You wake up, another day, another day to rot in studies and preparations.
You open your phone, checking messages, good morning texts, late-night rants, things from your friends you've gotten accustomed to.
Except for one, he's stopped messaging a while ago, you've wondered what he's doing, and if he's ok. He normally doesn't do this, it's often you who goes silent for hours, and yet it has been a day.
You shoot a message, going "hey, you there", no response, as you expected.
Well, he's probably asleep, you think, proceeding to the door.
After freshening up, you ponder what to do today. It's a holiday, in a long list of holidays. You've got a board game night planned soon. He's *hosting*.
You've got this feeling you can't shake off, it's something like that of hubris mixed with awe. Who would piss off a god, you wonder, and still be curious? Hasn't the entirety of humanity forsaken them enough?
Walking into the living room, your sister excitedly says, "<NAME>! We're going to a soothsayer today. Rumour is, she can predict the future and your past. Also, she's a really talented spirit medium. She knows somehow."
You decide it would be a good break, after all, you had nothing much to do.
You and your family arrive at the location, which is a temple; not many people visit.
You walk in, praying to the dieties, offering fruits, and enjoying the atmosphere. And then suddenly, you feel dreadful.
"We're here! The Soothsayer is inside," your older sister exclaims, "Let's see what's in our futures :>".
You both walk inside, with you still trying to shake off that feeling of dread. The soothsayer, sitting on a shaped stone, with jewellery all over. Most of them look so ornate and beautiful, you feel *awestruck*.
Your sister calls out to the soothsayer, who was busy organising her items of interest. You spot a tarot deck there.
The soothsayer, introducing herself, says, "Hello there, young ladies. I am Ritumani the Soothsayer. You may refer to me as ma'am. Wait, you ("pointing towards you"), you look interesting. There's something on you."
You immediately franitcally looking over yourself for any spiders. That was not the case, however. She explains, "no no, you probably can't see it. Come here, take a seat."
"This sure is an interesting fellow; he's not vengeful, but why is he still here then?" She mutters to herself.
You believe she's bluffing. After all, why would *you* be the recipient of a soul or a spirit or a demon or whatever she's implying she sees?
Your sister enquires, "What is it?"
Ritumani bellows, "A ghost. A ghost who wanted to be here, rejecting heaven as an answer for salvation. I think it's because heaven can't give him what he desires."
You, still thinking that she's bluffing, ask her for details about the ghost.
Ritumani scoffs, "It's as old as you. He's shining, as if he himself has earned the favour of the gods. He smiles as he sits on your neck. Like how toddlers love piggybacks. He looks like how he died. He's wearing glasses, although shattered. A sailing shirt over him, while his legs are in trousers. A hole present in the chest where his heart might've been. And a card, within his fingers, the 2 of hearts."
The description has you aback, the smile, the shirt, the trousers, the childish behaviour, and that card, the two of hearts, he always carried with him. It's almost as if she's describing *him*. But it can't be.
It can't be. He was alive 2 days ago, you met him, and he was happy. You were mad at him, but he was still smiling like a toddler.
You said you'll not talk to him anymore. His smile turns to that of a puppy who feels sorry for his actions. You didn't mean it; you were planning to leave him for a day, only a day.
Dazed, you walk out of your room, your father watching the local broadcast.
It's the usual weather report. And then it hits.
It's *his* photo. The reporter says his body was found on the fence of an abandoned apartment. He had jumped from the top floor onto the fence. His heart was pierced by the fence spikes. It was ruled as a suicide.
