Sparked
From The Birdhouse
Water flows lazily from the cabin to the beach, the gentle trickle barely audible over the sound of Daisy's footsteps. Brown eyes trail from a daisy to a cornflower to another daisy, on and on until he reaches the cabin, and the tree jutting through the wall.
As he stands in front of the house, a feeling of peace pokes at the edge of his mind. It's strange— that he remembers this place, but he doesn't remember. The same way he knows everyone who lives on the Island, but he doesn't know them. He's seen them through eyes that aren't his own.
He shakes his head clear and pulls open the front door. The interior is exactly as he knows it should be, but he takes a few moments to look around. There's a potted daisy on the floor. And a painting that... did it always look that way?
The basement hasn't changed since he— they— ugh. It doesn't matter. It hasn't changed since last time. Still musty and mossy and—
"Uh..."
A shimmering blue figure stands facing the wall, cobblestone peeking through his semi-transparent body. Flames gather at his feet, flickering silently and illuminating the dim basement.
At Daisy's voice, the figure whips around and backs away, shoulders hunched. His eyes, pure white, are blown open in surprise.
"I..." Daisy stares for a good few seconds.
The man in front of him. The ghost, who died in his lover's arms and caused him so much agony that he couldn't handle it alone. There's a daisy in his hand and the sight makes him want to scream. But he's cool. He's calm. He takes a long, shallow breath.
"Hi. You're..." He bites down harder on the toothpick in his mouth. "You're Finch."
The ghost backs even further into the corner and gives the tiniest of nods. His heads stays turned away from Daisy, clearly avoiding eye contact despite the lack of pupils.
Daisy doesn't know what to say. So many feelings are swarming in his gut, most of them ugly, most of them cruel, all of them angry.
But he manages some restraint, and says, "Owl really likes you a lot." Bitterness seeps into his tone and he lets it happen. He reaches up and takes the toothpick, holding it out like a cigarette. "You know that, right?"
Finch nods at the floor, hunching further into himself. Daisy watches him squirm, shuffling side to side with anxiety, and god— didn't he promise to stop enjoying this? Didn't they all swear against taking pleasure in pain? Through thick fog, he remembers a lesson learned. But this time he can't bring himself to care.
"Do you... have any idea what he's been going through?" he asks. "Ever since you tore your fucking soul out— basically right in front of him?" Finch hangs his head. "Do you have any idea?" He gives the smallest of nods. "Yeah. I hope so."
Daisy grips the toothpick, eyes never leaving the ghost. He takes another breath and ignores the pang of regret that he feels. It isn't his.
"Because the day after you did that is when I started to..." He pauses, trying to find the words. "I guess, become aware of myself. Because it upset him so much that he couldn't handle it, if I wasn't there. He didn't know that I was there. But I was there... because you weren't."
A wince from the ghost, and he lowers his head, hair falling to shield his face from Daisy's view. Finch brings the daisy closer to his chest and—
Diyos ko, what the fuck has happened here? That's their flower, their memory of a spring afternoon kissing in the grass and sharing secrets. It was Dee who picked him the flower, it was Dee who called him his Daisy, a name so full of love that he doesn't even remember his real one anymore. It seems like Dee doesn't remember, either. Everyone calls him Owl.
"And then you kept getting worse, and he tried—" Daisy gestures firmly at the floor. "He tried so hard to help you. Even before you did anything. Even before anything happened. He tried so hard to be your friend, and most of the time you just ran away. It upset him every single time."
He lets the words sink in, watching Finch shuffle around with furrowed brows.
"You couldn't just... say goodbye normally? Once?" he asks, pointed.
He opens his mouth to continue, but Finch disappears in a poof of flames and smoke. Daisy sighs and slips the toothpick back between his lips.
"Couldn't even do that to me, I guess," he mutters, and stalks back up the stairs.
Back at the first floor, he considers leaving. All he wanted was to check this place out, see it for himself. He doesn't really want to stay, now that he's so riled up. But he knows what's upstairs, and so does the invisible hand, tugging at his own to make sure it's still there.
So he goes, wood creaking as he climbs. When he turns around at the banister he's met with Finch, sitting on the bed and staring at his lap.
"Oh," he says, quiet.
Slowly, Finch looks up at him. His curls frame his pale white eyes, which are somehow filled with sadness despite the general lack of expression.
Daisy takes a few steps forward and that invisible hand returns, squeezing his. A trickle of happiness breaks through the bitter taste in his mouth.
"He did like hanging out with you here," he admits. "I mean, it's the whole reason... he came back to drop that daisy off. 'Cause he thought you were... actually gone forever."
The hand falls away and anger wins again.
"You know, the thing that he also thought I was? And you knew that? And you maybe didn't think through how doing what you did... might upset him?"
Finch's face screws up. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times before any words come out, stammering, "I, I, I didn't... it wasn't like that. It was. Maybe I wasn't thinking."
"Well, clearly you weren't," says Daisy, cold.
A beat of silence.
"Have you never been near suicide before?" Finch asks, stumbling upright off the bed. His hand passes slightly through the mattress.
Daisy finally tears his gaze from the ghost and stares at a glowberry vine instead. "...I can't say that I have."
"Okay." Finch's hands are shaking. "I wouldn't expect you to get it, then." He takes a deep breath that Daisy doesn't hear. "Look, I'm sorry I fucked up. I didn't... I didn't mean to do all this. I didn't..."
Thick, white tears begin to pour down Finch's face. Daisy takes a step back.
"I'm... I'm sorry, I'm sorry," says Finch, voice breaking.
Well.
"I appreciate the apology," Daisy says, awkwardly messing with a button on his shirt. "But I don't think I'm ready to accept it quite yet."
"Okay..." Finch sniffles. Then he stands up a little straighter. "This isn't fair. You're not— I, I don't know how to explain it to you, okay? This isn't fair. Get out!"
Finch flies forward, landing silently in front of the bed. There's anger in his voice now, far from the pathetic whimpering he'd been doing a minute earlier.
"This isn't even your space," he continues, fists clenched. "This isn't for you."
"Yeah, but it's for Owl, isn't it?" Daisy asks. "And I'm here for him, because you weren't. So I think I have a right to at least come and see what this place is all about."
"Well you saw. Now get out." The flames at his feet pick up, swirling with more intensity than before.
Daisy squares his shoulders.
"What are you gonna do if I don't?"
The fire burns red now, pooling on the ground in a whirlwind.
"I don't know! I don't know if I can do anything," he says, "But I want you out."
"Well," says Daisy, planting his feet near the balcony door. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Seriously? Get out of here—"
Finch's face contorts with anger and he swings, flames dancing on his fingertips. The punch lands on Daisy's shoulder, not enough to knock him back but enough to sting.
"Oh," says Finch, quiet. "I can hit you."
The gravity of the moment is a little lost on Daisy, who retorts with a punch of his own. Only his doesn't land anywhere— he swings right through Finch's body, goosebumps raising on his skin as he does. His eyes widen and he backs away. Finch hums, smug.
"Well that's kinda not fair," Daisy says, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.
The flames burn a little brighter and Finch swirls red, the tint of his form changing like a wave up from his feet. His eyes, now yellow, are narrowed in rage.
"Get out."
The flames climb up Finch's body as Daisy tries to back further away. He hits the barrier of the balcony and winces, realizing there's nowhere for him to flee.
"I said... GET OUT!"
Finch's eyes burst into bright, searing light as a wave of fire courses from his hands directly into Daisy's chest. It burns. He hears the beginning of an explosion, feels his flesh begin to tear. It's more painful than anything he's ever felt. It's awful, it's agony, it's too much to bear—
Finch watches in slow motion as Daisy's eyes turn blue. One turns towards Daisy's nose, and the other looks directly at him. Wide and confused and afraid.
A split second later, his body disappears.
daisy blew up