TW: grief, suicidal ideation

Under the water, my hair is free. Floating around in wavy sheets, alive, dancing in its new freedom. My eyes are open, burning yet taking in the shadows of the tree blocking out the burning flecks of sun. I’m holding my breath, yet in the muffled lulling world I can imagine that I belong down there. My lungs not needing oxygen, drinking in the lake water and fueling my body on its ichor. Yet, my lungs begin to burn, a sensation that reminds me I am more than a corpse floating in the waves.

My feet brush the tangled weeds and craggy sand, and my head pops out from under the water. The sun hits me as burbling children splash and play in the distance.

I want to disappear.

I slip my head back underwater and peace smooths over the distant panic in my head. A single question comes to mind. Is this what you felt when you hit the water?

You didn’t feel it. I know the answer. Yet I can’t help but imagine you hanging in space, your eyes entranced by the dancing blue as sunlight kissed it. Did you roll with the waves, shivering in anticipation as they took you away, or did you splash and kick at life’s fate for you?

Did death feel something like this?

Adrift in some distant place, my soul cradled by midnight currents.

I close my eyes, the burning in my lungs the only reminder that I am alive.

Is this…how you…felt?

Somehow, the thought makes me feel closer to you. The idea that I can relate to you, connect to you in some way. That I can reach you.

The thought makes me shoot out of the water, my hair spraying droplets everywhere, creating ripples in the languid water. My chest pounds, and my head swims, as I move from death to the living in a matter of seconds.

I don’t want to be you.

I want to know you.

I put my head in my hands. What happened to you? How did you end up bloated, caught on a tree down the river? How did a silly little chat that led to a silly little fight end up with you not calling me when you needed help? Who did it?

I want to puke, to run, to make those children shut up, to return to the peaceful world below the waves.

I push my way through the waves and wince as rocks scrape my feet as I race out of the lake. Now I run, the air cool on my wet skin, wisps of hair losing themselves in the wind, while the bulk stays plastered to my back. It seems like a good metaphor for me. The smallest parts of me could flutter away, while so much of me stays stuck on you.

The grass tickles my feet, the chirps of cicadas too loud, too loud, as my parents call after me. I’m alive, too alive, as my heart rails against my ribcage. Tears spatter the grass. Smoke and charred meat from a barbecue invades me. How far would I have to run before I could forget you? The bathrooms are blocky buildings of broken brick. I collapse behind them, the scent of toilet squeezing out from the windows lining the top of the building. I press my hands against my eyes, hiding in the building’s shade as my bathing suit sticks to my skin, making me remember the folds of my body and why I hate everything.

In the distance, children squeal on a playground. Woodchips escape the confines of the plastic rim. A little me had played hide and seek with you one beautiful day. Another time, we snuck in there and smoked for the first time, coughing up our lungs as we messed up.

Too many memories. Why had my parents brought me here?

My breath came hard and fast. You died and so did my life, shattered like an egg as people walked on the eggshells around me. I am tired, insomnia kicking my ass, as I dream only of you and the things I didn’t say.

The world’s saturation is maxed out, and I can’t unclench my muscles. I want to return to the waves and the peace.

A little girl stops at the edge of the playground; her distant eyes seem focused on me. She reaches and touches the grass before she waddles her way towards me. I sniffle and rub my eyes. I debate running away now that my hiding spot is ruined. But something about that seems too cowardly, so I stay put until the girl reaches me.

She smiles, a toothy grin missing quite a few teeth. I smile back with the little effort I could muster. She pulls her hands from behind her back. Somewhat crushed, is a dandelion with a nearly detached head. She extends it towards me with an excited giggle.

I don’t know what to do. Something about this has broken me and yet the girl smiles at me patiently. She doesn’t say anything. Her wild curls swirl in the wind and she extends her hand further.

I reach out and take the flower from her. She giggles and runs off, bouncing and galloping all the way to her worried mother. I stare at the dandelion, twisting it around by its stem, warmed by the hand of the child. Like the warmth of your hand when I took it at the movie theater, when you were frightened of the monsters on screen. Warm like you would be if I could just reach you.

The sun beats down on me, warm and soothing like it hadn’t been for months. I lay the dandelion in my palm and burn it into my memory. Kindness swirls with monstrosity in this cursed world. A little good couldn’t break down the tower of misery I had built around myself, but it snuck inside like a beautiful little weed in the bricks. Something, it was something, like the peace of the lake, and the warmth of the sun, and the tickling of the grass under my legs, and the over-blue sky, and the burning of charcoal, and the dreams I still had. Like the dandelion in my hands, the gift of a small child.

Even though you were gone.

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If you enjoyed this short story you may like my short story Stained Glass Heart, or my Novella The Mark of Death.

Thank you for reading this short story of mine. I have been trying to process some grief that has been simmering in the back of my mind, untouched. I hope even though it can be a little sad, that you can enjoy the stories I create in the process. I try to flower them with at least a little bit of hope, because that is what I believe in.

Thank you again, truly.

-Aether