Beneath The Surface

Call of the Void

Grace found herself standing at the riverfront, the rhythmic sounds of water lapping against the shore filling her ears. The tide was high, the river brimming as if it were trying to swallow the world whole, but to Grace, it was simply beautiful. The late afternoon sun hung low, casting golden threads across the water, the light reflecting in gentle ripples that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. Here, for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe.

The air was thick with the familiar, briny scent of the river—a smell that some found overbearing, but Grace cherished it. It wasn't just the river's smell; it was her father's, too. It was comfort and childhood and all the things she could no longer reach but clung to tightly in her memories. This river was his place, the place he grew up and came back to whenever life became too much. When Grace stood here, she felt as if she were standing next to him again, as if he were somehow just a breath away, leaning down to share one of his old stories.

Grace inhaled deeply, letting the scent settle in her chest, soothing the ache that had grown like a second heart since the day he passed. Seven years had passed, but the loss felt just as raw as if it had happened yesterday. She closed her eyes and remembered the sound of his laugh, deep and rolling, like the waves in front of her. She could almost hear it now, see the way his face would light up with joy even on the worst of days.

"How do you do it, Dad?" she whispered into the breeze, her voice barely more than a sigh. "How did you always seem so... strong?"

The wind answered in a gentle rush, brushing past her face, tugging a strand of hair loose from her bun. She stood there, holding her arms tightly around herself, as if the hug could shield her from the world and keep her from falling apart. Grace felt the sting of tears forming at the back of her eyes, and she didn't try to blink them away. Here, in this place where he had lived and where he still felt so real, she let them fall freely.

Sometimes, when the weight of everything became too much, Grace would come here to stand by the river, to listen to its stories and remember the ones her father used to tell her. He'd grown up not far from here, knew every twist and bend of the shoreline. He would take her hand when she was small, and they'd walk along the edge, the two of them side by side, as he told her tales of adventures on the river—of storms and calm waters, of fishing and learning to swim in its currents. It was as if this place had a piece of him, and when she was here, she could almost reach out and touch that piece again.

It wasn't fair, the way life could take someone so deeply rooted in your heart and leave you feeling so uprooted and lost. It wasn't fair that someone so full of life could just be gone. The reality of it hit her like a wave, and she felt herself swaying slightly, as if the tide were pulling her in. Her father had always seemed like a permanent part of her world, and yet here she was—standing alone, the void of his absence hanging heavy over her like a shroud.

The river always called to her, especially on days like this. The water was higher than usual, swollen and fast-moving, and its surface seemed to glitter with a thousand tiny diamonds. The sound of it soothed her, but at the same time, it unsettled her—the depth and the darkness below the shimmering surface, the way it seemed to hold secrets she would never understand.

Grace's heart fluttered, skipping a beat like it sometimes did, and she pressed a hand to her chest. The pressure came and went, and she closed her eyes against the momentary dizziness that followed. There was a comfort in the pain, a strange reassurance that even when everything felt broken, she was still... here. Still breathing, still hurting, still searching for that missing part of herself that felt like it had been lost when her father passed.

The thought came to her, unbidden and uninvited—a thought that had crept into her mind many times before but always left her feeling ashamed. What if she just walked into the water? What if she let the river swallow her up, let the weight of it take her under and finally silence the noise in her head? The river's call was strong, and some days, Grace wasn't sure if she had the strength to resist it.

The urge, the pull—it was like the tide itself, rising within her. It wasn't about dying, she thought. It wasn't even about giving up. It was just about finding peace, about letting go of all the things that weighed her down and held her back from breathing freely. Her father had found peace—she wanted to feel that too.

But even as the thought lingered, she knew she wouldn't do it. Her father wouldn't have wanted that. He'd always taught her to be strong, to fight through the pain even when it felt impossible. She could almost hear his voice, deep and sure, urging her to keep going. He would have pulled her back from the water's edge, wrapped her in his arms, and told her that it was okay to hurt but never okay to give in to the hurt.

"Not yet," she whispered to herself, shaking her head as if to clear away the dark thoughts. "Not yet."

The river continued to surge, its voice a quiet roar in the background, a reminder of all the life it held and all the lives it had taken. Grace took a step back, turning away from the water, forcing herself to focus on the warmth of the sun on her face, the earth beneath her feet. She had come here to find comfort, and she wouldn't let herself be taken by the river's call.

Instead, she found a spot on the grass near the bank, and she sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. She watched the water rush by, the steady ebb and flow, and she let herself grieve. For her father, for herself, for the way life could change so quickly and leave you grasping for something to hold on to. Grace took slow, deep breaths, letting the air fill her lungs, letting the familiar scent of the river settle inside of her.

She missed him. She missed the way he would sit beside her, tell her stories, and make the world seem like it wasn't such a scary place. She missed his advice, his steady voice, the way he always knew what to say to make things better. She wanted him back. She wanted one more conversation, one more laugh, one more chance to hold his hand and feel like everything would be okay.

The sun began to sink lower, casting a reddish hue across the water. Grace stayed there until the sky turned from blue to pink to the dusky purple of early evening. She stayed until the voices of passersby faded, until she was alone with her thoughts and the sound of the river whispering its secrets to her.

But she didn't move closer to the water. Not this time. She stayed where she was, rooted to the ground, feeling the earth beneath her and holding on to the memory of her father's voice telling her to stay strong. And in that moment, as the night crept in and the stars began to peek through the sky, Grace found a small measure of peace—the kind that wasn't easy, the kind that didn't take away the hurt but gave her the strength to keep moving, to keep breathing.

And so she did. Breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat, Grace stayed. She stayed by the riverbank until the world grew dark, and she stayed through the pain and the sorrow, holding on to the hope that someday, she might find a way to fill the void that had been left behind.