Aphonic {TMR;Newt}

[Prolouge]

Water, in my understanding, has a matchless way of being romanticized. It can be blissful, composed like poetry being written on a ripe sunny morning. It can be incomparably beautiful. On the contrary, it can become treacherous. Restless like a dire, calamitous story of unfortunate lovers.

For me, it was an utter breathing nightmare. A nightmare that had its own thoughts, it's own will of itself. It's own conscious that manipulated mine.

Water was what pinned me down, preventing my thrashing as a splitting puncture pierced my paper skin. It strangled me in its clutches without any remorse.

Water was how I remember beginning.

"Touch has memory..."

I felt the pressure of a thousand storms blistering my skin. That very water occluded my air supply, clogging my nose, throat, and lungs. My body was being pressurized, pacified without my control. Distorted pictures flickered through a vision I couldn't distinguish between real or illusions.

I remember abstruse faces looking through at me. Their complexions were distorted by a wall of liquid that divided between them and I, like a rippling chrome mirror. I couldn't tell if they were faces of ghosts or people.

"We'll see each other again. I promise."

A gentle clover voice that whispered into my ear was that of a girl.

"You stay alive, sweetheart, and you come find me."

The more I lingered stilled in this pressure, the more I began to forget. My loved ones, the places I've visited, my own existence. Even little things such as the color of my mother's eyes, the pigment of my skin, the smell of a home. I was afraid if it carried on like this, I would forget everything and become nothing. Just a hollow vessel.

"Wicked is Good."

A heartbeat. That was the last thing that came to me in the midst of muddled chaos. A moderate, rhythmic, gentle heartbeat that droned on like a lullaby. It came to me stronger than words of assurance; far more comforting than the whisper of a promise.

"Don't forget me."

But I forgot anyway.