Barycenter
The lesson Sissel learns afterwards, in the slow years to come, is that human sight reaches further than it shows.
He was once called special, for he could travel through time. He knows now – in a way, he is not alone. Whenever he observes them, in fact, he catches the people in the act of running after trails that aren't there.
Be it memories, or second-hand traces of dreams, their lives are cut and twisted by invisible turns of events. They see to be used to it; they measure themselves on forecasts and imagination, to sweeten, at best, what is left of their time.
His family taught him well. Even the things that no longer exist leave a trace.
But how is it that they picture events which never were?
They don't just play around with thoughts to pass the time. Their convoluted games of fancy spread their roots in each of their gestures. Human moves have lasting consequences; and they remain, barely eroded by time, weighing on the curve of their smiles until it's flat.
When people don't make things right, they make them worse.
Sissel is fully aware of what is going on. The two worlds he split are growing apart every day. Their bond gets tenser, and yet can never break – the sheer force of its pull dents their present, consuming a happiness that can never be full.
The expanding abyss in between is all silence. But the connection, the thin sliver of hope, is still within him.
He bridges the past and the future he helped make. In his grasp lie their balance and their fate. He accepts his task in secret – he will become a signal, a source of patient guidance.
He begins weaving their steps together. He walks ahead with care, on the waysides of their emotions, dodging their defenses like road cones in a slalom. And he can break through them, for he isn't bound by their rules, and why should a cat know? They don't suspect him.
He still learnt enough to pull at human heartstrings.
Like that, with simple gestures, he scratches at the edges of this secret. He ties severed phone cords together; he coaxes them into longer, longer talks, until their gazes crash to the ground and their voices crack.
After all, the feeling of something unfinished is ever in the air. He reads it in their worries, with their obstinate streaks of silent longing. It is unfair to keep this up so long.
Well, if they are too scared to end it, he will make them.
His work is not quick. What it lacks in speed, however, he makes up for with constancy. He is ever on the sidelines, carefully staring.
And the day Jowd looks up, driven to sit in a isolated spot with open ears he can pour it all in, the pressure is so great that he doesn't even notice how convenient the whole circumstance happens to be.
"Cabanela," he whispers, leaning in with a seriousness he has never had. "There is something I should tell you about."
As he spills the beans for the first time of many, Sissel stays, to watch them talk through the whole thing. They do not notice for a single moment. He licks his paws, proud of himself, and naps.
His job is well done. The rest is up to them.
Treat for laughingmango , and my final contribution to the Ghost Swap 2015 exchange fyeahghosttrick.
The Takumi curse is always the same. We are here to fix it. Let's make them talk, shall we?