Ghost of Gwen

The Brook

It was on the twenty-fifth of March when I realised that I did not love my life. I had set the dishes by the sink, looked out the window, and thought that this wasn't it. The procrastination of reading instead of working, or the way I avoided phone calls by those I love. I slept for too long, hardly ate, and did the bare minimum to keep myself afloat. It all led to how this was no life for me.

Notifications flashed on my phone, pinging loudly in the silence. I hardly notice as I stare outside, aware only of the sounds of birds and the babbling brook. They call to my soul.

The brook is small and narrow, winding past the building like a slither of silver. I listen, aware that the water's sound is loud in my ears, and I can almost feel the chill of the water against my face. It's ice-cold and clinical in greeting.

Before, I was sure I had heard whispers coming from the brook, beckoning me towards it. The murmurs caressed me, honeyed and smooth, and it was only when a dog barked that I had snapped out of the spell, finding myself stepping towards the direction of the brook. I long for the wildness. The raw, gritty vastness of the earth sets my heart afire, and I want to bury my feet in lush grass and to stand still, unmoving, to feel the currents of air run through my fingertips.

As if led by unearthly desire, I find myself outside. My shoes are off and ankle-deep in the brook. I close my eyes, listening, and I feel as though I am not one vessel of a person, but vast. Time flowed, unending. When my eyes finally opened again, my entire body is cold. 

"How long have you been standing there?" 

 Turning towards the direction of sound dazedly, I blink when I realise it had gotten quite dark, and the person who had spoken was in shadows. Staring, I realise it's Gwen.

"Earth to Caroline," she quips, moving towards me, "Bloody hell, you gave me a fright for a moment there, standing there all motionless."

She hisses when she touches my skin, shrugging out of her jacket and slinging it over my shoulders. Taking me inside the flat tenderly, she puts the kettle on and fills a bucket full of warm water for my feet. It's silent as my feet begin to feel again. 

 "You didn't come to lecture," Gwen states quietly, before looking at me, "How long were you in the brook?" 

I didn't know how to answer because I knew that whatever I said, it would not bring good fortune. That's right. University was something that Gwen had urged me to do. Back when we were both happy together. Before what happened. I frown, looking at Gwen closely. She shouldn't be here. Memories of staring at her corpse face down in the brook floated through my mind, and I feel my blood run cold. 

 "You should try and look after yourself better," she continues, unaware of my revelation, "I can't keep saving you from your impulsiveness."

Gwen looks like she's washing the dishes, but I realise nothing is moving out of the sink like her motions make out. The clink and clatter of plates are absent, but still, she washes. 

"You need to focus on your work," her voice drifts, barely audible as I stand up, "I'd stay seated if I were you, or I'll never hear the end of it if you slip and fall to your death."

Ignoring her, I stumble forward, my wet feet creating pools of water as I go. Gwen's hair is as I remember. Light brown, styled with curls and her favoured pearled hair clip. Her perfume swarms the air, pungent, the smell of lavender crisp in the air like a heavy fog. 

"I've not seen you for a while. Imagine my surprise when I found you standing in the brook."

Standing beside her, I see how the light goes through her. Her words are distant. My hand moves to touch her, but Gwen moves away swiftly, her body turning to face me directly. Something in her eyes catches me off guard: a twinkle that seemed real and human, the light glinting from the blue of her gaze. 

"It's time to forget about me. I'm not here anymore."

Going to grab her, to protest, I lurch forward only to find nothing. She's gone, and the darkness of the kitchen surrounds me. The jacket she had slung upon my shoulders has vanished, and I turn around quickly in bewilderment. My feet are wet, yes, but there is no bucket of warm water, and as I feel the kettle, the surface is ice cold.

I go to the window, staring down towards the brook. It calls to me.