The Death and the cold feelings

I’d decided to open the windows in my room. Even though it was winter, the morning was unusually warm, and I wanted to soak up a bit of the sun.
The dust glinting in the light streaming through the window reminded me I should clean more often.

Though my house was far from the town center, it sat on higher ground, so from my window, I could catch a glimpse of that ‘landscape.’

Nothing out of the ordinary.
Nothing that caught my eye.

"Come in already. Spying from the doorway is weird" I said without turning around, still leaning against the window frame. I knew she was behind the door.

"Planning?"

"Not this time. Just looking at the town."

"Uhm… really?"

"Yeah, I wouldn’t jump from here. It’d be pointless."

"Did you do your ‘calculations’?"

"I don’t need to. We’re on the first floor. I’m not an idiot."

She didn’t reply, but I caught the resigned sigh she let out.
Was she hoping for a normal conversation? If any of our talks could even be called that…

"Ugh… fine. The window’s about 5 meters up. It’d take me less than a second to hit the grass. At most, I’d break my legs."

"Falling speed?"

"Since when do you care about those details?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck—a tic I’d had for a while.

"Just tell me" she said, stepping closer and flopping into my desk chair like a tossed stuffed toy.

"9.4 meters per second, about 33.8 kilometers per hour… Happy?"

"I still don’t know how to tell if I am" she replied, her tone carrying a different edge. She seemed about to say more when her eyes landed on a small stack of papers on my desk. "What’s this? Your will? I doubt you’ve got anyone to leave anything to" she added, inspecting one of the sheets.

Almost instinctively, I slapped my palm onto the stack. The wood of the desk echoed like I’d struck it hard. I didn’t say anything, but it was probably obvious I didn’t want her reading it. Too late, though.

"No way…" she covered her mouth, stifling a laugh that was itching to escape.

"Give me that."

"No-o! Now I wanna read it" she said, springing up from the chair and waving the paper in the air. "This is a résumé… a really bad one, to be honest."

"It’s what I’ve got for now. I don’t know why you’re so surprised."

"Usually, suicidal people don’t go job hunting."

"You’re right, but it’d just be part-time anyway. The money my grandma left me won’t last much longer, and while I’m alive, I’ve gotta eat. Starving to death isn’t a way to go."

"So you’re postponing it? Tired of it already?"

"On the contrary, there’s no point wasting time on dumb plans. Better to get straight to the action" I said, pointing to the calendar hanging behind my door. "Two weeks. That’s my deadline. Until then, I guess I’ll keep pretending to be normal."

"How teenage of you" she set the paper back on the desk and focused on the calendar. There wasn’t much to see—just one day marked. "You’re like a kid waiting for his birthday."

"Theoretically, every birthday brings you closer to death."

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning almost instantly.

"Just a joke. Nothing deeper than that."

I grabbed the small stack of papers and shoved them into my backpack. I carried it everywhere, even though there was nothing important inside.

I opened the door and headed downstairs. The wood was pretty old—maybe some house repairs wouldn’t hurt, I thought, though I quickly erased that from my mind.

"I’m coming with you."

"Not in a million years."

"Why not?" she asked, hurrying down the stairs after me."

"Because you can’t shut up, and I’m not talking to you in the street."

"I promise I won’t say a word the whole way."

"You can’t talk when people are around either."

"Deal."

No, I didn’t believe her.
I knew she was lying. Since yesterday, she’d been chattier than usual.
Maybe she was trying to adjust to this forced normalcy. Maybe she was genuinely curious.

Truth is, I didn’t know the answer, and she probably didn’t either.

The walk to the town center wasn’t long, but it felt like it was miles away. Along the way, I’ll admit I wanted to turn back home plenty of times. I wasn’t sure if what I was doing was worth it. Yes, I needed the money, but my grandma’s savings would last until ‘my deadline.’
Part of me couldn’t help thinking that, maybe unconsciously, I was trying to prop up the artificial normalcy I’d built.

The neighborhoods were usually empty in the mornings—people already at work, students in school. With the streets so narrow, there was barely any traffic.

That constant silence, broken only by her footsteps, was starting to feel awkward. Strange, considering that even though it often overwhelmed me, part of me had always enjoyed the absence of noise.
Not today, apparently.

"Say something if you want. There’s no one around.

"…"

"Are you listening? I said you can talk if you want" I repeated, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.
She, on the other hand, acted like she didn’t see me, her eyes fixed on the trees.

"I was keeping the deal."

"Let’s put the deal on hold for now, until we get to the center."

"Wasn’t that the tree you tried to hang yourself from?"

"What a way to start a conversation…" I muttered, almost to myself. My hand unconsciously brushed the mark on my neck. "Yeah, around here they call it the ‘crooked tree.’"

"Pretty popular with your kind, huh? Hence the name."

"My kind?"

"Suicidal people."

"Oh, yeah" I said, not giving it much weight. "That’s how you see me, isn’t it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, ‘suicide boy.’ That’s what you’ve called me from the start. You never asked my name, though I guess it’s because you already know it."

"Actually, no. I just don’t care" she said casually, still walking behind me.

"I don’t blame you. If I’d spent thousands of years dealing with people about to off themselves, I wouldn’t care about their names either."

"It’s true I’ve been around people like you for a long time, but I remember every single one of their names. You humans forget the dead after a few decades. Someone’s got to keep track that, even if they chose another path, they were once part of this world."

"I see…"

Thousands of years.
Thousands of people.
Thousands of ways to take your own life.
Even a supernatural being would feel overwhelmed by that. Probably not focusing on it made her job easier. Though I never asked her about it.

"I’m waiting for your question."

"What question?"

"You know, ‘Why don’t I know your name?’"

"‘It’s not important,’ I guess."

"No, it isn’t. I don’t need to remember you when I’m stuck to you all day."

"Keep that up, and you might lose your ‘resignation letter.’"

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

I didn’t answer. I kept walking and stayed silent. She repeated the question a few times along the way, but I still didn’t say anything.
Once we reached the center, she stuck to her side of the deal again, though I could feel a strange heaviness in the air. I wasn’t in the mood to try my luck at every shop anymore.

I dumped the little stack of papers in a trash bin and headed to the store.
It wasn’t ideal, not great pay, but I knew the owner would hire me. She was my grandma’s childhood friend and had practically watched me grow up every time I visited the town.

When I moved here, she’d complain I didn’t visit like I used to.

She stayed outside the store—probably because she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if she heard the old lady reminiscing about the dumb stuff I did as a kid.
That’s probably why, I figured.
I didn’t need to say more than I was looking for work. The old lady hired me almost instantly. It wasn’t a big store, not like the chain supermarkets. She didn’t need an employee—I knew it was just a kind gesture on her part.
Stocking the shelves. Nothing tough, almost mechanical. Perfect for not thinking.

"She hired me" I said, surprised at how easy it was. I stepped outside to tell her, mostly because I saw her pacing back and forth, impatient, and I knew if I took too long, she’d barge in.

"You shouldn’t work here."

"Why not? The owner was my grandma’s friend, so it was a safe bet."

"Because…" Her voice paused for a moment. "Forget it, do what you want."

"A half-answer? At least congratulate me for landing a job on my first try."

"Congrats. Let’s go" she said, a hint of irritation in her tone.

"Don’t tell me—you’re annoyed, right? What’s up now?"

"You still haven’t answered my question."

"And I don’t have time to." I pointed at the door." I start today, so I’ve gotta go in.

"So you expect me to sit in silence for eight hours watching you work? Are you gonna answer my question?"

"The answer to both is no. You’re going home. Having you hovering around would just distract me, and besides, you won’t last long keeping quiet."

"What am I supposed to do alone at your house?" she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head.

"That’s your problem, not mine. See you later" I replied, chuckling a bit as I headed back into the store.

The store looked exactly like it did the last time I’d been there. Even the products on the shelves were arranged the same way. Clearly, the old lady was a creature of habit—remodeling would probably make her job harder, though it’s not like the place got much traffic anyway.

Most people now preferred the big chains over local shops, even in a small town.
You know, appearances.

I remember as a kid, we’d steal ice creams from the freezer. I always thought my plans were flawless, but years later, my mom confessed she’d go in the afternoon to pay for what my friends and I took. The old lady just pretended not to notice.
Never thought I’d end up working in a place like this. When you’re a kid, you have… bigger dreams, I guess.
I stopped having those a long time ago. And on the flip side, I stopped seeing this world as something I was part of.

The day dragged on excruciatingly slow. I’d thought a monotonous task like restocking shelves would keep me from thinking, but it had the opposite effect.
I found myself drowning in memories, occasionally snapped back to the present whenever a customer came in or the old lady offered me breaks I’d politely refuse—though that didn’t stop her from coming back again and again with drinks.

"I still remember how you and my granddaughter used to stay out late behind the store after school."

My hand froze midair for a moment. "Y-yeah… true… it’s been a long time since then…" I said, finally placing the can of tomatoes on the shelf.

"You two were always getting into trouble" she said, laughing.

"I’ll take the blame. I was always the one with the plans…" I replied, faking a laugh as best I could.

I wanted her to stop. I knew where this was going, and I didn’t want to hear it. I already had enough going on in my head without digging up the past again.

"You know, we—my daughter and I—never—"

"Sorry, ma’am, I think my blood pressure’s a bit low. I need some air" I said, cutting her off as I hurried toward the door as fast as I could.

I didn’t stop when I crossed the threshold.
I kept walking as thoughts hammered inside my head, like they were trying to break down a door.

I wanted to go home.

I needed to go home.

I turned the corner and noticed from a distance that the lights were off. It was instinct, but I quickened my pace.
She was in the doorway, curled up into a ball, hugging herself. The fabric looked like it might give way under her nails, gripping tight.
Her hood covered her face, and though the coat was thick, I could see her ragged breathing—hard exhales leaving trails of vapor in the air.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" My voice betrayed my worry. I approached and pulled her hood down. Her eyes were fixed on nothing.

"I feel like I’m suffocating… I feel like the thuds in my chest… the ‘beats’… are getting stronger… I don’t know what’s happening… my head’s about to split in two…" Each word came out louder, more erratic.

It sounded like she was forcing them out of her mouth.

"Just try to control your breathing, okay? You’re hyperventilating—you need to calm down." I said, leaning her against the doorframe.

"What’s… happening… to me?" Her eyes stayed locked on nothing, barely blinking.

"Were you thinking about what I said today?"

"W-what does that have to do with this!?" She probably didn’t mean to shout, but her voice spiked.

"You just proved my point… Calm down. You’re having an anxiety attack" I said, keeping my voice low. "It’s more normal than you think, and as awful as it feels, everything’s gonna be okay."

"I wanted to be out of this… Remember?..."

"Yeah. To resign."

"Then…" She grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard. "Then why did you have to ruin it?"

"What are you talking about?" It felt like she was about to snap my bones.

"None of this is for you. This stupidity I’ve been complicit in for a month… your damn fake normalcy!"

"Hey, you need to calm down, come on…"

"You don’t want to live for yourself. You want to live because this lie is better than facing the world, and I fed into it… You were supposed to live for you."

What could I say to that? Nothing.
She was right.
I understood it.
It wasn’t something I’d planned—it just happened.

Yeah, the talks, the back-and-forth, her company—it probably made me set a deadline instead of ending it all.
Maybe my calculations were my subconscious betraying me. Maybe I didn’t want to die anymore.

Was that a bad thing?
No.
It’s just that I didn’t want to live—I wanted to keep up this fake normalcy I had with her.

"What, you’re not gonna say anything? Cat got your tongue?" Her voice, her tone—it was anger, a strangely human kind.

"I don’t know what you want me to say… Sorry?"

"You think this is a joke or what!? My freedom’s gone down the drain" she went quiet for a moment. "It was always about me… and you couldn’t even say it."

"I… didn’t fully get it either… I still don’t know what I really want."

"What YOU want? Is it always like that with you? Now I get how you ended up this way…"

"Huh?"

"Lyse."

[That name.]

"That’s why you never came back to the town."

[Stop.]

"That’s why you’ve been locked inside your head."

[Don’t go on.]

"Did the rejection hurt? Oh… no, wait… that wasn’t it…"

[Please, don’t keep going.]

"You let her die. You chickened out and let her drown… That’s the kind of person you are."

[It wasn’t like that…]

"You didn’t even go to her funeral. You avoided it until your brain couldn’t take it anymore."

[Enough.]

—Do you dream of her? Or do you dream of her body drowned in the river?

[Why is she saying these things…?]

"You’ve never stayed quiet this long. Did something I said stir up memories?"

That wasn’t her usual tone. That wasn’t her.
Or maybe this was who she really was.

She walked past me, not even glancing my way. I heard her footsteps fade and come to a stop.

"You said you were alone. Let me correct you—you are alone."

I wanted to respond. I scrambled for thousands of words in my head to stop those footsteps from drifting further, but I couldn’t say anything.
She was right.

I turned to look.

Yes.

I was alone.