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The song sang itself, and it couldn’t be stopped.

Phantom arms embrace me, sweet.

They crawl to me-words, to sweep

Those dark impurities, deep,

Mingling awake in sleep,

Spreading in my blood, they creep

Onto my skin, to claw, seep;

Seep back in; back in with glee.

The mountains reached out to the skies like fists of victors after winning the most epic fight of all. Snow covered their peaks like icing on Christmas cakes, flooding downwards like melting lava. She lived there. Maybe, in another life, she did. She knew she did. She could feel where the grooves of the cave were, familiar like her own hands as they passed over the cold walls and as her feet stepped onto the cold stone where it hurt from the little rocks that pierced the skin of her feet.

She didn’t blame them for leaving her behind. This is how they could make sure that at least the five of them would survive. How far would they have gone for a fallen mountaineer? One who was probably even dead or with a limb broken beyond repair? Little did they know that all she suffered from was a bad sprain that fixed itself within three days. Now, she had lit a fire and snuggled into her bedroll after consuming some of her tinned food that comprised of baked beans and a little tuna fish. Even halfway to the peak, Mount. Everest felt like a milestone. Like a place she could never move from or return from. She was stuck but it didn’t feel like she was stuck. It felt like finding a lost jigsaw piece at the bottom of an ocean. She was doing what she had been for the past five days. She would lie down and maybe it was the cold or the weakness, but sleep would cocoon her with opium-like bliss and Samantha could just lie down and hear the wind whistling while making up another story. Maybe it was lack of oxygen or maybe her injury to the head had been more than a bump- the result was almost a miracle.

Phantom words, speak to me, please!

Chase away this sight, tear streaked!

White tiles and mirrors do speak

Of thoughts I don’t dare repeat.

Phantom eyes, look at me, please!

And tell me all that I need!

Phantom, pretend to me!

Better than ever, so free!

Every night, by the fire, she told herself a story and soon after, she would find herself in it- it was like the best kind of lucid dreaming. No evil thought or nightmare invaded her castle of dreams (yes, one night, it had been a castle she had been in and she spent days exploring it). Every day, she would remind herself of what reality was. She was careful not to go insane but daydreaming had never been so good! Who knew when she could return to this little cozy cave with familiar grooves that echoed her own voice to her in a way that after a while, would become a background narrator of life while life breathed into her and she started being part of the wondrous world she’d built for herself. “Just one more night,� she’d tell herself, “Just one more night, until my foot is fully healed, then I must leave,� and it had been a week. The view beyond the cave was cold and bleak and stark and scary with the sharp fall down to tumbling death. Just imagining the drop made her stomach do somersaults in her belly.

Phantom, this insanity

Helps me with calamity.

Phantom touch lulls me to sleep,

Shows me all that is serene.

Insanity replaces me-

The tear streaked tragedy.

Glee rises and smiles, flees

Its old purpose with no sorries.

It was on the eighth day when she felt a sudden pang of loneliness. A feeling so crushing, she felt like throwing herself into the rocks and splatter them with her blood and flesh. That would end her torment. She would lie down and without summoning her imagination, she felt him cocoon her in his warmth. A rumbling, reassuring voice. She held onto him like an atheist holding onto prayer. She didn’t care if he was real or not, but if it was her own mind doing this, she loved herself.

Three days later, they had formed a connection deeper than that she knew ever possible. Like discovering the meaning of deep for the first time. Like knowing the existence of the number nine. She learned how to draw him with her mind, for he never showed his face. At that point, she didn’t care if she was insane, as long as she wasn’t without him and dying. He never talked much. It was more like communication without words. It’s hard to write it all down here. She couldn’t hear his voice, ever, like we normally don’t while thinking. Talking to him was as easy and unconscious as thinking.

Everything was going well. Some part of her did realise that she might die soon after the depletion of the food supply. He wasn’t able to provide her with food. But she couldn’t help it. Who knew, when she’d be here again? She had to make use of the little time they had left. His name was You. She thought it was rather funny. It was cold. So cold, even if she felt hot inside. With numb hands, when she opened the last can using a sharp rock, she cut herself. The pain shooting through her arm brought her back to reality as she saw red stain rapidly blooming on the white snow beneath her hand dripping with blood. It took her a few hours to stall the bleeding. It took her three days to realise that it was infected, and that she had a fever due to the infection. She could have walked off the cliff to avoid that slow, painful death. But You kept her rooted. You was part of her reality, whispering things in her mind. He begged her to live for him. Or to even selfishly live so she could feel his warmth blanket her as she lay shivering on the rocky cave floor. He spoke to her mind- “If you survive, you will tell yourself it was a dream. I forgive you for that,� he told her. She shook her head vigorously, denying it, fisting her swollen, bandaged hand. On the brink of death, nothing mattered. It didn’t matter how absurd it was when all that mattered was that he was real and what she felt was true. There was no time to care about questioning her sanity or wondering what one would think of her love. It was the only thing that made death feel like life bringing her closer and closer. But it was also around that time when one day she woke up to her team-mates shouting about having found her. Jerry, her best friend, looked at her suspiciously especially because of the look of her disappointment. They had this unspoken thing going on- his crush on her and her high consideration of his advances. When he looked into her love-crazed eyes, he knew that against all odds, there would never be a chance for them, ever.

During and after the hike, life got back to normal. But Samantha kept waiting for a man she would address as “You!� when she saw him. Upon confiding in her sister, she was told that You may just be someone she knew. Like Jerry, she helpfully said. Samantha shook her head. She knew what she was talking about. One month passed. She climbed to more peaks. She wanted to be on top of the world. One year. She climbed and climbed, felt her soul burn along with her muscles, but couldn’t find her peak. Two years. She couldn’t stop. Three, four, five, six, seven� eight, nine and ten. Ten years passed. Her lungs were on fire like her spirit was ablaze. She was breathless from ten years of an endless climb. Success. But endless success. If You was a mountain, she would have climbed for 20 years to reach the peak of his soul.

White tiles speak of victory,

Laugh at this trajectory.

Mirrors mock this misery,

Enjoy this melancholy.

Phantom hands pat me proudly.

Insanity sets numbly.

Phantom, have I now lost me?

She saw You one day. At her success party for being the first woman to have climbed all the tallest peaks of the world in the shortest period of time. He just strolled in through the gates and his eyes struck her like a lightning bolt. The garden, the yellow lights, the soft music, the people in subtle colours- all gone. He walked right up to her and said, “So it wasn’t a dream after all.�

“You,� the words rushed from between her lips like the cold winds whistling past the grooves of that cave. Not a question. Not a confirmation. A statement. And his reaction was barely a nod, but a nod nevertheless.

At last.

“I’m sorry,� he said, plainly. Not happily, not sadly. Just two words- he breathed out, then he looked down to the grass that was littered with confetti. Then he stalked out, never to come in through those gates again. He loved her. She loved him. What they had was true. How? It didn’t matter.

He was married. He had to be loyal to his wife, of course. Blaze Fretz was a married man. Of course.

“Hold on, like bees to honey;

Come on, your smile is sunny,�

Phantom tells sorrow, runny,

Like acid on jaggery,

Turning it to armory,

Turning streaks to story.

“You’re brave,� the words fall lightly.

“You’re loved,� they fall hotly.

Phantom, our secret reverie,

Our talks, touches are indeed,

Part of only our melee

As I laugh at tragedy

And embrace insanity.

In my tremors, You I see,

The one who believes in me,

Fade into reality.

Beautifully thought.
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