Hi! Allow me to introduce to you this new story! So, even if I have Looping beside me, I couldn't seem to shake this idea off my head. I was actually kind of scared to share this because it has sensitive issues such as suicide and depression, but I figured, mental health is serious and we should spread awareness of it. By this way, hopefully, even though I'm not sure I did it justice in this chapter, I hope I could leave realizations such as one, depression recognizes no face. Someone could either be the most optimistic or perfect person you know but they could still suffer from it. Two, not every person who has depression elicit symptoms, especially, explicitly. And lastly, never take it as a joke or berate anybody who seeks for help. Do not make them feel shameful for what they feel because that doesn't help. Instead, we should be there for them and make them feel that someone cares for them. They matter. All of us, human beings matter.

TW: Suicide, mild scenarios of depression

Chapter One:

We Drown in the Darkness

Now there was a girl who wanted to escape the world yet she couldn't fly. Her wings must've been clipped off from her back. Even so in the last scenarios of her life before the end, she was a stranger on her usual ground. She may have been Icarus somehow, lost in the modern world, drowning and numb.

Ever since she was young, she was reckless, impulsive, brave and kind. She once saw the world as an adventure for her to take. It should've been threatened with the optimism she possessed, but it surprised her with how ferocious it can attack. Everything went spiraling down once she dared to get close to the sun. The real world was harsh and bright, and she fought, and she lost.

There were struggles alongside the smile and the sweet gestures she gives. Some days, the current was calm, clinging to her back, but often times, out of nowhere, she was being swallowed by the tide, and she had trouble breathing. When it was too much, she was in the shallows, nearing close to the dark, the only sign of life was her eyes moving, but her muscles and bones slump weak upon her bed.

This girl then, was wearing yellow and had flowers in her matted brown curls. The road was still, a straight line up ahead. Despite that and the steady speed of her cab, though, vertigo wrapped her head and knocked upon her skull. Colors passed by in red, her eyes seemingly blinded by them. It didn't help either that her temple vibrated with the soft humming of the vehicle- everything was moving without her.

Her eyes did close- she no longer knew how to squeeze them shut. One, two, three, she counted. Breathe in and out, she tried, struggling to fill the void. There was an empty space within her, something that cracked and crumbled. All had turned into dust, and if she'd move, she'd sweep them further and further away. She's trying to hold onto what was left of herself.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" The cabman asked. It seemed so that every and just about any attempt did not result to any fruit. She hummed, hollow, just about as quiet as for him not to hear. He was persuasive though, glancing at her through the mirror. She looked away, choosing to dig her already pressed forehead. She did not need to be swayed.

The birds fly on the blue sky, flopping their wings freely as their bodies sway without any further effort. She tried to guess then, what it must be like to live without the nonstop time and the ironies and well, life. For once, she wanted to be able not to be herself; not to be so attuned with her feelings and her heart. At that time, she did, for a moment.

She glanced at the man infront, then to the sky stretched above the dark blue seas below, and finally on the lock of the cab. One, two, three, she breathed, trying to ease the quiver of her hands though she did not feel the nerves.

Everything happened too fast. "Miss-" The cabman called, but he was too late, she already, successfully, pulled the lock and was out on the wide bridge.

She ran, puffing air in and out as she refused to look behind. The man must've seen her bewildered and lost look. He must've known why she snapped all of a sudden. She already left a ton of cash on the seat, there was no need for him to fret for her.

Her brain was having trouble functioning. The bridge erupted with honks from the traffic the cabman caused. "That woman, that woman, call the ambulance, the reinforcers-" He tried to reason out, his voice slightly weary from chasing her and trying to let the others know her state. She felt her heart ache then, for his concern. Yet, she couldn't, and she still didn't look back.

Her feet were frigid, awkward and clumsy. She almost slipped on the rail yet fearing for what were the commotion behind her, adrenaline kicked in and let her climb the few railings left. Her heart drummed in her ears and somewhere in the background, people were shouting incoherent sentences that she as well, cannot decipher.

Perhaps, if she was actively conscious back then, she'd see how her cheeks were stained with cold tears and her numb heart had been starting to feel all over again, yet was too afraid to register the hurt that'll surely wake her up. If she then wakes up, she'd see how shallow the area she was to jump into, see that it was way too high, see her mother, her father, her younger sister, or even the jackass who made her question her own existence, who made her see how bleak the world is.

But she let the numbness envelop her like thick wool. There was no escape left to live for. All she ever wanted was to fly.

And so she did.

When her foot left whatever it was that connected her to the world, air wrapped itself to her harshly, entering her body, forcing her to open her eyes as it burned them. The rocks below were sharp and the waves were slapping, shouting violently as though fighting with the harsh terrains. It was, as if, by mid air, the wool was yanked off of her and she was suddenly vulnerable. She could feel.

Feel her body without the gravity steadying her into an equilibrium, relinquish her arms flair around as if trying in vain to fly. Find herself, her fingers scratch into thin air for something, anything that will carry her up. "Wait" she tried to voice out, but her lungs were full of air, she felt as if they'd be enough to parachute her to safety.

"Wait, wait"

The slaps of the air were sharp and although she'd been catatonic for quite a while, her body burned with the harsh treatment. Every single emotion swirled in her head as she felt them simultaneously. Regret, sadness, panic, anger, confusion, and still, the most that stick around was regret.

Now, with her nature and her sick humor, she regrets uttering 'wait', probably because she just had delivered an eye watering sentence, great last words, to her precious sister before she left. She even resisted talking to the cabman and only gave him a paper that she knew she wouldn't make it through to go to. She decided that "Don't be sad for me, Ellie" was what she wanted her last sentence to be. But no, life made one final trick to ruin her.

That was the last thought she had before she went plunging onto the shallow sea. She was dropped with force, her right arm being the poor recipient of her fall; it gathered her weight and slammed onto the rocky ground, her head going along and bumping harshly afterwards. There was a resounding thud before she drowned, her brain merciful, making her stop feeling as her body physically struggled. She closed her eyes before she had to. Everything went dark, before it did.

On the other side of the city, there was a boy who lived, yet only with the dead. Now, he was just any other child, except he had some perks and quite a personality not everyone can understand.

He never liked to socialize, let alone, impress people, and nobody liked to be associated with him. When he was just a boy, he already stood out. Being the youngest son of a surgeon and a pathologist, he grew up in the hospital, knew what death was even before he could memorize how to count to one hundred, that alone made him different. Other little kids poked fun at him and called him foolish names that didn't even bug him. That thought made him realize he was probably, in fact, a peculiar child, and he didn't need them.

Other than his different personality, he too, knew that his peculiarity ran deeper than what society thought. You see, he can see spirits. Presumably, those that roam around his father's hospital, or his mother's morgue. His talent, like him, was picky, he could only see those who were not vengeful or even lonely, they were just plainly, idly waiting to depart from earth. Some took just a few days, while some took years.

Just like any other aspects of his life, he didn't understand why his aunt Alma, another human being he didn't mind, passed her talent to him. All he could remember was being drawn to her, being as strange as him, and they bonded nicely. She said he'd need it to thoroughly understand life one day. He thought she was only being philosophical, but he found himself not actually minding the ability.

Because well, the only ones he actually talk to were those who were dead. He didn't mind them and they didn't mind him. Perhaps that was what he liked about the arrangement, the dead and him both lacked life and craps to give.

Once upon a time though, he had a best friend, a boy named Victor who was around his age. He was confined in the hospital, his physical body vegetative but his spirit walking alongside Enoch. He got into a horrendous accident, a fight against his abusive father, risking his life to save his twin sister's. He wore the long scar on his pale face like a token, he was a bad ass. Surprisingly, with being 'deadpanned' he also, still had his kindness, even if spirits, what Enoch learned with being them, forget to feel.

Then, one day though, the silhouette, the pale spirit was gone, as well as the thumping heart in the boy's body.

Enoch mourned and his father only looked at him with pity and confusion, his mother, quite alarmed and suspecting. His older brother, his golden older brother, gave him a shoulder hug that he didn't need. They didn't know.

Once upon a second time, he was enthralled with a woman who remarkably had a bullet shot hole on her dress, going through the side of her tummy. She didn't much socialize with him and only roamed around like a true, mythical ghost. She was smart, empowered, and despite being a spirit, still held her head high as though she still felt her pride. For that, he truly made effort into proving to her he was very much alive.

She was lonely and he thought he could make her not so alone. He provided companionship, she danced around, liking the energy he brought, sucking out whatever sign of life he could pass. He asked her once if she didn't mind dying. She said she didn't, not with him making the most of her days. For a moment, he believed her. What other way then, to have her when any efforts were futile? They both believed she's to die soon.

For a moment she believed too. That was when she thought she had to. Before a certain man deemed Jacob Portman visited her unconscious body and begged every single day for her to come back, and that, the gunman was already arrested and he couldn't wait to see her at the campus again.

After a while, he didn't see her. And when he did, his heart leapt because there was no gaping bullet hole on her body, or was her skin pale and eyes dying. He was at the Italian restaurant on a cul-de-sac near the university he's studying in. She was there, seating so poised and elegantly upon her table. He reached for her then, his mouth sporting an awkward smile because he clearly didn't do so often. He called her, "Emma" and everything went haywire.

She couldn't remember him. He told her vaguely of who he is, someone from the hospital she grew acquaintances with. She easily shrugged him off, chuckling slightly as the wilderness of it all. A man, that Jacob whom he recognized, then came up from the restroom and placed his hand on her lower back, asking good natured of who he was. The gears in his head finally took pity of him. For her, he was nothing but a man who just happen to know her name.

That was when he promised to himself not to get attached on anything ever again. Life and time and irony were what he hated, for they make a fool out of him. The only way to escape was to dwell in something they could no longer touch, death. And so he move about much more catatonic as possible. Spirits come and go, some he could recognize, while the others, he simply didn't care about.

If he felt something, it was all for the sake of his physiology, for survival. He drank, ate, slept and studied, repeating the cycle every single day and he intended to last it until his end. What more can one annoy life, than to be passive? Nothing could hurt him- unless, well, in a physical sense.

It was the end of his idle day when everything began. He was at his seat in the family table, hearing chit chats and nodding if being talked to. Like the usual, his family did not bother forcing him to construct small talks and he was always grateful. His brother was discussing about his work as an engineer and he immediately lost interest. His mind was elsewhere, on everything really, just not on the conversation happening.

The deep voice of the newscaster reverted the whole table's attention. They were not much of a media induced household, the only time the flat screen's being used was only for the news, or the discovery channel. None of the family members had the chance of idleness and leisure, always busy with their duties that even then, with their children, they carried the habit.

"-rushed to Malcolm O'Connor's Hospital right after being rescued," as the man reported, the clip played on the screen. There was a body of a woman being carried the rescue boat, her face out of view but he saw one limp arm hanging from an orange life vest. His mother gasped and worried, her hands folding upon the table with a start of a silent prayer "Oh, William, do you know how she is now?"

"For the most part, at least, she's breathing and the broken bones were not fatal to worry about," unlike his mother, his father held a straight face, no doubt, trying to contain the emotions that sprung strongly. "but then, there was a trauma on the skull but thankfully, it was a closed injury. However, due to oxygen deprivation, she's in coma"

The conversation continued yet he found himself not in the mood to continue. He excused himself and made his way to his room, flopping onto the mattress and stared blankly onto nothingness. Possibly, by the time he'd visit, he'll meet the girl from the news. With that thought, he displaced his annoyance to the poor spirit of the unconscious woman, for she made him remember Emma Bloom. He closed his eyes before the sea of his memories swallow him whole. Everything went dark before he let his pity do it for him.

How was it? Any thoughts? Please let me know if I should continue this! Oh, and I just updated Looping recently, it's another enolive fic I'm working on, feel free to check it out :)