The Drowning Year

There's a board just beyond the doors of the high school that has the pictures of everyone that has drowned since the Halloween Bash. All ten of them. My sister's was the first one, and the biggest one considering she was one of the best, most active student in the town. I remember how I couldn't tear my eyes away from her the copy of her smiling face.

“You should feel guilty.” His breath was chilling on my ear.

“The pot can't call the kettle black without some remorse, Alex.” I spun around to face him. “You could have easily been the one to fly in with a cape, so don't point fingers.” His face contorted with anger, his fists clenching violently at his side.

“You have a lot of nerve to talk to me as if you're higher in this world, when you're the one that stood by watching your sister drown.” His large palms shoved my shoulders back, the force causing me to tumble into the wall. “Watch out or you'll be the next one to swallow water,” he hissed before continuing down the hall, students pressed up against the lockers in fear. I shoved off the wall, and glanced back up at the photos one more time before heading down to my locker. I quickly shoved my coat and scarf onto the top shelf, before grabbing my binder for class. On the inside of the locker door was a picture of my sister and I on her birthday last year, which was sadly today. I ripped the picture off the door and shoved it into my coat pocket for later.

I remember how mom woke up early that morning and made a cake. It was inscribed “Happy Birthday my darling daughter, Leah!” Five minutes before I left for school dad threw the cake at the wall and stormed out of the house to go to work. I watched as mom sat on the floor crying and scooping the cake onto a plate. I wanted to go to her, and tell her I loved her, but to be honest she didn't love me the way she loved Leah. No body could love me the way they loved Leah, she was too perfect.

That afternoon when I got home, mom was in the living room watching some television show, the person was talking to a couple who had lost their only child to cancer, and helping them to get through their grief. Mom looked like a zombie, eyes sunk into her face, dripping with black smudged eyeliner and mascara. Her face was pale and her hair was frizzed and oily.

“Hi, mom.” I said from the hallway. Her eyes glanced up at me, lifeless and empty.

“How was school, Em?” Her lips tugged up into a false smile. “Is Alex doing better?”

“It was alright, and he's still alive isn't he?” I stated flatly. Alex deserved no kindness or concern, he was a blatant jerk that needed to learn control.

“Emma! Don't talk that way, he was your sister's boyfriend and needs to be treated like family!” She said passionately. “I don't know what has gotten into you lately. I thought you were just in shock, but this is ridiculous. Go to your room, there will be no attitude or dinner tonight.” Her voice was tired and forced. I shrugged and slowly made my way up the stairs. I stopped at the open door into my sister's room, everything in the exact same place as it had been the night we left. I took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold onto the pale pink carpet. Her white walls screamed against my retinas compared to my deep purple walls. Her bed was neatly arranged, a plush elephant resting quietly atop her pillows. The golden trimmed vanity mom gave her for her tenth birthday sat next to her bed, the mirror free of finger prints, with photos stuck into the edges.

There was one of us from her birthday, similar to the one I had. A photo of her and Alex at the island last Halloween, and one of them from Valentines was pushed closely together. There was one her and our parents at her eighth grade graduation, her dress a baby pink sparkle mess. I crossed the room to the vanity seeing the locket our parents and Alex chipped in to buy her for her first day of school. I already new what to expect when I opened it, a picture of Alex and one of our parents, my face completely forgotten.

I glanced over my shoulder quickly before pocketing it. It wasn't like she was here to stop me or tell on me. With one last glance at her perfect room I flicked the light of and continued down the hall to my room.

I laid on my bed, listening to the sounds of my parents fighting. Soon they fell asleep, dad on the couch too angry to share a room with mom, and mom in their room, having cried herself tonight for fifth time this week. Quickly and quietly I made my way down the stairs stepping over the creaky spots.

The night air was chilly, but I felt warm, like I had the night of her death. I followed the rocky path down the small hill to the dock. Even in the dark I knew the way, something I memorized from an early age. I stepped into the tiny metal boat, feeling it rock beneath my bare feet. I carefully maneuvered my way to the rear, and started the boat. I backed it away from the dock, and headed out to the island. I stopped at the floater I had laid out on the night of her death, I'd become familiar with it, and sky above .
These trips had become frequent, almost every night. I felt drawn to this place, like it was home. If I closed my eyes I could remember his face, hear his voice, and feel his touch. The way everything smelled that night, and how his fingers burned my cheeks.

I laid out, smiling as the stars flickered and shined, their light brighter than anything around. I dipped my feet over the edge and into cool water. Soon it would be frozen and I could no longer make my way out here. It would be months before I could even put the boat back into the lake. The balsam was thick on the island, scenting the air. Nothing could compare to this, not home, not town, not America. This was my place, my home, where I belonged; laying out under the stars, the water licking at my feet, the smell of the earth filling my brain.

“It doesn't surprise me that you come out here to this spot. It's where you stood watching your sister die.” His voice caught me by surprise, I hadn't even heard the boat approach. The floater tipped slightly under his weight as he stepped aboard. “What's it like feeling like a murderer? Is it painful? It it thrilling? Does it make your skill crawl, or fill you with joy?” Alex stood above me, his height growing substantially from the perspective I saw him from. “I wonder how it feels to be the victim?” His words didn't fully sink in before his massive hands clenched around my throat as he drug me to the edge of the floater.

I could feel my fingers scratching at his arms, his flesh embedding itself under my nails. His breath was thick on my face, reeking of death and anger. My lungs started to burn as water flushed out any air that remained in them. Alex's hands felt like weights on my shoulders, pushing the air from my throat. “Hopefully for you, death isn't an escape.” He muttered ruefully as he shoved my iron filled body deeper into the water. There was a tingling in my fingers and toes that slowly crawled up my limbs, placing itself in my heart. I felt my eyes flutter, the image of the starry night sky blurring into his smiling face.

I remember my last outfit that I wore alive. It was the dress I wore on the night she died. How ironic it was, to drown in the last thing she saw me wear. I died during the drowning year, not like everyone else, but by the hands of someone mortal.