Never Let Go: A Short Story

I've never shared my writing on here before, besides a few poems. And honestly, I don't know if I'd prefer to keep it that way. A tiny piece of me wants to keep all my stories locked inside.

I don't want my blog to be a place where people can just read my writing. I want it to be a place to share about good books and Christian living. But at the same time, you all deserve to know a bit about my work-in-progresses, don't you?

The story I'm sharing today is very close to my heart. The idea sprang into my mind one day, and as I sat down to write it, God made the words flow onto the page. It touches on tough topics—grief, depression, and suicide. Now, in this story, I've tried to address it in a way that's God-honoring and shines the light of Christ.

Through this story, I've tried to encourage those who feel at the end of their lines—that God has a reason they are still alive, to this very day. And to encourage those who aren't necessarily dealing with the issues the main character has in this story—that YOU have a purpose. God has a plan for your life. So never doubt that for one second.

I'd be lying if I said sharing this story didn't take courage. And I recognize, that yes, I'm still learning and growing. So if there are any discrepancies in the storyline, choppy sentences, or you feel I didn't represent the characters or the tough topics well, you have my deepest apologies. Life—and writing—is a growing process, and I definitely don't claim to know everything about the topics I'm writing about.

With that said, there is a content warning for implied suicide, grief, and depression in this story. It's more lightly implied than stated explicitly. So if any of this bothers you or whatnot, you're welcome to not continue. Just a brief warning. :)

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- Never Let Go -

by E. C. Colton

I lost her.

I eyed my mother, still and serene in the coffin. Wearing a black dress. She’d always hated that color with a passion.

She’d always filled her life with happy colors. Yellow and orange and purple. Not black. She said it was too depressing. That it stifled her very soul when she wore it.

The morgue had said she was killed in a car accident, but her body was still intact and showed no signs of scars. In my private thoughts, I thought the black she had worn on that day—the day she died—had somehow snuffed out her soul like a living candle.

“You okay?”

My best friend, Carlos, whispered to catch my attention. I pulled myself back to reality. My fingers were trembling, creeping toward the very edge of the coffin where she lay.

I didn’t look at him. My eyes were fixed on her face. Maybe she would rise. Maybe she would sit up on the coffin, laughing uproariously as though this was all just a joke. Maybe she would wake up, confused. Part of my brain whispered that this was just a trick, that she was just sleeping.

“Taryn,” Carlos’ voice held an unmasked urgency. “You’re the only one here. We need to. . . go.”

I turned around, and spotted the reverend signaling frantically to Carlos. The crowd sat, silent, still. Someone sniffed. They were all looking at me.

My normal self would have wished for the ground to swallow me up. But for some reason, I didn't care anymore. I felt as though grief had twisted something inside of me, and I was different. Everything was different.

“Sorry,” I whispered, but my mind wasn’t on it. I let him put a hand over my shoulder and lead me back to my seat. In the front row.

The reverend cleared his throat. Droned on about whatever it was. But I no longer listened. The moment I lost sight of my mother over the edge of the coffin, I felt like something had snapped inside of me. Like someone had pulled a plug, leaving me alone and lifeless.

A shadow flickered at the corner of my eyes. I turned and saw it—a giant black monster standing over her coffin. Its head was tilted back. Laughing.

The monster was transparent—I could see right through it. But its claws reached out toward the open coffin and my mother. A scream erupted from my lips and I frantically clutched at Carlos’ arm.

He winced, his bushy black eyebrows narrowing slightly.

“Do you see that?” I pointed toward the monster, where it hovered, taunting me. “Do you see it—that thing?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was low. “The coffin?”

No.

I looked from his face to the coffin, but the monster was gone.

But I had seen it. Laughing at my mother—and me.

A myriad of memories drifted around in me, enveloping my thoughts with their soft embrace.

I let go.

* * *

“I was walking by the waters, laughing and playing.” I smiled at the memory. “It was the first time I’ve played since Ronica’s death.”

Mom gave me a small smile as she pulled the yellow wool blanket tighter over her shoulders. She already knew the story, but it was always a welcome distraction from the busyness of the day for her.

“The sun glistened golden on the water. I was really happy, so I challenged Carlos to race me to the top of the bridge.”

“Mhm.” Mom rocked back and forth.

“I beat him.” By a mile. I swallowed hard. “I was always the fastest runner. I know the wharf so well, I could run it in my sleep. Ronica taught me.” I pulled back the strings of grief that were threatening to overflow.

Mom laid a hand on my knee, and for a brief moment there was a flash of understanding between the two of us.

I continued. “I stood there, waiting at the top of the bridge, seeing Carlos panting behind, and then I had the brilliant idea.”

We said the words together. “I decided to stand behind the railing, so it was just me and the waves and the sea.”

I sucked in another breath, because it always hurt to say these next words. “I looked down at the water. It was so close, but so far. And then I. . . I decided to let go.”

This was her cue. Mom cleared her throat and continued, her words flowing without a trace of tears. “I saw you fall. Tumble from the bridge, into the lurking bay water below. I knew I couldn’t get there in time. And you didn’t know how to swim.”

I glanced at her, wondering if she’d say the next part of the story. About how she felt—seeing me fall. Helpless. Losing her last child.

“I ran to the bridge, but it was too late. You went under.”

She skipped over that part.

A sob snuck its way into her voice. “All I could see was your hair, floating like a cloud underwater. I knew you were gone. But I didn’t want to believe it. The current carried you away.”

The current carried me away.

I had heard this story millions of times, but why did it always hurt? I remembered the grief that laced my actions, the secret I never told anyone. That I wanted to let go. I wanted to fall into the water—and be reunited with Ronica in the stars. Tears pricked my eyelids. How could I do that? Leave my mother for my sister? She needed me. I had hurt her so badly that day summers ago, when I was only ten. I had scarred her. I still saw it in her eyes, even now.

She continued, oblivious to the swirling eddies of my thoughts. “Carlos dove right in, trying to save you. Fully clothed.” A laugh crackled her words. “He was only nine then, and he wanted to be a hero. But he barely knew how to swim, either.”

It must have hurt. For my mother and my best friend to watch me float away, knowing there was nothing they could do to save me. My heart cracked a little more. I did that to them.

Mom continued. “He eventually stopped trying to get to you as you vanished under the bridge and waves. It was too dark to see. I was too numb to try and call anyone to help. I thought y. . . you’d die just like Ronica did.”

I winced.

“But then I saw something.” A flicker of excitement, as though she was reliving the moment, lit her eyes.

“Something was shining through the darkness of the water under the bridge. It moved, like it was living in the water. It gave me hope. That maybe it was you, alive and well.”

I didn’t look up.

Mom laid a hand on my shoulder. “I saw the waters dance and glow yellow. As though it was living and breathing. And then it disappeared. But something propelled me to take a look at the other side of the bridge.”

I forced myself to look up and recoiled at her touch. I didn’t deserve her kindness. Just like I didn’t deserve. . . anything. But the next part was pure magic—my favorite part. I sucked in a breath.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes. You were there, floating on your back. Just staying afloat. Your eyes were closed, but you were breathing. The magic I saw saved you, I knew it did. But I couldn’t believe. . . I almost lost you.”

Her voice wavered. I put my arm around her and hugged her close. I owed her this—if nothing more. Her words bounced off the walls of my brain, silent and pulsing.

I almost lost you.

I almost lost you.

I almost lost you.

I almost lost you.

* * *

Now, my mind scratched out the almost. The words were my reality.

I lost you.

How I wished the almost had been there. It would have made life a little more bearable.

* * *

The funeral buzzed by in a blaze of flying colors, of mingling memories that grated on my brain. Sniffles and tear-stained faces. Stiff-backed hugs from people I didn’t know. The reverend laying his hand on my head and muttering some foreign words. And through it all, Carlos’ hand on my back, propelling me through the world of noise and chaos my life had become.

He brought me home with french fries and fruit salad from the funeral’s reception. Of course, his old gentlemanly demeanor wouldn’t let him set foot inside the house. He told me to text him if I needed anything, but I told myself I didn’t need him. I didn’t need sympathy, or hugs, or whatever it was that people gave each other during deaths. I just needed to be able to look up from the sofa and see my mom, sitting by the fire with crinkle lines around her eyes.

But when I looked, all I saw was a fireplace full of ashes.

* * *

My soul was too worn, too threaded with grief, to be able to be anything else.

The weeks darted by faster than I could even say my mom’s name—Eileen. Or maybe it just hurt me too much to.

But I knew what I needed to do. I had to search for answers. Why she died. Because despite my hypothesis, I didn’t think the color black killed her after all.

Something else did. And it was out there—beyond the bay. That shadow monster had known. And I had seen it—it wasn’t grief that had thrown a shade over my eyes. It had been laughing. Its eyes were burned into my memory.

My ten-year-old self promised never to leave Mom again—and that meant leaving San Francisco. Mom’s heart had always been tied to her home. When we first moved here—with Ronica—she had arrived at an abandoned house down Susdoa Street. Its paint had been peeling, the windows were boarded up, and the front yard was basically nonexistent, battered by smog from the street that ran by it.

But she had fixed it up, good as new. She had had the house painted. Built little planter boxes in front of the boarded-up windows, and gave one to me and one to Ronica. She had planted new grass, and even a little garden. She had refurbished our home and fixed the clogged fireplace. Everything had her fingerprints all over it. It was truly our home.

And now that I was just me, I didn’t want to leave it.

Two voices warred against each other in my mind—one demanding reason, the other demanding answers. I had neither.

If I stayed here—in San Francisco, in this little house which had been my childhood haven, I would never know the why. I would never be able to figure out how Mom had lived—before she adopted me and Ronica—or died.

Her death pulled at every vein of my unraveling heart. I wanted to know. But I didn’t want to leave.

My eyes caught a picture of Mom on the hearth. Smiling—no, beaming. Like she was proud of the world and everything in it—including me. Tears blazed a hot trail down my cheeks. But she would have wanted someone to look for answers.

Even if it was me.

So I let go.

* * *

I gave a nod and a smile I didn’t feel as I stepped aboard the sailboat and set my eyes on the bay. The land beyond San Francisco stretched for miles, seemingly until the ends of the earth. If only a journey to the end of the earth would reveal the truth about my mother—or better yet, bring her back to me.

But no. She was lying under the ground. Still. Gone.

Mom wouldn’t have wanted me to remember her like this. Shrouded in black—the color of the dead. Her face set in makeup that masked the smile wrinkles around her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line.

I bit my lip and tasted blood. She should have been cremated and her ashes scattered in the bay, so that a part of her was with Ronica. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

The rocking of the boat under my feet pulled me out of my thoughts. I was leaving. To find answers. . . and maybe a shadow monster or two. If one of them appeared out of the mist that very-rarely shrouded San Francisco Bay.

I untied the rope that was holding the sailboat onto the deck.

And I let go.

* * *

The wind ruffled my hair. The water lapped at the edges of the sailboat. I sucked in a breath of cold wind air—as though it could somehow soothe the broken pieces that were spinning inside my soul.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t.

My phone pinged with an instant message from Carlos.

~ Taryn, are you okay?

~ Hello? Taryn?

~ I called your home phone and I haven’t heard anything. I hope you’re all right.

~ I get that you’re grieving, but I just want to make sure you’re fine.

~ Hello?

Typical Carlos behavior. His concern cut into my sorrow, because I wasn’t okay. But I had to pretend—to be able to tell something. My nails, dripping with salt water and faded nail polish, skittered across the phone screen to write a response back—one I didn’t quite feel.

~ I’m fine. Just looking for answers. Don’t look for me.

He texted back within seconds of my response—something that made me wonder whether he had actually been concerned enough to wait for my reply.

~ you’re fine? What does that mean?

And then,

~ I’m concerned. where are you?

I sucked in a shaky breath of air tinged with saltwater. He was just watching over me. But I couldn’t tell him where I was—I couldn’t tell anyone where I was.

My lungs wanted to scream. I was out here—doing who knows what? Looking for answers. Wondering if that magic that had saved my life really was here after all those years, in the still waters of the bay. So far, I had seen nothing. But it was only afternoon—and stupid me had forgotten lunch.

If Mom was here, she would have remembered. She would have packed tuna salad sandwiches and lemonade in her tiny drink cooler. She would have poured me a cup, and we would have watched the seagulls and laughed together.

That was where my fantasy fell short. If Mom was here, I wouldn’t be out in the bay in the first place, breaking my promise to her.

I realized the phone was still in my hands, awaiting my response. Carlos’s text bubble was still on—he was waiting for me.

~ I can’t say... but I’ll be fine.

That was what I had to keep telling myself. That I would be fine, one of these days. After I had lost her.

But it felt like a betrayal to even imagine myself fine.

Grief built a dam in my throat.

My phone dinged again, but this time, I shut it off.

And lost in the small, calm water of the bay, I broke that dam down and let myself cry.

* * *

A mist crept its unnerving fingers against the bay, shielding me from the view of the bridge and leaving me alone.

I was on high alert as my boat drifted on and on. The shadow monster that had attended my mother’s funeral drifted, unwavering, through my memories. If one appeared from the mist, I wouldn’t be so surprised. In fact—I’d be terrified.

I flickered my phone on and groped around for the flashlight button. But in doing so, I couldn’t help but see a string of texts from Carlos. The earliest ones were dated from three hours ago, since we had last talked.

~ You can’t say? Taryn, your mom told me to watch over you like a brother. Where are you?

~ Please don’t ignore me. If my last message made you upset. . . lo siento. I’m just concerned for you.

~ Hello, Taryn? It’s not like you to not respond.

~ You’re not at home. Taryn, where are you?

Poor panicky Carlos. I swiped the messages away from my home screen and pressed the flashlight button.

It helped me see—even for just a bit. But the way the light reflected off the heavy mist was unnerving. The water lapped, too peacefully, off the edge of the sailboat. The soft cotton sails gave a dead flop, then were still.

Answers weren’t out here—and neither were the shadow monsters. But this unnerving calm was soothing, almost. And for a second, I didn’t care whether I returned to the shore or not.

Strange to think that these were the same waters where my sister died.

My hands were clammy. My body was shaking from the cold. My tears probably drenched my skinny jeans and oversized sweater. But the wind carried me, tears and all, to drift in a world made of mist and lost dreams and sky.

I had never felt so alone before. Even as a young child, after my adoption, Mom had always been by my side. Hugging me close. Taking me on picnics, or walks, or finding little pebbles and trinkets for me.

Now. . . no more. I was alone in the big world.

My phone dinged again, but before I could check the latest message, I heard a whisper threaded on the wind.

taryn?

The voice was small, silent, faded like a pair of worn jeans. But it was there. And it was so oddly and beautifully familiar—a voice I hadn’t heard since I was ten.

Ronica.

“Ronica?” The name was barely a whisper on my lips, but I heard my own voice echo back through the mist.

taryn?

This time, it was fainter, but undeniable. I closed my eyes, breath barely leaking out of my lungs. I took a step closer to the wall of mist. Ronica was calling me. My sister. My very own blood sister.

“Where are you?”

here.

The word arrested me with full power, and I turned. A shadow was creeping through the mist. For a moment, my eyes struggled to hold the outline, but it was her.

Ronica.

My sister, a shadow.

* * *

My memory rewinded like a reel from an old black-and-white movie.

The shadow leaned closer, closer to the coffin. Its eyes—little white holes in its seemingly shapeless head—bored into the woman lying there. Still. Dead.

It fingered its braid resting against its shoulder, then caught the girl in the front row staring at it. Their eyes met, and something clicked. Something.

It opened its jaws and laughed. Laughed at tomorrow. Laughed taunts. Laughed at the pain in her eyes and the group gathered to mourn this girl’s loss. It was cruel. But this woman hadn’t saved her—so neither would she save this girl from the grief that wracked her.

The shadow gathered up its skirts and disappeared.

* * *

Part of me wanted to step out and join her. But the other half of me—the sane part of me that had been fighting to surface all this time—held me back. Wouldn’t let me do this danger.

taryn. it’s me. ronica.

A choked sob surfaced from my chest. “Ronica? It’s. . . so good to see you.”

and you also. The shadow faltered, for a second, and I thought I caught a glimpse of her foot slipping under the waves. But she righted herself, and the edges of her danced. A bitter scent washed over my nostrils. I didn’t know this girl—my adopted sister. It had been too long.

what are you doing here?

I bit back a bitter sob. “I’m. . . looking for you. And answers. And Mom.”

i have the answers, dear. you just have to let go. leave this all behind.

I jerked my head upright. Was this really what she was asking me to do? Let go—again?

But then I realized this was what I meant by looking for answers. I hadn’t really been out here to find anything—I had been doing this to let go. To finally give up. A little piece inside of me wanted that—and it had tugged me out here.

Would it really be so hard to let go—now that I had no one to leave behind, no one who would feel a sting of pain if I joined my sister and mother?

come.

The lure of her words pulled me in.

I could let go—and find that shell of myself I had shed when my mother died. I could find answers.

Ronica reached out a hand to me, parting another wave of mist.

I picked up my phone.

what are you doing?

Ignoring her, I scrolled to the messages app and pressed Carlos’ name. My fingers typed out the one word that I never thought I would—but it was too late now, anyway.

~ Goodbye.

I closed my eyes and reached for her outstretched hand.

I let myself fall.

For Mom, for Ronica, for eternity.

* * *

I felt only blackness, pressing up against me. I felt a searing pain lick my skin. It’s too much.

My head felt like it would explode and blast into a million bits. A scream rose to my lips, but there was something that was holding it back.

I’m. . . alive?

I opened my eyes. A light licked my skin, glowing yellow. It was painless, but so beautiful.

It saved me.

A part of me protested. Where is Mom?

I wanted answers. But here I found none.

taryn.

The words blazed into my memory like a growing flame. Calm. Serene. But holding such power.

I turned on my side, and found I was lying on something soft. But I was drifting. Underwater. It didn’t make sense, but the broken shards of my mind didn’t try to comprehend it.

taryn.

What happened to me?

I felt different. Not the dry, hard kind of different that had transformed me after Mom’s death, but in a better way. As though I was waking up with new eyes.

The water around me was shimmering, lit with a luminescent yellow glow. The sight of it brought a line of the story into the forefronts of my memory. Of the tale of naive, ten-year-old me.

Something was shining through the darkness of the water under the bridge. It moved, like it was living in the water. It gave me hope.

taryn.

The voice was stronger now. I realized I needed to answer, but my throat was too dry. My senses felt numbed—stunned.

“Yes?” My voice came out, barely above a whisper. “Where am I?”

we saved you.

They. . . whoever they were. . . saved me. Me. Was this the same magic that had kept me alive that fateful day that I had decided to let go—the magic my mother said she had seen?

“What do you want?”

you let go.

A flow of memories drifted into my mind. Me, telling myself I was searching for answers, when all I wanted was to be reunited with my sister. And Ronica appearing in the mist, calling me. Me making the choice to let go—to be reunited with Ronica and Mom.

The voice wasn’t accusatory. Only tinged with sadness.

we saved you when you were young, because you were too young to have a choice. you had a spark inside of you—a spark of light.

I closed my eyes. How could I forget the pain I had caused Mom? Did she know that the fall from the bridge hadn’t been an accident?

“What about my sister?”

that was the shadows inside of you taking form, grief making you see things in the mist. you have a choice to make.

“What choice?”

a choice whether to let us save you. to return to the world. or to let go—for the last time.

My mind didn’t struggle to comprehend the words—I already knew what they meant, oddly enough. I had a choice. Whether to go back to the world—or die and be reunited with Ronica and Mom.

I didn’t want to live.

But I didn’t want to die.

I wanted answers—about everything. About how my sister had become a shadow. What had killed my Mom. And what—or who—it had been at the funeral.

But letting go and giving up wasn’t going to help me find them.

I closed my eyes, as though doing so could shut the voices raging in my mind. They were arguing it out.

The world was cruel. It had robbed me of my sister and mother.

you have a PURPOSE.

Those comforting words wove their way into my mind.

I have a purpose.

I had a purpose—whatever that meant. Maybe there was a reason the magic had saved me—had kept me afloat all these years, even through the turmoil of life.

What would life look like if I didn’t let go again? If I didn’t give up?

I guess there was only one way to find out—to silence those voices that were tearing gaping holes inside of me.

And before I had realized my own words, I whispered, “I want to live.”

I closed my eyes, and let the magic carry me away.

* * *

My words were a faint echo, thudding against the abyss of my brain.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I want to live.

I was choking. Drowning. A wave of water pushed me under, and I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I shoved my head upward and sucked in a breath of salt-tinged air.

My heavy woolen sweater dragged me down. I kicked with my legs, my neck stretched out in the water, trying to stay afloat. I had never learned how to swim, even after all these years.

The magic had left me.

I kicked in the water some more. My vision tilted, and for a second I fell under. I spotted something black in the water a few paces away from me, hovering before my vision. My breathing quickened. Not another shadow monster.

I slammed one hand into the water in what I hoped was a swimming move and sucked in another breath. I was floating—no, I was swimming.

I felt myself falling again.

And then—my feet hit dirt.

I stood in the shallows, my legs still shaky. I felt lighter, somehow, as though the magic had eased some sort of invisible burden on my shoulders. It no longer hurt to take a breath.

The magic had left me—but it had healed me, too. Or at least, glued a few broken bits of me back together.

I looked up. I had somehow drifted—or swam—toward the bridge near the pier.

I stopped floundering to catch my breath. I glanced upward toward the bridge. Trying to figure out how far away it was. The energy felt like it was leaking from my lungs, but I was wonderfully alive.

A girl was leaning across the top of the bridge. At first I thought she was looking at me, but her eyes were focused on something else. The water.

I knew how that felt, seeing the water so close. It would be effortless, even, to drop down and escape. For a moment, I was lost in the tale my mother and I had told—how the wind ruffled through my hair and the smile split my face.

But then a rush of urgency shoved its way through me, clapping a clawed hand over my senses. She’s going to let go!

I knew how that felt. I knew that lost feeling of brokenness, the pain that felt so strong that no human person could shove through it. I knew that anger—at the world and the cruelty of it. I knew how it felt—like a ravaging wolf let loose inside of you, threatening to tear you apart.

But the magic hadn’t left me alone with nothing—it had left me with knowledge of my purpose.

The girl had bright red hair and a black hoodie. The wind tossed her curls in all directions. Her red acrylic nails pressed against the edge of the bridge. I saw that look on her face—sorrow contorted into pain.

I took a step forward and saw something else—a dark monster. It was standing right behind her, its claws curling into fists. As though it was itching to shove her off into the water, to let her fall and laugh in victory.

I couldn’t leave it up to the magic to save her—if it was even real—I had to do something.

“Hey!” My voice came out weird and warbled. I spat out water and tried again, strength surging through my words. “Hey!”

She looked down at me, but didn’t say a word. I saw her move to stand behind the railing, and a line from the story surfaced in my mind.

I decided to stand behind the railing, so it was just me and the waves and the sea.

“Don’t. Jump.” I spat out another mouthful of bay water. “Please don’t!”

The girl paused. Her hoodie flew off, blown by the wind. It revealed her wide, red-rimmed eyes and her scarlet hair. She had been crying.

“Please don’t!” I spoke louder. “I know what it’s like. But this isn’t the answer. This doesn’t solve all your problems.”

The girl said nothing. Her face removed the same—twisted and contorted beyond repair. And I knew the culprit—the one that had changed me. Pain.

The words came welling out, one after another. “I know what it’s like. I know what it’s like to break, to feel like you’ll never be fixed unless you give in. I know what it’s like to want to cry, but all the emotions are stuck inside. I know what it’s like, to love someone so much that you want to be with them again, and you feel like this is the only way. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but you have a purpose. The magic kept you alive all this time for a reason. I was about to let go, I was about to give up, but I didn’t. I choose to live, even though I knew life would be cruel.”

I barely knew what I was saying, only that the words sounded so—beyond me. Almost as though they had come from the peaceful voice of the magic that had saved me. And then all the pieces started to come together—the cryptic words of magic made sense.

“I think I know why I’m here, still alive. I’m here to tell you this.”

A small wave of water splashed into my ear. I winced, but I said the last words so loud, I knew she could hear me. Even above the waves and the sea and the pain.

“Don’t let go.”

* * *

The shadow monster pressed its claws against the railing, clenching them and then unclenching them again. It only took one push to send this girl sprawling into the water below. Where she would fall. Slowly. She would no longer be a threat anymore—not to the shadows. All it took was one push.

But the magic inside of her was fizzling and sparking—not completely dead. The monster could feel it, threaded through every fiber of her being.

And maybe it had to do with the girl in the water, yelling incomprehensible words into the sky.

* * *

I was soaking wet. The sun was setting in all its golden glory. But I couldn't leave this girl alone. Not while she had a monster tracing her every step.

I had never felt more alive in my life—as though every fiber of my being was sparking with electricity. I had never felt this way before. It was strange and terrifying, but also amazing.

The girl hesitated. I could see the pain in her eyes, and oddly enough, I knew what she was feeling in that moment. The pain was contorting the bay water rippling against the bridge into lies. Promising that this was the only way out.

As I watched her, I realized I had done all that I could. The rest was up to her—but I knew I would live for this. To make sure no one ever let go of the edge of Kearlin Bridge ever again.

“And, monster,” I screamed up at it. “Leave her alone!” All my fury at it bubbled up inside of me—it had visited my Mom’s funeral without invitation. It had laughed at my sorrow. And it was going to make fun of this girl too—if she gave in.

She whispered something over the edge of the bridge, and I scarcely caught the remains of her words.

“Thank you.”

Then she whirled around, facing the monster squarely. For a moment, I wondered if I was the only one who could see it.

But no. She did, too. But her eyes were cold and empty.

The girl stretched out her hands. Nothing happened.

“I’m not letting go.” I heard her voice, full of determination, and it shot lightning bolts of shock through me. But I was proud. Standing in water all the way up to my neck, my soggy sweater weighing me down, I was in no place to cry. But I did anyway. Bubbling tears swelled from my chest and exploded down my face. But they didn’t stop me from the scene that was happening on the bridge.

“I will destroy you.” She tried again. But still nothing.

I held my breath.

“You do not own my life.” Her voice sounded sharp, like the edge of a knife. “Leave. Now. While you still can.”

I sucked in a shaky breath and wiped my tears away with a soggy hand. The coldness was starting to seep up my bones.

“Leave!” She took a step forward.

The monster disappeared.

But maybe, if I looked hard enough, I could see it fall and dissolve into the waters below, nothing more than a shell of the threatening presence it had been before.

The girl stood for a moment, staring at the monster. As though she could no longer believe it was still there. Part of me can’t believe it.

She knelt on the bridge, and tears started streaming like waterfalls from her eyes. All in a moment, I wished I could hug her tight. Tell her it would be okay. Tell her how proud I was, though I didn’t even know her.

But she was alive.

And I had found my purpose.

* * *

It’s been one year.

One year since Mom’s death pulled me apart, and the magic knit me back together.

One year was all it took to give me a purpose.

I knelt by the stone-hard grave, now marked with one stone—the only guardian of her body. I traced my fingers against the engraving—one I had especially requested.

Eileen Williams

1961 - 2019

Live a life filled with light,

and never let go.

Those words would echo in my mind for eternity.

Fueled by her memory and pieced together by the magic of light, I would carry on through life as a warrior marching toward the sun.

For a purpose greater than myself.

Hunting down the shadows.

Making sure no one decided to let go on Kearlin Bridge again.

One year ago, I chose life—and I’ve never regretted it since.

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- Thoughts? Questions? Feedback? -

I'd love to hear all of them in the comments below. This is my first time sharing something with tough topics pretty much anywhere (though Shards of Sky did have abuse), so thoughts would be really helpful!

And thank you for reading. For being patient with me as I'm still learning and growing. I hope this story inspired you.