The Siren

Chapter 2 - Buildings Are Fractured Bones

My eyes widened slowly, the light causing a painful ache in my head to pound lightly. I lay in my bed, without any memories of finding my way back here after I collapsed. Somewhere within me I knew I should be afraid, maybe even terrified that I had ended up somewhere that I had not intended to. But I just didn't care. I felt a shattering numbness in my legs and arms, preventing me from getting out of bed. My heart was heavy and so, so broken that I felt like nothing could bring me away from my pillow.

Greif clouded my brain, pushing away the thoughts that made sadness so astute, so painfully intense that I thought I would die just at that. My father was dead. The phrase haunted me. Its sharp words bore knives and would not allow me a moment of peace in the violent assaults they gave. The syllables and the letters buried themselves within me until I felt empty and cold, tears burning down my cheeks. My father was dead.

His memory was so clear to me, his hugs still so warm. I could remember the sound of his voice as he called me downstairs for dinner and I could picture his eyes as he picked me up from my first day of school. A void stretched before me, its infinite and boundless presence beckoning me closer, drawing me in. Telling me there was nothing left.

My foot was so close to the edge of that cliff. I tell you now that I was mere seconds away from allowing myself to be consumed by my tears and loss, allowing myself to drown in the cold ocean. My dad was gone and I felt that my heart had gone with him, dying like a bird mid-flight. Then, I understood that it was some mysterious ambition that stopped my foot from slipping upon those icy rocks, but now I know that it was not. Ironically, the thing that stopped me from falling was the thing that made me want to fall. My father's memory reminded me of what he stood for, what he believed so strongly. It hurt, it hurt so much. But I knew that he never wanted me to give up.

He never wanted me to give up.

I breathed a sigh that I didn't understand. It was not mournful, yet not exasperated either. It was simply an expression of pain.

Everything hurt and weighed on me as I pulled myself from the bed. When I had opened my eyes for the first time this morning, the clock had read 8:43. Now it said 10:04. My heart beat fast as I saw how long I had been crying for. Time had just lost itself within my utter depression.

My clothes had not been changed since the night before, which I was fine with. I was not about to change now.

I walked down the stairs, my footsteps slamming on the carpeted wood loudly and sent shudders through my body. Inside I knew I should be afraid, aware of the possibility of a stranger in my house but I simply wasn't. I wondered if I cared if I lived or died at this point, but quickly shoved the question away.

I would live.

Upon the sofa, my mother was sitting, her face in her hands. She sobbed quietly, breath gasping. Still wearing her scrubs from yesterday, she must have not moved since she got in and saw that I was okay.

The sight solidified my sadness within me, making it a solid force that could be broken by nothing.

"Mum?" I called, my voice breaking. She looked up, her face puffy and red and her eyes bloodshot. In her lap lay a piece of paper and an envelope, both of which she had been swaddling as if they were all she ever wanted.

"Oh – Um, yes. Yes, dear? Yes?" She said, wiping up the tears.

"Are... Are you ok?" I asked even though she clearly wasn't. My voice was painfully childlike.

"No, not really. Are you okay?" Sniffles echoed about the room, coming from the both of us.

"No." I whispered.