Story 7 - The Smallest Thing

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Welcome. Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is an anthology series that utilizes the wisdom of the Delphic Maxims. In this episode, the seventh episode, Cassandra wills the world to stop for a moment. It’s a seemingly impossible task to be sure, but it is for good reason. Such a good reason, in fact, as to almost be cliched, but it’s not like we fully understand she’s getting. Practically speaking.

So, revenant, love those whom you rear, while you still can.

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Time works differently when you're dead. There was no consistency to it but an unpredictable jerking. They didn’t go over that in orientation. Not that Ester had much of an orientation at all. Rather, that was an expression she had heard in the house, and for some inexplicable reason, she held onto it. She kept it. To be more specific, she kept it for herself. And when you’ve lost everything else--even the body that you at times previously hated--these small scraps of the physical world or even just representations of it are all someone or something like Ester can hope for. 

Had time itself forgotten about her, she would wonder. It would explain exactly why she was… Whatever she was. Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe she was something else. 

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Ester could remember dying but she did not remember what came right . It seemed fair to assume that what was supposed to happen to her spirit did, in fact, not happen. And now, it was left here, in what had been her home. She could see a world outside through the windows if she looked at just the right angle, and it wasn’t what she remembered. She blinked, and the world outside had changed. She did not know if she could go out there, and she was not particularly keen on trying. It was not that she was happy stuck in this ever changing home, but she could imagine an alternative she would enjoy even less, if enjoy was the right word for that predicament. And so, Ester stayed where she was in what used to be her home with time wiping away those familiar touches in inconsistent bursts. 

The new walls seemed to show up without any clear explanation as to why or what they were meant to be. They would come, and then they would move. Hallways shifted constantly, and though Ester did not need to respect these boundaries, without them, she was disoriented. Ester was inclined to say that was the worst part of her situation. In life, she had become very good at lying. She couldn’t remember why exactly or how, but even though the memories had been lost along the way, the skill itself remained with her. Not that there was anyone to talk to but herself given her… current state, but lying as a skill could be utilized in a variety of circumstances. And there are many reasons to lie to oneself, even in death. After all, lying is usually done because it is thought that deception will make one's way in life easier to pass through for whatever reason and whatever justification one might have for it. There’s no moral quandary in a ghost lying to herself, though. No one else was harmed in the construction of that falsehood. And she could be harmed much more by the truth. And so, it came easily to her. More so than it ever had before. 

Ester could say that it was the shifting walls that bothered her the most, but that was--perhaps--the greatest lie she had ever told. The truth of it was that the worst part was the people and the fact that they would never stick around. At first, their inability to interact with her in any way stung, but it started to matter less and less in the face of something else.

You see, time serves a purpose. Time is a necessary ingredient for any process, for anything to properly form and develop. Ester needed time with those inhabitants, time to watch them, time to get to know them, and time to grieve. She never had any of it. 

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She would turn around to see a young woman in the hallway with a warm face and blithe smile. They’d be about the same age, and Ester would feel an excitement swell in her chest to have something vaguely like a companion in the house with her. She’d listen intently for someone to say the woman’s name or to know anything about her. But a step down the wrong hallway or through a doorway that had once been and the woman wouldn’t be so young anymore. She would be middle-aged with older children running around underfoot. And suddenly, companionship seemed like a far flung impossibility. That was an era of life that Ester had never known and one she could not offer any assistance with. Then again, she would soon realize, that didn’t have to be the end of it; it didn't have to mean anything if she didn’t want it to. But with her resolve renewed, she would turn around again, and the woman would be gone completely, her children now grown up and weeping. 

There was at least closure in that. On the other hand, it was far too common that the faces lurking around hallways Ester did not understand would simply disappear, taking pieces of furniture or decor with them, things that Ester had used as makeshift markers. The house would be different again. Sometimes the world outside of it too. But then again, sometimes hardly anything changed at all. And someone was just gone. 

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People work differently when you’re dead, Ester had learned. But that one made more sense. It may even be that they themselves aren’t different, but it’s just that your circumstances have changed to the point of incompatibility. You aren’t like them anymore. You aren’t really a part of their world anymore. Consequently, you would need to adjust your behavior accordingly, right? This was how Ester learned not to care. That took time, and it was a lesson that never fully took hold because deep down, secretly, and in the bottom of her soul, Ester could not help but care. There was something satisfying not just about being cared for but also about holding care in your heart. It was sustaining in a nonphysical way, which made it something a ghost could carry with her no matter how much she tried to strip it off of her in the same way that everything else had been stripped from her. 

But once again, she would lie to herself and tell herself that it did not matter. She could rise above that. She would remain steadfast to the conclusion that she no longer cared for the figures that wandered around what had once been her home whose voices she would occasionally catch in the air around her. It wasn’t true, but she never acknowledged that it wasn’t true. And if she believed earnestly enough, then perhaps it could be. It could become a lived truth, she would say, and that was good enough. It was the desired result, anyway.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Time works differently without a clear end. There is no progress, only monotony. It used to be that things could not last forever, but being a ghost seemed to be the exception. Ester didn’t know how to stop being a ghost, if that’s what she was. That was what people would refer to her as, when they caught glimpses of her in return. But she was not entirely sure what that meant. She knew she wasn’t human. She knew she couldn’t easily stop being whatever she was. But at the same time, she knew there wasn’t any alternative. And that, in combination with everything else, left Ester alone and with a great sadness.

All there was to do was wander through unrecognizable hallways, as she had always done, catching glimpses of people she had to otherwise ignore. And that was what she did. The house continued to change, and Ester continued to scramble for anything she could use to steady herself. There wasn’t much thought to it. There is hardly ever any thought attached to those things we do out of desperation. Some choices, if that’s what they could be called, make themselves more obvious than others. 

A child’s laugh, for example, can cut through the fog of a disoriented mind quite well. But it was a sound Ester did not immediately recognize. It hit her and tapped into some deep instinct she had not taught herself to ignore. She had known it was there until that moment. And so, forgetting any number of the lies she had told herself, she let herself fall into the moment. She turned to see a small child with bright hazel eyes peeking out from beneath thick black curls staring up at her. Those eyes ensnared Ester and pulled her into an inescapable embrace. But there was something unfamiliar there, something Ester had not seen in quite some time. 

“Hi,” the girl whispered softly. 

Recognition. Ester was seeing recognition for the first time. Perhaps this little girl did not know who she was speaking to, but she knew she was, in fact, speaking to someone. Ester’s heart leapt in her chest. It was coming alive again, for the first time in a long time. 

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“You can see me?” Ester wanted to ask, though the answer was already so abundantly clear. 

The girl could see her. She had already proved as much, but it was just so unbelievable and Ester so desperate. The moment came to a halt. For once, time did what Ester might have expected. For once, things felt steady. And that too gave Ester a new sense of life. A warmth started in her newly beated chest and extended outwards to where her fingers and toes once had been. The familiar sensation of caught breath filled her mouth. My word, Ester thought, there’s so much involved in feeling alive.

All the while, the girl did not seem to understand the weight of the moment. She just kept her smile firmly planted on her face, patiently waiting for whatever came next. She swayed a bit in her teal dress as she waited. The heels of her feet in well worn black shoes lifted off of the floor and sank down gracefully. A child so young could not be expected to stand still. All the same, she waited for Ester to react, to engage, to do anything, and as long as she wasn’t being verbally chastised, there was no need to stop waiting. But neither action nor reaction came easily. Stunned and confused, Ester did not know what to make of her. Even beyond the implications of it all, there wasn’t anything particularly delicate about this girl, which is what she would have expected from a girl so small. It was what she had been taught to expect a young girl to be when she was alive, when she herself was a young girl. But instead, there was a clear strength about that child. Something radiated off of her that Ester couldn’t place. There was almost a reason to be afraid of her, were it not for the kind nature of her eyes.

“Hello,” Ester whispered, feeling herself being drawn closer to the girl. The drift forward she experienced wasn’t intentional, but nothing of her current state had been thus far, so she could accept it. The young girl waved and giggled softly before turning in response to some other noise happening behind her. 

“Sille,” Ester heard. 

“Sille,” Ester whispered back. 

The girl turned back to the voice, a woman’s voice, and was ready to heed its unspoken command. Perhaps it was her mother’s voice, if Ester had to guess, but it didn’t matter who it was specifically. The keeper of the voice was a competitor for the child’s time. No, worse yet, the keeper of the voice was the instigator of an all too familiar episode. 

Ester did not want the girl to leave her. Suppose she was gone at the next corner. Suppose she wouldn’t be able to see Ester in the next hallway.  Realistically, it shouldn’t have mattered. Ester no longer cared, right? 

But no, Ester tried to yell to the girl, ready to beg her to stay there. For whatever good that might do. But Ester could hardly form the words in her mouth. It had been so long since she spoke that what was left of her mouth struggled to work. There was no point then, Ester thought. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

There was no way to stop the girl, and realistically, there was hardly a reason to. The young girl had a life to live, had a mother that would not be ignored, and had… well, time, specifically time that worked exactly as it should. It was her right as a member of the living. 

Even if it would hurt more now than it ever had, Ester had to let go and keep moving. She stepped back while Sille ran ahead. It had to be this way. For whatever that brief encounter was worth, it couldn’t be anything more than that. Better to let go, Ester thought, but it still hurt all the same.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Time works differently when you’re dead, but Sille worked differently than any other person Ester had caught glimpses of. To Ester, without time, there was no night and day. To Sille, there was no need to dwell on the difference, particularly if it meant seeing Ester again

When it happened, Ester was standing in the front room of the home. Perhaps that could have been considered a bold decision what with it being a manifestation of so many concerns and problems. The front room was not as she remembered it. In fact, it had once been a porch. It was a porch she had spent many hours sitting on, in both life and death. But regardless of its many shifts and changes, it remained a place of calm for her. It was a familiar place where her soul went through certain, slower motions. There was almost a nothingness around her as she sat there. And then there was something. Or rather someone. 

Ester saw the familiar little girl as she emerged in the room with her hands wrapped tightly around her blanket. It was hardly a caught glimpse, the faintest movement entering the corner of her eye, and she refused to do much more with it. By then, Ester had been left to sit with the nature of her situation for a bit, and she had thoroughly reminded herself how this always goes. Ester knew how this ended. Ester knew how this always ended. She knew that time did not favor the dead and that she herself was just a plaything to forces that wished her to be alone. Sille would be gone soon. She might even be gone when Ester turned around. 

“Ma’am,” Sille whispered.

It pained her to do so, but Ester did not react. She could not react. It did not matter if Sille was different when the outcome would remain the same, when Ester would inevitably be alone. Feelings of loss and confusion were ever present memories for Ester. She would not repeat her mistake.

“I had a bad dream,” the girl said. “There’s no one else to tuck me in. Please, ma’am.”

Ester vaguely remembered what that was like, what it was to be a child in a big house, even though that was some unknown time ago and even though she had lost so much of herself since then. Her heart pained for the little girl, for the fear and concern in her voice. The desperation in her voice was clear in the way she spoke and the fact that she was reaching out to a ghost for comfort. There was a sadness to it, a sadness Ester recognized and felt.

No, Ester thought to herself. She should not answer her. She should do nothing. This child was not hers to mind. This child would not be there for long. What was the point of caring when that would simply bring pain later?

Sille drew closer. And Ester felt the pull again, the same pull that led her to follow Sille in the hallway, that same draw and drift that could not be controlled. It was in her chest this time, the stirring of a feeling she had long since forgotten about. 

Time works differently when you’re dead. It might change your appearance, but your heart remains the same. Ester’s heart remained the same. It remained inclined to dote on the small girl that needed her. 

The familiar ache of all that came before posed a compelling counter argument. It screamed out in her chest, warning her against this. It pleaded with her to actually be as guarded as she pretended to be in the name of prevention. Remembering the hurt and confusion, it begged. Remember what will happen soon. Ester felt herself slowly being convinced. 

“Ma’am?” Sille whispered again.

The soft tugging in her heart for the girl grew to a hard pull. Ester winced. Unrealized regret filled her throat and choked her. So there would be pain regardless then. Pain in squandering this chance and pain in taking it. 

So no, Ester thought. She knew what she wanted. For however long she could have it, Ester would have this time. Ester would have someone to care about.

(Beep. New music starts)

Cassandra’s Tales and Truths is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. Transcripts can be found at oracleofdusk.online. That’s one word. Oracleofdusk.online. Thanks!