"We have the chance to turn the pages over.

We can write what we want to write"

Merlin threw his head back, downing the glass of alcohol in one gulp. The laughter and music of the bar throbbed in his ears and Merlin, for the life of him, couldn't remember why he had started to go to the bar every weekend in the first place. Something about the drunken laughter and easy flirts of attractive guys sparked something in Merlin. Like a memory he couldn't quite reach. I hope you find what you're looking for.

Merlin gripped this glass like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground. Maybe it was. Part of Merlin wanted to beckon the bartender to refill his drink. To drink until he got drunk and then drink some more. He wanted to lose himself in the rush of sounds and colors and desperate attempts to forget and remember what he needed most. He ached to drink until the world swam before him and darkened into nothing. But he knew that no matter how hard he tried, he would always wake up with the sun. And honestly, Merlin had given up wondering why.

He staggered up from his seat and pushed himself through the throng of dancing people. The stench of sweat and drunken breath assaulting his senses. The crisp autumn air chilled Merlin to the bone but he couldn't care less. He wandered down the abandoned streets, the music of the bar fading the further away he got. His feet moved without permission and before he knew it, Merlin found himself in front of a lake. It's glittering blue waters stretched as far as he could see, wrapping around a small isle that stood in the middle of the lake.

Merlin dropped like a rock. His knees cracking against the cold ground. He fell onto his back and closed his eyes. He'd found that this lake was the only place where the ringing in his ears faded. Where the pure energy rushing through his veins calmed into a swell. He couldn't remember when he'd first come to this lake. Why his eyes would watch the water as if a miracle would rise up from it. Merlin could feel the wet mud from the ground below seep through his thin trousers and the cold air burn through his lungs. It made him feel alive. Like he could never die. And he hated it. The last time he'd come, Merlin had wadded into the ice-cold water and ducked underneath it until his vision went dark and his ears stopped ringing. He woke up on the shore that next morning.

Like he could never die.

-o-0-o-

Author's Note: Quotes at the beginning are from the song 'You're the Voice' by John Farnham.