Now, fair warning, this story covers some heavy stuff. It involves death, grief, and depression, (This includes v e r y sensitive subjects) If you struggle with any of these, please proceed with caution and read at your own discretion. Despite that, enjoy!
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“No! Oh, God, please, no!” Cries and screams blur together. Sounds of anguish muffle as the cool swallows mercilessly. Arms and legs flail through the deep void in an attempt to keep afloat. Bubbles form in place of noise, shrieks of aid easy to ignore. The burning starts in the throat, slowly spreading to the lungs, the stomach. A wildfire in a dry forest could cause less damage. The struggle to escape is no less than an impossible feat.
Weight presses against my chest, strands of hair dyed in patches swim around my face as the fear sinks in. I’m underwater. Oh my- I’m underwater. When my eyes snap open, unwanted pain stings through them, saltwater seeping through every crevasse it can. Nonetheless, the screams of agony only set my lungs and throat even further into their spiral of flame. They burn. They burn so badly. The longer I hold my breath, the tighter the pressure becomes. If I let go, I’ll die. My lungs will fill and I’ll die. But if I hold on, I’ll eventually pass out. And my lungs with fill.
It’s a lose-lose situation.
Calloused hands claw for the sun. Every muscle screams for air. My heart slams against my ribs as I realise I am not alone. Two dark figures sink in the distance. Two very familiar dark figures. “Mum! Dad! I’m here, I’m right here...”
Each scream is of no use. No one can hear me. No one will ever hear me. I’m in the middle of the ocean for crying out loud. I try to swim towards them, to no avail. It’s only up or down from here. As indigo swirls around my head, I gather every ounce of strength in my body. The fire in my chest blazes as I rhythmically pull myself upward. I bend my environment to my will, determination and adrenaline the only fuel my body can rely on. Trapped air begins to force its way up, the pressure only building as hope is regained.
As my hand breaks the surface, I cave. In one sharp breath, a rush of cool, salty water streams through my throat. As my head spins, I feel a rough hand grip my hand from above the surface. With a rasp, I croak, “No… No… please…”
But I fall. I fall and never land. The deep blue water now a dark, spinning, oblivion, a void with no escape. First my mother… Then my father… I have to go. I can’t stay any longer. If someone has to stay let it be them. Please, God, let it be one of them…
⠓⠕⠏⠑
“It’s been a month.”
“It’s been 23 days.” I’m stared down from the other side of the room, the air filled with expectation. “...And 16 hours.”
“You’re obsessing over this, Eleanor.” His eyes are cold, dead serious. His tone sends a shiver down my spine. “The funeral's in a week. The court cases don’t involve us. What is your problem?”
“I almost died,” I cross my arms, a protective stance my only salvation in such a vulnerable conversation. “Our parents are dead, Ellis. You of all people should be obsessing over this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t seem very affected by this. At all.” Standing up, I make my way over to him. 1. 2. 3. 4 steps. “Don’t you feel anything? Ever?”
“I don’t seem affected because I actually go to therapy. I talk to someone while you wallow in your own self-pity.” He shakes his head. Anyone could see the frustration burning behind his eyes. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 seconds of silence. We’ve been at it for weeks.
“But do you actually feel anything.”
“What do you think?!” His voice grows louder by the word. “I lost my parents. I almost lost you. I just don’t- I don’t grieve in the same way you do.”
“There’s different kinds of grieving…?” His eyes soften, a small sigh relieves his puffed up chest.
“In a way, yes. More like, different grieving processes.” His hands move in rhythm to his words. His own little emphasis. “When everything happened… I was.. Numb. Or rather, indifferent. I was… I was- I just… ‘was.’ But you- You’re brain dived straight into grief and suffering. Mine refuses to accept it.”
“Isn’t that a stage of grief? There’s like 5 of them, aye?” Ellis nods, a small smile creeping in his expression. 3. 4. 5.
“Yep. Well, some people think it’s seven but I’ve been told of 5,” he explains. I always liked when Ellis would explain stuff. I’ve never really gotten anything other than numbers, but he always managed to make it make sense.
I like numbers. Maths. The order of it all. There are unbreakable rules. Everything is the same. Nothing is out of place. But words just don't make sense.
They always get jumbled in my head. They roll across my tongue but get stuck behind my teeth. With numbers, it makes sense. Words could mean anything. But numbers are numbers. 1. 2. 3.
“But you’re right. You skipped denial. Went straight to anger. Or bargaining” My eyes narrow, how could I have gone 1st to 2nd. Even 3rd?
“I’m not angry, though.” I search for an answer in his eyes, met with nothing of use. “When was I ever angry?”
“You weren’t angry at anyone or anything else. You were angry at yourself,” he rests a hand on my upper arm. The pity in his eyes makes me feel inferior.
"How angry?"
"It's in the negatives… 5, maybe."
"Wouldn't that be happy?"
"0.5?"
“You noticed?”
“It’s not hard. You’re my baby sister, El, I know you better than you know yourself.” He ruffles my hair with the palm of his hand. I huff, trying to fix the mess he made.
“Obviously…”
Ellis
“Okay. Does this look okay?” El wobbles out of her room. As she kneels to fiddle with the shoes’ neverending straps, the short black skirt of her dress wraps around her knees
“Those heels look like they could pass as circus stilts.” She rolls her eyes, standing up. “Hey, just being honest.”
“At least I’m not the one who looks like a clown,” she walks down the hall, clipping my shoulder on the way past. False curls bounce around her head, framing her makeup-caked face. She mutters to herself, “God, funerals suck.”
“How long did that take you?” The muscles in her back tense, something only she would normally notice. It’s not hard when the entire back of the dress isn’t there. She stops in her tracks, turning sharp on her help. Her more-filled-in-than-normal eyebrow is raised at me. “The makeup. It looks really good.”
“O-Oh... Thanks.” She wrings her hands, a small blush seeping through her foundation. “I’ve been at it all morning. 2… 3... 4 hours. Can’t wait to just cry it all off.”
I give her a dejected smile, wrapping an arm around her smaller figure. “C’mon, we better get going. We have to be there early.”
“Why?”
“We have to greet people.” Her eyes shoot up at me, pleading for me to scream ‘sike’ as if we were children again. “Don’t give me that look. We’re not 10 anymore.”
⠓⠕⠏⠑
“There are so many people…” El whispers in my ear, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stick up.
“I know. You don’t have to talk to them if it’s that bad.” Audibly, she gulps. Shaking hands wrap around my upper arm, squeezing a little too tight. “God, don’t cut off the circulation in my arm, El. I kinda need that.”
“Sorry…” Her voice is soft, genuine. She bites her lip, dazed eyes staring into the cloud of black.
“Hey…” I rest my free hand on top of the two she has trapping my arm. “I was kidding. You’re alright.”
She shakes her head, resting it on the edge of my shoulder. “I thought I was okay… How are you so composed?”
“No idea. Trust me, I thought I’d be bawling my eyes out by now.” Each move Eleanor makes is jittery, her fingers tapping against my skin. Anyone could see the dread behind her eyes. Pursing my lips, I take a deep breath. “Alright… We have to make it to the front seats in less than ten minutes.”
She slowly pries her hands off of my arm, looking me in the eye with an intensity that only she can ever muster. The way the corner of her lip curls up tells me she knows exactly where this is going.
“So, why not make everyone related to the family hate us?” She exhales a laugh through her nose, a small smile forming on her face. Something I haven’t seen from her in a while. “Last one there buys the winner, and themselves, McDonald's for dinner tonight?”
“Why not?” She crosses her arms, rolling back her shoulders. With one hand extended, she looks at me from down the bridge of her nose, “Deal.”
“Deal.” I shake her hand, only to realise it was a ploy. She smirks as she begins to run off. “Hey! Unfair!”
We dart through the crowd of people, struggling to make our way to the front. I watch a blur of black and peach weave strategically as I struggle to make it past a group of elderly family friends I barely know. As I scream my apologies, El manages to jump over each pew that is in her way with ease, an approach I’d never think of, let alone attempt. What a bloody parkour master.
I finally near her, right before she falls down onto the front set of seats.
“I… win…” She pants, her chest heaving up and down through what I assume is a halter top. “Hells yeah! You owe me chicken nuggets!”
“Fine, fine. Feeling better?” She nods, exhaling a laugh once again as she props herself up on her elbows. “Good. I can not wait for this day to be over.”
Eleanor
There’s a tightness in my throat that doesn’t seem like it wants to go away. The same pressured feeling is trapped in my head as streams of tears are held back. I push a nauseous sting back into my stomach, wanting it all to be over.
“45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50. 51, 52, 53-”
Counting won’t make it all go away, Nora. Not this time. Not the next. It didn’t work the first 4683 times. What’s to say it will this time?
“57, 58, 59, 60. 61, 62, 63-”
A small tug on the end of my skirt snaps me out of a strange trance.
“Ellie?” I look down towards the small voice. A young girl, no older than 6, stares up at me, doe-eyed. “Why are mummy and daddy crying?”
My lips part in an attempt to answer, nothing but air in reply. A familiar feeling pierces at my eyes. “I- Um… I-”
“Because Auntie and Uncle have gone away…” Ellis, seemingly noticing my struggle, kneels down beside her, his size a huge contrast to her smaller silhouette. “For quite a while. And they miss them, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay!” As she skips off, I find myself unable to control the waterworks. I feel my lip quiver out of my control. Warm tears stream down my face, the head pain from earlier only worsening.
“Oh, El…” Ellis’ eyebrows furrow, a familiar pity buried in his expression. He pulls me into a hug, the rest of the world falling away. Sad isn’t remotely close to describing the overwhelming feeling trapping me in my own head. Upset is even worse.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. The whole thing is so complicated to my tiny brain. They were here one second. Gone another. Without even so much as a goodbye. So many thoughts, so many wishes. All down the drain. Why wasn’t it me?!
“It’s okay...” Ellis’ voice is soothing in my ear, bringing my mind back to reality. I just want to ignore the world and all that’s going on in it. I’ve had an entire month to grieve but it’s still not over. Really, I don’t think it will ever be over.
Ellis
They say time is a great healer but I’m not sure that’s entirely true. When you watch someone you love constantly and consistently tear herself to pieces, it’s hard to believe. You could almost see the cloud hanging over Eleanor’s head.
“Two months?”
“No. Eighty-nine days. Eighteen hours. Twelve minutes and the seconds always change. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen-”
“Three months?”
“Three months.” The sounds of scraping metal against porcelain plates pierce my mind.
Minutes of silence pass by. I'm sure she could tell you how many. In the corner of my eye, I notice how El has her nails dug into the exposed skin of her upper arms. I cringe as the pressure draws blood. “Oh, crap...”
Her hands slam on the table as she excuses herself. I hear the footsteps into the bathroom but after that it’s silent. I stare at the half-eaten plate of spaghetti she’d been swirling around seconds before.
When we were kids, she’d inhale her dinner whenever we had Spaghetti Bolognese. Then had seconds before any of the rest of us even got out first round. What happened? What happened to my bubbly little sister who dressed me up and put mum’s makeup on me? Where’s that little girl gone?
She’s taking a while. The silence makes me think of the worst. Nearing the bathroom, her uttered voice is clear, “Sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy. Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three...”
“El..?” Her shoulders tense, droplets of crimson running down the rigid muscle. The metallic scent swirls around the small tile-lined room.
“Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seven-eight, seventy-eight, eighty. Eighty-one, eighty-two-” Her voice drones, lacking any emotion.
“Eleanor.” I place a firm grip on her shoulder, jolting her back to Earth. As she turns around, bringing a hand to her injuries, the distance in her wide eyes sinks in. My heart drops. She’s not really here. Aware, alive, but not here.
“Sorry! Sorry…” She squeezes her arm, only for the crimson substance I hate to call her blood seep through the gaps in her fingers. “I know counting doesn’t actually help. But- But I-”
“Eleanor!” I cut through her ramblings. “It’s okay! You’re okay…”
As she comes down from her fluster, I start to clean her arm with a warm flannel. Her shoulders rise and fall with each heaved breath she takes.
“I- I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry-”
“El…” I pull her to face me head-on, “You’re okay.”
“I don’t feel okay!” Her eyes widen with panic. “There’s so much noise! It’s so loud. The static, it’s so chilling. Oh God, the static, Ellis-!”
Panic rises in my stomach as she falls into my open arms. Her hiccuped sobs reverberate around the room, echoing in my mind. Droplets of water rhythmically fall against my shoulder, El’s face buried in the crook of my neck. My own eyes start to sting. Is the room spinning or am I?
“Let’s- Let’s get you to bed… Alright, Eleanor?” I wean her off of me, holding her by the upper arms. She slowly nods, her dazed eyes trying to keep themselves open. Leading to her room, I try to ignore her small whimpers and sniffles. “Here we go-”
She crawls into the small space on the bed that isn’t occupied by clothes or other random junk, sliding under the dark duvet and light sheets. She rubs tired eyes with the back of her hands. “Ellis?”
“Yeah?” With closing eyes, she smiles up at me, squeezing my hand. She says nothing, but rolls over, letting herself sink into the bed. “Goodnight, Eleanor.”
⠓⠕⠏⠑
Her body interlaces with the bedsheets, one hand under her neck, the other rests on top of the opposite arm. Lumps in the duvet show her legs curling under her body. As peaceful as she looks, the storm in her mind was apparent. Half-awake, her eyes droop, dark and distant. Sure, it hurts to feel lost but when you see it through someone else... It's damaging. To know someone you care about is struggling to stay grounded. It's just- "Ellis... Hi..."
"Oh- Eleanor- Hi!" Her sudden awareness is startling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare, I just-"
"It's okay." She speaks softly, a far-off tone in her voice. Her eyes flicker up to me. Something's cold about the look behind them. It wasn't her. That's the easy answer. The El I know is strong and- and- flexible.
But I haven't seen her on her feet in days.
The days off of school were something. But this is worrying. "Did you want something..?"
"What? Oh- Oh! Did you- Did you want anything?" The dye in her hair is fading, her roots are coming in. "I can get you something from the mal-"
"I'm alright." Her dejected smile says otherwise.
"Don't lie to me, El." The smile fades. "Please..."
"I'm not lying to you, Ellis. I'm alright..." She pushes herself onto her elbows.
"Alright? Really?" The distance in her eyes is masked by a- an anger...?
"Yes, I'm fine."
"But you're not fine!" She very clearly winces, her arms beginning to shaking. Either under her body weight or out of fear, I don't know. "Eleanor, you are not fine!"
“Get out of my room.”
“I want to help you-”
“No. You want me to mask my pain. Get out of my head. Live.” Her eyes search for something in mine. “But I can’t, Ellis. I can’t. Maybe you can, but I can’t.”
She pushes herself back into the headrest, shaky breaths heaved through fought back tears. “That’s why I want you to get help. Real help. Not words of encouragement from me or your friends.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“I did it.”
“We’re not the same person, Ellis.” Her eyebrows furrow, knitting together in a mix of fury and confusion. “You said it yourself! We’re wired differently, I can’t just shove it to the side and forget about it.”
“It’s been 3-”
“It’s been 3 months, 21 days, 16 hours, 34 minutes and 18, 19, 20 seconds. You think I don’t realise that?” There’s unfamiliar anger burning behind her eyes. What have I done? “I’ve counted. You don’t think I’ve counted? That’s all that I do anymore.”
“That’s just the problem-”
“Please, leave me alone, Ellis. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not to you, not ever.”
“El-”
“Get. Out.” Any words I was wanting to say are gone, replaced with a sigh. The lump in my throat is unwilling to budge, my feet refusing to move. She rolls over, facing away from me and the doorway. I wouldn’t want to face me either…
⠓⠕⠏⠑
Later this evening, the warm glow from El's bedside lamp seeps into my bedroom. I manage to peel my eyes off of the massive pile of schoolwork and check the time. "2 am... Jeez. Eleanor, what are you doing up?!"
When I get no response, I bite my lip. Maybe she just left the light on and fell asleep? I swing my legs over the end of the bed, feet sinking into the carpeted floor. The padded steps echo as I peer around the corner.
“Eleanor-”
There’s no one here.
An empty bed. An empty room. A stray window is open, the curtain thrashing with passing wind. “Eleanor?!
A strong instinct told me she wasn’t just up for a drink, a loud crash from outside only confirming the suspicions. “Eleanor!”
The hallway seems 10 times as long as usual as I sprint towards the front door, my heart pounding in my ears. Through a near window, I watch a familiar figure swing herself over one of the bikes hidden in the carport, speeding up her pace when she realises she’s not alone anymore. With no regard for her surroundings, for her safety, she bolts, racing down the driveway.
I do the same. Incoherent thoughts bang against the barriers of my skull as I pedal as fast as I can. A sharp pain shoots through my thighs, a result of physical health negligence. If only I could be just a bit faster-
“So. Today we learnt that Eleanor Woods can not fish.” I chuckle, earning a deserved shove from El herself.
“At least I caught a fish. You didn’t even try.” I raise my palms in an act of innocence.
“Because I know I suck.”
“You can’t suck at something you’ve never tried.”
“Try me.”
I manage to keep her in sight, panicking every time she turns a corner. The night masks the tears streaming down my cheek, fear overriding my senses. As houses pass, I recognise the route. The pier…?
“Stop moving! You’re rocking the boat!” El’s voice shrills, squealing every time a wave hits the edge.
“I’m literally not moving. We are both standing still.” I chuckle, dragging my hand through the water. While she’s not looking, I guide a large gush of water her way.
“Oh, you little-”
“Would you two quit it?!” Dad shrieks, staring us both down. Despite our attempts to reason, he ignores us. “I think we’re floating into a storm…”
I gasp for breath, legs burning, screaming for a break. She can’t leave my sight. Not right now. Moonlight seeps through a gap in the clouds, the only lighting left as we skid off-road. A short cut we found when we were only 9. Oh, the simpler days…
The pier draws closer and closer, her intentions only drawing clearer. “Eleanor, please don’t do this.”
The boat rocks and shakes, tossed around like a ragdoll in the strong current. Moments like these are why life jackets were invented. Too bad we can’t find them… Of course, we can’t find them!
“Ellis-!” I get a warning but I’m too late. El stumbles backwards, near the edge. Arms and legs flail as she falls overboard. My stomach flips and I’m too caught in my head to even notice either of my parents following suit. Shaking hands grip at anything they can, trying to keep stable. Trying to stay alive.
At the edge of the pier, she throws down the bike, making a break for it. I skid off of my own. “Eleanor! Eleanor, please!”
Rhythmic waves crash in the background, feet pounding on wood echoing through the night. My body shakes, hands trembling in closed fists. A life is at risk here. My sister's life. Her mind is set on that edge at the end of the pier, her bare feet slamming against the planks. With each step, the pier creaks. With each step, more anxiety bubbling in my stomach. I gaining on her, “Eleanor-!”
“Hold on, please!" A cold hand wraps around my forearm, the chill sending shivers down my spine. With all my weight, I pull. I pull as hard as I can until the shivering figure resurfaces. I hear the whirring of a helicopter’s blades, a sign of hope.
I lug her onto the swirling boat, thanking whatever god is out there that the storm is over. I’m not alone. I’m not alone anymore. Indigo and foaming waves circle the boat as shuttered breaths sing right next to my ear. She’s here, she’s alive. Oh my gosh.
“Please! Think about what you’re doing!” I pull myself to a halt, barely a metre away from the edge. Eleanor’s figure towers over me, moonlight creating somewhat of an angelic glow behind her. Her breathing is rough and rapid, her silhouette somewhat intimidating. Lifeless eyes hold a glare on me, the only real insight that I’m no longer talk- screaming at my sister. Refined to no less than hollow.
“How are you feeling?”
“Cold. Numb. Fragile-”
“El…” She smiles at me. One of those half-smiles people give you when they’re not entirely sure what they’re feeling.
“What?”
“You’re allowed to feel.” She shrugs off the towel hanging by her shoulders, rubbing her arms to find the warmth she lost to comfortability. Her eyes flicker between mine as she searches for something.
"Feeling is gross." Her fallen smile curls at one end.
"Eleanor!" Sirens echo around us, panic rising in my chest as I fight to keep her busy and awake. She huffs, slouching her shoulders into crossed arms.
"Ellis… I'm scared…" I intertwine my fingers in hers.
"That makes two of us."
"Please…" I breathe. "I can't lose you too… Not like this."
Tears roll down her cheeks, her arm slowly rising in an act of defeat. An ounce of hope left, I step up onto the nearby seat, reaching my own arm out. She chokes out final words, "I'm sorry-"
Life seems to slow down. Her eyes close as her body drifts backwards, falling towards the unforgiving depths. "No-!"
As soon as my hand wraps around her wrist, time stops.
FIN
⠓⠕⠏⠑ - “Hope” via braille
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