But there are more interesting possibilities. Of a much thinner sort.
God gave each of us a length, which, without exception, must be lived out. Suicides and unnatural deaths are forced awkwardly to live out their term in a half state, an unsure place. Craving the heat. Nestled together, thin and unable to keep warm. Spread through the corners—gossamer strands, cobwebs. And subsisting off the fumes of alcohol and the warmth of fresh blood.
Perhaps even less. Just a desire; like a strong wind that can sometimes fill a shape. That can push in a direction with greater or lesser force.
Waiting over a newborn covered in the heat and red of their birth. Sitting by the pour of whiskey.
Who reach out but do not touch. But linger.