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It was a chance meeting amongst two kinds – an encounter that, if searched in your history, only happened once a century.
Or maybe none at all.
It was rarely talked about, that even those with a pair of lips who couldn’t just stop blabbering nonsense would not even dare to touch the subject. Not that it was a sin – because for fuck’s sake you are all sinners – it was just that.
Untouchable.
This place, it was so different from what you had heard when you were still – and here you struggle for the right word – alive. There were no flames, no horns, not even Mr. Devil himself holding a red trident. It was just you and your kind seeping in black mist. You go on with your life – afterlife? – not minding, not caring, not feeling at all.
Until.
You saw her swirling across the field of green, her hands dancing together with her in the air. She seemed floating inches above the ground with her white dress, and it looked like she was touching the great expanse of the blue sky as she moved along.
Your attention was instantly at her, on her. It was as if you were forced to look at her – only that you had no objections to begin with – as if bounded by a magical spell.
If heaven and hell had a visible boundary, a neutral territory as you would like to call it, then that would be this place.
By no means was this place heavenly: short and tall grasses (and some which already turned into an ugly shade of dark brown and black), big rocks (and this one particular rock where you always sat), and a big tree with a flaky trunk (which, without a doubt, was already dead).
And by no means was this place infernal: the atmosphere was so serene (that you could practically hear the wind as it passed through the leaves and grasses), everywhere was vivid (that you could see even one single movement from afar), and all things appeared to be alive (even when they’re dead, as they danced with the wind).
None of your kind ever came to this place – at least you didn’t see them when you were here. Probably because half of them still didn’t know this place, and the other half probably just didn’t give a damn.
You saw her swirling across the field of green, her hands dancing together with her in the air. She seemed floating inches above the ground with her white dress, and it looked like she was touching the great expanse of the blue sky as she moved along.
Only this time, she stopped and looked at you, smiling.
“You are here again.”
It was the first time that you heard her voice; the first time you ever saw her up-close. She appeared to be an almost ordinary girl, different from what you had imagined her to be like when you were just watching her.
Her fair fell behind her back like a wavy waterfall, her eyes a clear shade of brown that you could almost see your reflection as you looked at them. Her white dress was sagged down to the ground, yet you wonder why the hem wasn’t even painted with dirt. Her lips, you noticed, was always curved upward to a smile.
You stared at her, wide-eyed, wondering how was she talking to someone like you.
“And so are you.”
Both of you ended up seeing each other, just seeing. And what you always thought was, it’s only coincidence – that she was there whenever you were there, and you, present, whenever she was.
Not that it meant something, really.
Not that it meant something now, really.
“I want to see you smile,” she said to you, her face beaming with anticipation.
If there was one thing that separated her from being normal, though, it was her smile. It almost didn’t leave her face, no matter what the situation was.
That was why she always looked so… bright? Charming? What?
You didn’t know a lot of words to describe something, someone, like her so you left your thought as it was. You wouldn’t say it to her, anyway.
“I don’t smile. I can’t,” you answered, looking past her.
You always made sure that you’re a good distance away from her every time you were together, thinking, just in case. Though it didn’t matter to you if someone saw you with an angel, you wouldn’t know what her kind would say if they saw her so close to you.
Now that you think of it, it was the first time you did something for someone.
You saw her swirling across the field of green, her hands dancing together with her in the air. She seemed floating inches above the ground with her white dress, and it looked like she was touching the great expanse of the blue sky as she moved along.
“Join me!” she exclaimed in your direction (now you sat on the big roots of a tree), her face putting the meaning of happiness to shame.
You didn’t decline her offer this time so you stood up, brushing the imaginary dirt on your pants as you walked towards her. You reached your hands to her, and strands of her hair ran through your fingers.
It was soft; most likely the softest thing that you'd ever touched.
With the blink of an eye, black mist suddenly seeped out through the hair strands that you had swept with your hand. Suddenly, so suddenly, it lost its life.
You stopped, both of you, and stood frozen on the spot.
You looked for her all over the place, and failed yet again. You had been trying to find her for what, six days now? You’re not so sure of your count, because you never cared what day it was.
Ever since you met her – known her – there were only days with her, and days without her.
The previous days being the latter.
The next day you saw her sitting on your usual rock, her smile so wide that her perfect set of white teeth showed.
You walked briskly, almost running. Part of her hair still had the black mist, and you decided to look away.
“What happened?” You let the usual distance between you remain.
“They were asking me,” she started, holding that certain part of her hair. “About this. Won’t let me get away.”
Her voice was as soft as her hair (now it surprised you how you could still remember how the strands felt like).
“I’m sorry.”
It was the first time you ever said sorry to someone, and meant it.
The day after that, she just said to you: “It’s nothing.”
You asked her why, what was that for? She only shrugged and smiled. And for a second there, you told yourself why you even asked.
You swore that if you actually needed oxygen right now, you sure had to fight for it. Her dark, chocolate eyes so deep they refuted eternity; her hair a mess of auburn waves. Her breasts were small yet full, her nipples tight.
You stopped looking (and you felt ashamed for actually watching her) as she slowly laid herself on her back, until her head touched the ground. She smiled and reached her hand to touch your face.
And just like the moment when you brushed her hair, her hand – starting from the very tip of her fingers – began seeping with black air.
Now you knew the right word to describe her. And this time, you told her.
“You’re beautiful.”
You positioned your body on top of her, equaling her nakedness. You kissed her gently, like the sunlight touching her skin.
You watched her across the field, sitting on the grass as her dress formed around her like a blooming flower of black rose. Every inch of her skin screamed that she was your kind now; her body, her everything, was wrapped with an air of black.
“I want to see you smile again.” You cupped her face on both of your hands, carefully, as if she was made of the most fragile things; your black mist and hers merging like one.
“Remember what you said before?” she said with that same soft voice, only that her lips didn’t curve to an upward smile this time. “We don’t smile. We can’t.”
They were the most painful amongst the most painful – the saddest words you had ever heard.