Voices

c h a p t e r 2 : d r o w n

Dedicated to EmSlough for writing amazing books that inspire me

S a m

"When I'm drowning, that's when I could finally breathe." - Clean, Taylor Swift

I'm drowning.

Drowning in a sea of monsters.

But no one knows how it feels to be stranded.

To be vulnerable.

No one has ever understood.

And no one ever will.

*

"Mum! I'm headed to work!" I call out, grabbing my black backpack off the foot of my bed.

"Alright, honey," she replies. "Enjoy yourself."

I slip on my black Vans and sling one strap of my backpack across my right shoulder, running my hand through my hair and combing out the tangles in them before heading downstairs. I snatch the keys off the kitchen table and head out.

The distinct smell of salt water wafts into my nose the moment I step outside, and I wrinkle it in disgust. I've never really gotten used to this smell nor am I particularly fond of it, even though I've lived in this seaside town for eighteen years.

You'd think otherwise.

I walk towards Boardwalk Avenue, the bustling shopping avenue of Westshire, where my workplace, the antique store, is located. The vast sky is blue and cloudless, a refreshing sight, especially after the dreary and rainy days of spring.

The streets are unsurprisingly empty. It's a Sunday morning, and not many people have to get up early for school or work, nor do they go shopping until around noontime. It's a small town, after all, and everything is in close proximity. It leaves me with a fleeting sense of peace and calm that vanishes just as quickly as it came.

You will always be alone.

I look down as I walk, not wanting to risk the chance of someone seeing and recognising me. I'd rather stay hidden in the shadows.

Where you belong.

Before I know it, I find myself outside the antique store. The name of the shop—Jones' Antiques—is written on the display window to the left of the entrance in gold, the opening hours written below it in white. The storefront is simple and not something that would catch everyone's eye, especially since it's a tiny shop wedged between the Espresso and Little Black Dress, the two of the biggest shops on Boardwalk Avenue.

I know this is not a common place most teens would work at, but the reason I do is because I'm fascinated and completely blown away by the things that Mr. Jones buys and collects from people all around the world. It's such an intriguing place to be.

They're all old, chipped, and broken, but they're beautiful. Beautiful in their imperfection. There's a story behind every item, even if we will never know what they are. They've all been through much more than we'll ever know. That never fails to fascinate me.

They're nothing like you.

You will always be broken, your story irrelevant.

Broken and never beautiful.