TW – Suicide

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MIKE POV -

"Why are we out here?" a female voice complained,

"To make a wish! They said it's a meteor shower today!" A male voice replied with a playful chuckle.

"That's dumb," she rolled her eyes, faking discontent.

"Tsk, don't be so negative..."

"Haha! What are you gonna wish on babe?" she immediately changed her tune, poking the man in the cheek.

"I'm gonna wish for that star to fall on my company," the man continued with a jocular edge, "So I don't have to go to work anymore,"

"That's so you," she grinned,

Mike listened to the conversations of passersby.

After his second job, it was past midnight, having mere moments to get home to change for his third – he was tired. While waiting for a taxi, a cacophony of conversations surrounded; how did other people live like this? How did they keep this up?

People around were acting stranger than usual. In the bustling city of Chicago, they would usually rush past, pushing people out the way and even knocking down elders if they were too slow.

Most gathered, huddled in clusters along the road, glancing constantly at the sky, some craning their necks all the way up to get a clear shot,

What were they looking at?

An almost nineteen-year-old Mike looked up at the sky, seeing the star approaching, swaying through the sky like fish– despite the city lights polluting the town, the stars were clear, visibly on display for everyone to see. He lost his thoughts momentarily, barely noticing the taxi that just passed by,

The conversations of strangers seemed more stimulating, something he never had;, companionship, closeness, security. Listening with a close ear, he realised the true reason for this gathering, there was a forecasting for a meteor shower.

"Oh look its coming!" A young boy jumped up and down, pulling on his mother's dress,

Why did seeing that hurt so much?

Mike ran a hand through his buzzed hair, deciding to copy them, seeing falling stars with tails... soon realising there was no point. The star was approaching. It was beautiful, but did it mean anything? Beautiful scenery meant nothing if everything else was muted... but at the same time, he didn't want to go home.

There was nothing left for him there either.

All around, people paired off into groups; family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends. Yet amidst the crowd, one person stood out alone... him.

"I want to disappear."

It wasn't the first time he had wished it, but it was the first time he had said it out loud.

He didn't have any family, the only people he called his family abandoned, rather give him up then take care of him. What was the point? What was he truly living for?

Those around him cheered as more mentors streaked across the sky, making wish after wish while gasps rippled through the crowd. adults cheered like excited children, clapping and pointing at the spectacle before them burning out of sight.

Mike didn't cheer.

Silent as river, the meteors reflected in his dark eyes – to be a simple melody across the sky fading into the background, to be something more than he ever was, to vanish without a trace – that was what he wanted. No one would miss him.

He had no money, no family, no friends, no free time.

For a split second he closed his eyes, embracing the soft glow encapsulating his surroundings, reminding him of what he was.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still here, still in Chicago, now late for his shift – he sighed soft, walking back to his single-room apartment.

Wishing upon a star is stupid anyways.

---- ----

She was beautiful, so peaceful, not a single hair out of place.

The doctor covered her with a white sheet, placing the fabric over her head as though lulling her to sleep, but Mike knew better.

His sister was no more.

Mike stood to one side, motionless, losing sensation in his limbs – his legs ached, surprised his knees hadn't given out. The florescent lights hummed from above, doctors around him discussing how to move on next.

One had come up to him explaining the process of what is to come – the voice was low, presenting a calm Mike couldn't register. Mike couldn't even remember how they looked, was it a male or female? Were they taller than him? What were they wearing? Mike couldn't answer any of these –

His sister lay under blankets, pale and cold.

She had been alive mere moments ago, she was recovering, they said she was.

But now, the room seemingly collapsed in on itself. The doctors hovered around him with practise efficiency as though this was another minor inconvenience to them; their faces were composed,

Nothing could be said in a moment like this – he just stood there.

His heart was heavy with a weight he couldn't budge, something straining on his lungs.

Doctors made their rounds, apologising to him for his loss; what else do you say when you lose someone?

All he could do is watch.

Nancy, his sister, his only family was gone. And yet, Mike gelt an empty, hollowness nesting deep within where emotions were supposed to go. He felt sad, overwhelmed, angry, resentful, all the correct emotions... but there was nothing left to grip, nothing to make him gasp or cry.

Just silence,

Wasn't this the natural order of things?

He had a clear view of his sister, he was by her side, but there was some disconnect between them now. He didn't touch her, beg on his knees or even say goodbye, just stood still, staring at the white sheet covering her features.

He didn't know why he couldn't cry. Was he a monster?

He thought he should – no, he knew he should, he should be in tears, throwing things, making a scene, yelling... but the moment this reality sunk it... he never did.

He felt numb.

Perhaps he was bad luck – bad things happened to people around him, maybe that was why he kept everyone at a distance. If he had kept his sister at a distance, would she still be here?

Time passed, though it was unclear how much – it didn't matter anyway.

---- ----

"Let's break up-" the voice opposite him spoke assertive, her expression rather weary than angry. Despite the low and calm tone, exhaustion radiated within.

"Break up?" Mike blinked slowly, his eyes meeting hers, but not reacting. There was no flinching, no protests or arguments, just a blank stare, eyes dark and unreadable.

The café they sat in was nearly empty, the rain trickled down the windows allowing an aura of foreboding. Smells of tea and croissants wafted in the air – the distinct aroma of bitter coffee cogged his every pore.

On other tables, there was laughter, joy, wonder – people living their own life engrossed in idiosyncrasies of what made them human. Mike barely acknowledged them as across from him, his girlfriend sat with her arms crossed, her coffee untouched as she waited for an answer that would never come.

"Even now you're still..." she bit back her tongue with a slightly sharper tone and a disbelieving scoff, "Do you even really like me? Have you ever loved me?" searching his face for something – anything,

Affirmation was futile – his lips couldn't even move. He knew as a boyfriend – for someone he had been dating for over a year - he should answer immediately, leaving no room for doubts – he should be on his hands and knees begging, pleading, promising to do better, but he didn't know what to say.

Questioning his love struck a cord... did he ever love her? He thought he did, they did everything a couple would; they went on dates, brought gifts, hugged, kissed, and even shared their first times together – what part of that wasn't love?

What did it even mean to be loved? Perhaps it's a mere construct of human perception, an illusion created to keep humans in check.

How did they get together in the first place? He felt merely along for the ride. She asked him, she planned dates, she initiated it all... and she had grown tired of him.

Silence was confirmation. She shook her head, allowing a bitter laugh as she pushed her chair back, causing a harsh scrape against the wooden floor, standing and speaking once more,

"You know, right? You don't know how to love anyone." Passing an exhausted sigh before turning, not even looking back,

Mike watched her leave, the café door swinging shut with a hollow jingle of the bell.

He didn't try to stop her. He didn't call out to her. He just sat there, staring at the empty seat across from him. His coffee was cooling by the minute, placing both hands on the mug to feel something while jazz played in the background like nothing happened,

Sounds of people muffled into a cacophony of binary code, mere one's and zero's in his eyes - he didn't care about them, they didn't exist to him. Mike sat there for a long time, staring at the coffee cup she left behind, the steam still faintly rising, a remaining lipstick stain on the rim. He didn't feel sad. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel relief or regret.

For a moment, he wondered if he was truly broken – if there was something fundamentally wrong with him...

He didn't feel anything,

And that was the problem.

---- ----

The door creaked open and Mike pushed, standing in the doorframe, hearing the jingle of the small bell above him, barely registering it. The scent of roasted coffee beans, sea salt and sand filled the air, mixing with the faint sounds of crashing waves upon the shore.

The overcast contrasted the news he heard about a place like this – it was supposed to be always sunny, always bustling with people, always a place of joy.

It didn't matter - he had a mission.

His eyes drifted to the pictures on the wall: an older woman with blonde hair – a mature sensible aura around her with a loving husband, seemingly on their grand opening, cutting a ribbon with comically large scissors,

All around, the café was modest, its walls lined with photos of the beach, seashells and memorabilia of nautical decor. Above all, it was cozy, the kind of place one would blindly trust to get away from the smell of the ocean, bring their kids or go on dates. As he looked around, he analysed the items on display, smelling familiar cakes, cookies, muffins – ones he hadn't smelt in over ten years... because it had been that long.

Despite this, the place was suffocating.

Wiping the slick sweat from his hands to his pants, the soles of his dress shoes clicked against the wooden floor. Adjusting his tie, almost suffocating himself with raw anxiety, he approached the counter, the fabric shaping his body with every click. This suit was the nicest thing he owned, but he still felt like he didn't belong in it – his heart raced.

Good news. That's what he was here for. This was it. It was a joyous occasion.

"Hi?" Mike's voice cracked; his throat dry, "Um... You're Karen Wheeler, right?"

Behind the counter stood a woman with honey-blond hair tied back into a neat bun. She looked up from her expresso machine, "Yes?" her expression warm but professional, clear she had years of customer experience behind her,

"I'm..." Mike stuttered and stumbled, "I'm Micheal Wheeler," finally cracking a smile, the first genuine smile he had in many years.

At the mention of his name, Karen's demeanour shifted, looking away with the careful composed smile dropping her features – recognition passed her. She knew him – that was obvious.

Mike saw it, that split-second crack in her façade.

For the briefest of moments, he wished, or so hoped that this was mere shock, that this moment would pass, and he would be accepted. He thought his mother might say something, acknowledge him, embrace him, express regret, anything – but instead, she avoided eye-contact, pressing her lips into a thin line.

The silence between them was deafening.

Just when he opened his mouth to continue speaking, to tell her more about himself, to explain why he was here, a small voice cut through the void.

"Mommy!"

Mike craned his neck,

In ran a little girl, no more than seven-years old, her curly blonde hair bouncing as she ran in, skipping across the floor. Her pink overalls matched the doll she was carrying, demanding attention as her small arms outstretched, "Mommy can I have a cookie?"

Even Karen seemed annoyed, cursing silently under her breath at the timing, turning to Mike, "I'm not her. I think you came to the wrong place," she said abruptly with a sharp tone, leaving her post by the counter, not even looking at him.

And with that, she rushed past him, scooping the girl into her arms, holding her close, moving with hurried and tense movements.

Mike's words caught in his throat. Only able to watch as Karen adjusted the girl on her hip, clutching as though she were her only support. Without a second more, she walked into an isolated part of the cafe.

The little girl peeked over Karen's shoulder, curiously meeting Mike's eyes before disappearing around the corner.

The hollow pit returned, threatening to consume him.

He couldn't even cry.

Like a wilted flower rooted to its spot, his hands trembled at his sides with the memories of everything transpiring in the last few minutes – the way his mother ignored him, avoided his gaze and the way she rushed off with another child.

The sole reason he'd come here was to grant good news – to boast about applying for college entrance exams. He studied hard, worked multiple jobs and dealt with life alone... and he just wanted to let her know before he moved on.

He hoped she would be proud.

He slowly turned, stepping out the café into the overcast. The sounds of distant crashing waves contorting his mind, ringing. It was different, distant, almost otherworldly.

Lingering outside the café, his eyes peeked in with a deep inhale. The breeze against his features offset the muffled laughter through the window. His gaze drifted to the interior soft scene before him – his mother sitting with the little girl at a table.

"Holly, baby, keep your head straight!" Muffled speech echoed from within.

The little girl was giggling, her face lighting up as her mother helped to wipe crumbs from her mouth. Karen's expression was serene, gentle and filled with a level of affection Mike had never experienced from her.

He clenched his fists, trying not to spill.

Karen's mothering was natural, softly tying her daughter's hair into pigtails, nodding attentively as her daughter lulled over a story. She smiled, a genuine smile, one he couldn't recall ever being directed at him.

The question he'd tried suppressing finally came to the surface: Why? Why couldn't she be like this for him? Why couldn't she care about him? Why wasn't she a mother to him?

A fraction of her love, that's all he wanted; just a fraction.

Yet here it was, on display for everyone to see – painfully real. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

She had it in her all along.

The answer he had gotten after mustering the courage for his whole life was a rejection...

The air was heavy, the overcast sky casting the world into muted monochromes as he walked down the steps of the hill to the empty beach. Sounds of the crashing waves amplified in his ears yet feeling distant, almost otherworldly. Each step he took brought him closer to the water – jagged rocks beneath his feet, sharp and unforgiving.

The tide was coming in, the waves licking his polished shoes in a rhythmic pattern, pausing at the edge. The ocean beckoned him, stretching eternally before him – he loved the ocean.

For a single, fragile second, he considered turning back. But where would he go? Who would be waiting for him?

A single breath was all it took in his shuddering chest. He took the first step, the cold saltwater soaking through the leather of his shoes. Then another, the waves climbing higher pooling his ankles, each step easier than the last,

Sound faded first – the waves, the trees, the distant calls of birds – all replaced by his throbbing heart.

The water reached his knees, then his waist.

The suit he wore dragged him down, but it didn't stop him. The ocean pulled him, swaying his blazer, tugging him deeper, as if it understood.

Looking back wasn't a thought as the water submerged his chest, icy cold temperatures biting into his silky flesh. His arms lay limp, his breath shallow gasps as he took a step, and another, until his shoulders sank beneath the surface.

Dive, dive down.

With one last exhale, his head dipped below the waves.

The ocean swallowed him whole.

Salt water stung his eyes, his every pore screaming for oxygen – he let his body go limp, abandoning himself in the process.

He was dying.

The cold was overwhelming, numbing every inch of skin as he opened his eyes to the murky depths. Sunlight, or whatever was left in the overcast provided no comfort, the shifting rays penetrating the water above him.

Weightlessness drifted him, diving deeper into the darkness – the centre of the world – above was the chaos - all the rejection, pain and sadness that burdened.

The light of the world was fading, he didn't fight it – he couldn't fight it.

But in that last, fleeting moment, he regretted it,

Regretted everything.

---- ----

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"Why are you showing me this?"

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2870 Words

Fun fact: I wrote the last part listening to Mitski's "Pearl Diver"

Stay Safe <3