Tritone

Chapter 9: Grave

The sun hides behind the clouds as I trudge up a hill in town. The wind howls, sending leaves from the trees; a dog barks from behind a wire fence; the cold causes me to shiver.
I sneak through the wooden posts dividing parking spaces and sneak down the miniature hill. The grass, unlike in summer, crunches beneath my feet. Crickets chirp in the trees.
I wander down the trail of rocks towards the back of the field. In front of me is a fence, and next to that a trail towards an abandoned train station.
I approach the path and diverge to a quick left. I clutch the fence and sneak along a small ledge on the other side of it. The other side of this ledge, if I don't hug the fence, would lead about seven feet down to a small pit.
After I tiptoe ten feet, the small ledge opens to the cliff. Piles of coal chunks are scattered around the surface, and the dry dirt covers my ankles as I kick it up with every step.
I approach the edge, small coal chunks nearly puncturing the rubber of my shoe soles. Below me, perhaps two hundred feet below, the dirt barely showing through the treetops. In the distance, a small town shows through the trees, the dome if its largest church shining, even through the clouds. How corny.
I kick the scattered coal aside and take a seat. My legs dangle over the edge, my toes numb from the cold and wind.
I could jump. I could end the burden of my life and dive to the bottom. I doubt anyone would even find me until years later. Perhaps a group of adventurous teenagers would find my rotting corpse after uncovering a pile of leaves and everyone would have forgotten who I am by that time.
My life may be a ship slowly being replaced, board by pathetic board, but where have the old planks gone? Were they simply thrown overboard, lost in the vast and endless sea? Were they preserved? After all, if I simply threw them away, there is no way to recover them; they're just as lost as my ship itself.
The whole purpose of replacing the boards is to improve the ship's durability. Thus, my ship has overthrown this entire process.
It would be honorable for me to throw myself overboard.
I notice a drop of rain fall to the ground, being sucked into the dirt.
My phone vibrates, and I answer the notification from Mr. Hiawatha, stating the practice schedule for the week.
Suddenly overcome with emotion, a tear falls from my cheek. I scoot away from the edge of the cliff and lie on the ground, staring up at the clouds. A few raindrops fall onto my glasses, and I begin shaking.

Of course, a ship is useless if it never departs. Even if this one, lost and completely warped, will sink, it sailed.

However, does the lack of its destination make it useless? Does it still have a purpose if it sinks before it makes its destination? Or will it simply be... forgotten?
For this ship, the bottom of the ocean seems like a nice place to rot away for the rest of eternity.

I slowly rise to my feet and peer over the ledge.
Last year, there was a presentation on suicide for the high school students. Of course, it was corny stuff. All of that "you matter" crap. Corny music and camera focus effects. They had stories by multiple students, all of whom stated broad statements about hope and life.

It was all bullshit.

I've come to understand that, in retrospect to the infinitely expanding universe and immeasurable passage of time, very few of us really matter. We live and die so quickly and are so easily forgotten, with nothing to remember us but a few possessions that rot away and a tombstone that is worn away before we are honestly considered the distant past. In order to be remembered for the things we've done, it has to be monumental. And I am not capable of that.
Perhaps statements of hope mean something to those who know what hope really is. However, those with such a loose, broken understanding of it come to believe very quickly that vague, general statements--particularly those made for a general audience--aren't made for them. For many, the presentations are awe-inspiring and emotional. For others, they're a nuisance. They're fake.

A howling cackle echoes from a distance, and I whirl around with a small gasp. A group of teenagers--most of whom I can recognize--come strolling in through the grass, skateboards in hand. Of course, the only skate park in town has to be twenty feet away from me.
My vision blurs with tears and heat rises to my cheeks. I cower and turn away, staring back to the edge of the cliff.
I slowly inch closer, my toes hanging off of the edge, and remain static as the group approaches. The rocks clack together under their sneakers, and the pulsing bass of a rap song echoes from one of their phones. The slight smell of weed sticks to their clothing, sweeping past me as they stroll past.
They open the fence to the small park, throwing their boards onto the flooring. They shout and carry on, particularly stating that one is a "pussy" for not wanting to do some stunt.
I focus on the trees ahead, their tops--some pointed, some round, and some bare--beckoning me to them. I doubt any of the kids in the skate park want to witness anything like that though.
Well, now what?
The rap song quiets, and another slowly crescendos to fill the air. This song, though, I recognize too much; it was my favorite song when I was younger. Although a few of the kids in the group demand that the one owning the phone change the song to something they like, the melody resumes to echo into my ears.
I sing along, inaudible in comparison to the blaring intensity of the speaker.

However, I fall silent as they turn the volume down.

A bit of mumbling occurs between them, but then one shouts, "Hey, you, behind the fence." I turn my head, barely able to see them from the corner of my eye. He resumes, "You alright?"

I nod turn towards the exit, "Y-yeah. I was just leaving, actually." With that, I scramble around the fence and down the rock trail. However, the notion that all of their eyes are on me causes me to burst into a full sprint just to get home.

If I'm going to die, I want to die with no one around. I don't want them to take any of my sadness with them.