Underneath The Surface

In the starting.... [PROLOGUE]

He was drowning. Wynter Black was drowning. He didn't mind it. In fact he was okay with it. He liked it under the water. It was quiet and it felt like nothingness.

Wynter craved it. He craved the embrace of the warm water that flooded through the spaces between his fingers and toes. He liked the sound of the water molecules colliding and twirling around, lifting him up, making him float upwards. It felt like flying, a bird being pushed upwards by the winds towards the clouds.

The silence was bliss...until the voices. The voices always came. They always found their way to him, they couldn't bear to see him in peace. Wynter hated the voices. They told him things. Things that were true. Only, he didn't want to believe them.

You are worthless. No one loves you... Why would you want to exist when you are nothing?...

You're a disappointment. Everything is your fault. The world will be better off without you...

No one will ever choose you....You will always be this valueless and useless...

People act like they love you. They're only using you...

When they're done you'll end up here again. Underneath the water. Hiding from the world.

Coward.
Worthless.
Useless.
Pathetic.

You'll always end up underneath the water, Wynter. You know it...you know it...you know it...you know it.
You'll always...always...end up...end up...underneath...the...water...the water.

Wynter parted his lips to scream. To shout at the voices to go away. The only thing that left his lips were crystalline bubbles. Proof that he was living, that he was breathing. He clamped his mouth shut, hands rising to cover his ears. He pulled up his legs to his chest slowly and then kicked back downwards. He let his arms rise upwards, legs kicking at the water alternately. The voices were muffled now and distant, fading away. Wynter felt himself rise upwards, towards the brightness in the sky. In a desperate attempt he stretched his arms wider, kicking his legs faster. Wynter broke through the surface gasping.

When he felt the sun on his skin, he closed his eyes. He didn't want to believe. So he wouldn't. He would keep on fighting until his lungs couldn't breathe anymore. He would fight because that's what life is. Life is not a game. Life is a fight that you have to get through so that you can survive. He didn't have to survive for someone. He would survive for himself. The voices will not decide how to live his life. He will do it by himself.

And when it is time to sleep, he will do it without any regrets left.