Cassettes Don't Work Underwater

To Do More Than Survive

Michael Mell was depressed - and since Rich... changed... there wasn't really anything going for him anymore. All he had were his nightly visits to the local docks, where he could watch the sky fade and for a time, escape from reality.

Today, he sat by the edge of the path, leaning on one of the few posts left that were meant to stop people from falling into the calm sea. The salty-scented barrier ropes had long since slithered out of their original positions and now lay entwined in themselves on the floor, as Michael twizzled one absentmindedly in his hands. The gentle splashing of subdued waves cluttered his thoughts, opposed to their normal calming efffect.

He tried to focus on the morphing sky - going from a dull cyan slowly into streaks of magenta, bright yellows and navy blues - but he felt himself fiddling faster and faster on the tough rope, almost giving himself a friction burn. He was trying, but all he could think of was the last thing Rich said to him two days ago:

"Get out of my way, loser,"

Loser. If that's what even Rich thought of him, ~his~ Rich, Rich who he'd known for years, his best friend - then he figured that Rich was right. Everyone who had called him that over these long years, had turned out to be right. Michael could feel his chest tightening, but he tried to convince himself that it was going to be ok, that he still had a good life, that he was worth something, anything at all - but it was in vain.

Stifled sobs came choking out, tears falling from his tightly closed eyes, and dripping gently into the sea below. He was shaking, and everything seemed to drift away.

"I," Michael gasped for breath, "I wish i was never born. It's too hard, it'd just be easier to-" The weight of what he just said struck him down, filling him with the too-familiar dark thoughts of how he just wasn't worth it and how he couldn't even keep just one friend. How he didn't deserve to be there, sitting on the edge of the dock and being able to watch the sun fade, how maybe he should just- 

"Why?" This took Michael by surprise - he jolted back so quickly he whacked his head on the wooden beam he had been resting his head on and almost fell off his seat. He looked around in shock.

"Wh-what?!" Michael got a little worried now, had this person seen him cry? He continued to look, but he couldn't see anyone near him on the path or the ledge. So had he imagined the voice instead?

"Down here!" The voice called again - a little louder this time. Michael did so and saw a pale face in the murky water. Wait.

A face?! 

Michael readjusted his glasses in confusion, and squinted down at the figure in the water. It was a kid about his age, with somehow dry, fluffy hair that was the colour of milk chocolate... and he looked pretty concerned too. "Hi!" The kid called cheerfully - and much to Michael's embarrassment - "I heard you crying, are you ok?"

"I- uh.. I guess?" said Michael. He forced a smile, but at the same time was nothing less than curious for the boy in the water. "Wh-what's your name?" He managed to stutter out.

"Jeremy!"