1st

Copyright @ M.W. Works

*Listening to the 2nd song is my recommendation

Submerged Ice

Prologue

I’ve forgotten long ago how to feel, the delicate warmth on my skin, or the piercing cold on my back, or the pain I used to feel in my knees. What is it, this kind of feeling? It’s like I’m submerged in water, headfirst,  the air is trapped in my lungs, I can’t breathe nor think, neither can I react. I freeze here, forever trapped in this cage of ice.

How long has it been? One year? 2 years? Or was it three? I had forgotten the time, the road to being healed but it is still there, only the pain has left, but the scars still remain. The guilt, regret, lament, and last but not least, grieve, made me and molded me to be what it had wanted me to be. This long road had not healed me in one bit though. I just keep walking aimlessly, towards death and maybe redemption.

When Mom was still here time was just walking, when that other person was here it was practically on fast forward. But now, they are not, and time is not even crawling, it’s staying still at that exact moment with the last breath of air I took hanging in my throat. Time halted for me that day those years ago, heck, I’d even forgot how many years or maybe it was just a few months?

Damn, I don’t even bother looking up the calendar. Besides, the date there never changes as it stopped at 28 July 2009, the same day. I don’t even know why Dad keeps it hanging there on the freaking wall. It means nothing if they’re gone. With or without them, life’s going on, me getting up, getting dressed, eat, sleep, go to the toilet, and bath. It’s all the same boring things everyone does. This life has no meaning, we live to die. Nothing matters in between.

And when Dad left, I was free, truly free. It’s just that he’s only elsewhere, he’s not gone or anything, he still calls every night and he still sends me money. The problem is, I don’t use his filthy money and I get by with using real money I made myself. That man who calls himself my ‘father’ can’t even bring himself to look into his own son’s eyes. What kind of father is that? Someone who runs away from reality like him doesn’t deserve to be alive.

But then, I’d met her. I met her. For the first time, I took half a step forward. For the first time in ages, I felt different. I had felt something but I just can’t put a finger on it. I wanted to know who she was, even if she wasn’t in the same school as me, in the same street or in the same district as me.

So, I began my quest of getting something as simple as a name.

Then, I want to know why she almost killed me.