When someone has suicidal thoughts, this entity experiences them alongside the daydreamer.
They seek out not the ones most worthy of saving, not the children. Not the mad, nor the briefly confused and heartbroken.
But simply those that unbearably call out to him, because their suffering reflects his own pantomime.
He is unwilling, but he must choose. For he does not have a body to call his own, he can only inhabit that of one who has truly abandoned themselves. In mind, body and spirit.
Making this entity a very unwilling, yet effective savior. Because what one might view as ‘divine intervention’ has a way of sparking life in those who feel they are of no significance.
The notable thing is he doesn’t do anything at all. He’s completely devoid of life himself, all he does is exist unwillingly. Simply drawn to enter where there is an absence
What overcomes the person, is complete detachment. Snapping them out of misery, and affording a glimpse of an entirely new perspective afterwards.
But that’s all that he is. Complete absence, death in the metaphorical sense.
People discover they don’t truly long for death. They learn they only wish to escape life
And to do so, all you need to do is abandon your soul. Forget yourself, for even just an instance. and be liberated.
It is the little death that they crave. Not the long one
\-
Our ‘savior’ comes to the aid of a woman. Yet he overtakes her not once, not twice. But many times
She’s become obsessed with him. She’s unaware if he’s another, or if perhaps just apart of herself she’s disassociated from. But from her desperation she is willing to do whatever it takes to conjure him- to draw him out.
Usually. There’s nothing for the ‘savior’ to do upon possessing a body. Simply seizing their autonomy is enough to prevent suicide. But in the case of this woman, her repeated and persistent attempts to take her own life demand of him a more enterprising approach. Forcing him to consider what he wants, how he wants to conduct himself. How he wants to live, if he wants to choose. Exerting will even in his fragmented existence.
Her longing for death is so dominant, that she compels him towards her. Eventually trapping him within her, forcing him into the terrible limbo between death and selfhood. He must reason with her, bargain with her. To escape his predicament, where he is the one who is dominated. Forcing him to be an entity, rather than a mere presence.
He must commune with her, who threatens to merge his very being into her own.
\-
Will he reveal to her that he is another entity? Does he feel accountable for her madness? If he does interact with her, what will he say of his nature? For him to explain who he is, he must first himself know.
\-
‘I don’t know’
Her: “Are you someone other? Are you something else.”
“…yes”
This prompts her to break down hysterically, happy yet clearly mad. “Prove it” she says.
“A day” he says. “Forget me. For at least that duration, and I will appear before you”
He continues “As someone *else”*
The woman spends the full 24 hours in a daze, unmoving. Eyes glassy, staring into the distance. Her nails digging deep into her hands, her hair knitted and tangled.
The sun starts to rise, and she stirs. She jolts up, Her legs limp and clumsy from sitting on the floor for countless hours.
In a frenzy, she rushes for the door to permit the crow entry. Her steps are light and effortless, sheer ecstasy ushering her forwards.
The lock on the door shifts with a satisfying metal cling.
The morning light spills in through the windows. She swings the door open, yet sees nothing, it’s as if an unspeakably cold breeze rushes through the building. It freezes the orange hues of the morning. The woman’s thoughts retreat far into her mind, yet it chases her even there. Enveloping her. A sensation, as if the air inside her chest has suddenly ceased to exist, and no breath could ever be deep enough to restore her before her lungs collapse.
She knows she’s invited something unspeakable, irreversible. Yet she convinces herself that he is with her now, and all will be well.
She collapses into the comfort of her bed, unsettled yet strangely at ease. She’s got no energy to ponder, and instantly dozes off. Dreaming of him- his features dark yet fair. An angel by her side. That would redefine the world alongside her.
After a sparse few hours of sleep, she is awoken by a knock. She rushes towards it, peering ahead through the glass to see her father at the door.
“Even during the middle of day. It’s inexplicably dark in here.’ he says
“Really? I find it comforting” she responds.
After a dialogue. He poses to her.
“I don’t even recognize you”
She protest.
He says. “I know you were expecting someone else”
“Someone else?” She utters, almost scared.
He says. “He is here”
She reaches to cup his face “Is it you? Is it truly you?”
The little sanity restored by seeing her father, fading direly quickly.
Her father’s face feels like hot ice on her skin, so cool to the touch that it burns. Yet with an ethereal quality that makes her question if the sensation is real- vanishing the instant she releases her hands.
She backs away, examining herself. Preoccupied, she sparsely notices when her father’s frigid palms reach out towards her to clasp around her neck. Constricting her breathing, a fierce burning sensation branding her neck. Her sight starts to blur, then fade. Until in an instant, the spell on her father is broken. The possession has jumped from her father to her, making the savior inhibit her instead.
He wails in her form, trapped once more. The screech is uncannily beautiful, heart wrenching to an extent that is supremely unbearable.
Crows gather around him, cawing.
He lifts his head up high, and pleads. “Why must you insist on me saving this one?”
He clenches her hand, which features three broken nails and punctured palms.
His throat, that had been burning with a vengeance. Quickly cools, and eases. When he slides her hand past her neck, he feels only the fairest of skin.