Sink or Swim

“We’re running out of time and garbage bags,” she shot back.

My forehead hurts as I wipe the sweat off it for the fourth time since I started counting. Another unrolled garbage bag smacks me on the arm.

“And you’ll be getting stuffed in these bags next if you keep standing there,” she continued dryly. “Get the one in the locker, too.”

She turns simply, eyes accusing and open wide as if afraid to close, and gets back to her work. We passed the lockers thirty minutes ago back in the hallway leading to the gymnasium. A deep red oozing like sap from the rusted corners of the locker dared us to look inside, and we only sped up our pace. I drop the bag I’m holding and it slumps onto the ground, a few stray books and papers with brown, frayed edges spilling out.

The locker laid there tauntingly, one of many in a long row, the blood now spreading across the sickly green tiles on the floor. A little gets on my shoes. I press in the door a bit, almost hoping that someone somehow locked it, then release it to open.

There he was, his hair sweaty and matted against his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth and head drooping low. A striped tee with the school’s crest adorning it. His arms and legs limp, leg hair plastered and sticky with blood. The wound wasn’t visible, and he didn’t seem to struggle too much in here. I hitched a gasp as the body fell forward, having been leaning on the locker door. Of course I jumped back—I almost thought he was still alive. The boy plopped onto the mildly bloody floor with a dull bang and crack. I grab the shoulder, cold and boney, and drag him into the garbage bag.

“It’s done.” I return to Mikaela’s side, the makeshift body bag in my arms. She wasn’t moving. The silence is so cruel in times like these, without even the sound of my steps to bother me. His name was Stewart. We met at lunch once when I decided to loudly announce that I was leaving the school forever, and he came up and gave me a warm hug and said he’d miss me. We’d never met, of course, and I didn’t leave school. I used to ruffle his oily black hair and make fun of him for how much fell out and call him a balding middle-aged man. His favorite food was the crappy ramen from the cafeteria with a little extra soy sauce and way too much pepper.

“Sorry… yeah? Ok. Help me with the books and we can go to the river,” Mikaela finally replied. The bag I dropped earlier laid untouched. In the back of the gymnasium laid two more black sacks drooping over each other, barely lit by the light of the hallway.

“They don’t deserve the river.”

“Worry about that when you come up with something better.”

Time. It slips away like bloody intestines in your palm. It meanders, slowly at first, but all at once it crystallizes into memory. A shard of the past.

“Do you think they’ll understand?” asked Mikaela. Her words broke through the heavy silence.

“I don’t know. But we survived.”

Not turning back, a school of crows flew from above our flag, stained with blood. It was all too common a sight. How many other areas have been afflicted by such tragedies? It hurt me to think. I hold back a grimace and keep walking. Against the dark night of the soul, the wet green garbage bags slung over Mikaela’s shoulders reflected the crescent moon above.

The river flowed on, indifferent to our sorrow. Of course, laws of physics don’t change overnight or bend for matters as everyday as simply dying. These things happen all the time. But this is the same river we played in, the laughter we shared. I wanted to puke.

“So this is how the river looks at night.”

Wordlessly, we throw the garbage bags one by one into the river. One for Zachary. We dissected rats in biology together. Guess who’s dead now. Nature is cruel, I thought. I wanted to kick, push, scream. Anywhere but here, the worst of all possible timelines. But the only things left to kick now are the grass, Mikaela, and Stewart. Do I laugh or cry?

I kneel in front of Stewart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure who I was apologizing to—what was once vibrant life, now reduced to a form inside a plastic bag. The indignity of it all weighed against our survivorship. All the things that could have been, now would never be.

Mikaela put her hand on my shoulder. Her touch a gentle encouragement, I reminded myself, “Let’s finish this.”

“Do you remember,” my voice barely a thread, “the time when we built a raft here?”

It was some silly school project, but we took it seriously. We were so sure it would stay afloat. But it sank in the middle of the river.

“Two rafts. We built two,” she said as I slipped Stewart on the edge of the river. He bobbed a few seconds down the river, picked up speed, and sank as water seeped inside. The same way our second raft sank. We wanted to build a third, a testament to our strength and resilience.

“And then we were out of time and logs.”

Mikaela laughed. A sound rare and so warm to hear in times like this.

She shook her head.

“We have all the time in the world now, I guess.”

The sun started to rise.