring at him still, finally relaxing the muscles you didn't realise you were tensing. "I just want to know what you're doing."

The man shrugged, lowering the can, placing it on the counter behind him. "I'm gettin' some beans, Doll." You tried to ignore the fact the cupboard he took them from was dripping with some kind of infestation. You didn't want to tell him they were probably rotten inside. But maybe that's all he could get? A thought came into your mind. "Are you homeless?" You asked— sincerely. But he just laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, nah I'm no'." He leaned back fully on the counter, "I jus' needed ta be 'ere."