The Beginning of Nothing

The Drowning

Shrysa:

I was thirteen years old when I saw one drown, screaming, choking for help. Her eyes, wild - with craze...and fear. Spitting, roaring, begging for help. Since then, I've lost count. 

I lost track...

of all the countless lives lost - each one, worse than the next

the countless families, broken - mourning, or (ironically) drowning in their own guilt

the countless hearts, ripped into pieces - figuratively......and literally.

And I have to...

I am forced to see every one of the lifeless faces afterward.

Agape, in fear - forever frozen in the sudden realization that they shouldn't have done what they did. That they wish to take it back. That nothing was worse than the water entering their lungs and crushing them under its weight. But it's too late. It always is. 

And I wish.... 

I wish

I didn't have to see it. Them. Their faces. 

I wish I didn't have to inspect them, analyze them, examine them, wash, rinse, cut, pry, clean, hurt, scrutinize, investigate, mutilate them. 

I wish I didn't have to watch a new body brought back to the lab every other day. Watch my coworkers uncover the body and discover the lost soul. Watch them look at me like a butcher, waiting for her next victim. Especially, when it's someone I know. 

knew. 

My 5th grade best friend - the one I shared friendship bracelets and watched the MCU with until 4 in the morning (without our parents knowing). 

My second cousin - the one who taught me how to do a back handspring in 8th grade. 

My 2nd-grade teacher. 

The lady at Starbucks who always knew what I wanted. 

My co-worker

Boss

employees

family

friends

her. 

Their bodies, mutilated - no doubt, the backlash of the sea. But even further so when I am done with them. When I am forced to meddle with their already messed up bodies. 

Forced to find a cure, when there is none. When no one knows what the disease is at all. When no one knows why it started in the first place. 

The Drowning. 

It was less frequent at first, once every two months - a young, dead girl. But it got worse, and the ocean became more hungry. One after the other, the females of this coastline city were fine one day, and went poof! the next. Only to show up days later; strangled...dead. 

But the males....they are fine. They are fine, but useless and delusional. They barely have any care about what doesn't concern them. Because whatever does not concern them, is none of their problem. They are ignorant, calm, careless, and relaxed. 

While I, I am scrutinized, like an ant under a microscope. A hint of depression. Of wanting...

of wanting to take my life -

no. I could never do such a thing. Not after inspecting those who have taken their lives. Who have gone through the pain. Who have given in. 

But only females.  

They expect me to give in soon too. They're looking for a sign. For a cure. For something. 

James:

I was seven years old when I saw the first one drown near the dock, eyes bewildered and afraid.

My sister.

Fighting.

 Fighting against something unseen. 

A force. An arm with long nails. A stab from the sea. 

And I knew. I knew there was more to it. 

My sister. My sister would never do something like that. She was bent upon sailing - taking care of the boats, the smell of the sea, the creatures below. She would never have killed herself in what she loved. 

In fact, it seems to be quite the opposite, actually. The sea was insistent to kill her. Scratches. Bruises. Gashes. Blood. And with all of that, no one believed me. 

No one believed that something hurt her, because a bloody dagger was placed near the place she died. 

No one believed that something lured her, because she was always fascinated with the ocean. 

And most of all, no believed it when I told them that the screams they heard at night came from her. 

They believed...

They believed she died. And that was all there was too it. Sympathizing with my mother, and making fun of her behind her back. 

She's a terrible woman. She let her child die!

If a child that young commits suicide, then there must be something wrong in the family. 

Poor James, hope he won't end up there as well...

And soon enough, she disappeared. She didn't exist. She was not even a memory. 

Gone. 

Until the next one. 

And the many after that. 

I tried to stop them. 

I tried to warn them. 

I tried to kill it. 

But no one saw it happen.

And no one believed me.