Enorace Oneshots and Short Stories

Waves and Memories

Chapter 7: Waves and Memories

Synopsis: Every year on the same day, Enoch hides away and tries to cope with his past. Horace has other ideas.

Set: Post-Abe, Pre-Jacob, in Miss Peregrine's loop

Genre/s: Angst

TW: Some mentions of gun violence and blood.

Enoch walked as fast as he could out of the loop, trying to keep his face expressionless and his tears from spilling over. Once he emerged into the sunny grasses outside the village however, he felt his strength crumble and he broke into a run, chest heaving and tears streaming down his face.

He didn't even know where he was running to- shoving past gasping women with baskets under their arms and trampling over the net of a very angry fisherman- until his feet hit grey sand and he breathed in biting sea air. He'd reached the beach.

Enoch didn't stop running until he'd reached the very end of the curving stretch of sand. This part of the beach was far from the safety and light of the village. Huge, looming cliffs blocked out the sun and swallowed him in shadow. These weren't like the white limestone cliffs that the others swam under- these were great hulking masses of damp grey rock that seemed to have clawed their way up out of the ground. The sand here was coarse and dark, and strewn with black rocks; jagged and razor sharp.

They sliced into him as Enoch fell to his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing hard.

A gull screeched overhead, the waves pounded at the rocks closer to shore, and Enoch opened his eyes. He took a shaky breath in and sat back on his haunches for a moment, then let himself fall back to sit among the sand and rocks. He smeared away tears with bloody, sand-specked palms.

This wasn't the first time he'd run here.

This part of the beach was where he came to hide when he couldn't handle what he was feeling. When the others' constant nit-picking and watching, scornful eyes made him feel like he was underwater, and when even locking himself in the basement felt suffocating and gave him no relief.

There was nowhere to hide in that house, and today of all days he needed to hide. He tried to imagine what the others would say if they saw him like this.

Him, sitting here like some small child, with bloody palms and tears running his face, trembling in the cold all alone.

Pathetic, that's what they'd say. Pathetic and weak.

Enoch's chest tightened in shame and he tasted bile. He felt like someone was squeezing his throat shut. He tried to breathe but it was ragged and forced, and the world spun for a moment.

Enoch shut his eyes, focussing on the sounds of the crashing waves until he could finally breathe again. If he tried hard enough, he could picture the rhythm of the waves as a slowly beating heart. It helped.

He felt his own panicked heart begin to slow as he opened his eyes again, digging his fingers into the sand.

He could do this. It was just one day. Just once a year. One stupid anniversary of a stupid, unimportant thing that happened decades ago.

He could do this. These feelings weren't so bad. They got better every year. Each anniversary he shoved them deeper down until one day, he hoped, he wouldn't feel them at all.

March 28th.

Some day that date wouldn't mean anything to him, and the thought of that was all that kept him going.