Deadly Silent

Deadly Silent

Chapter One

I don’t remember the fall.

Only her hands - clawing at the air, desperate, shaking- and that final look on her face, like she knew I wouldn’t save her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

It wasn’t just around me - it was inside me.

The kind of silence that wraps itself around your lungs until you suffocate. The kind that fills every empty corner of your body until it’s louder than your own heartbeat.

I hear it every time I close my eyes.

In the quiet hallways at school,

In crowded rooms.

Even when I’m sleeping it’s always there.

Everyone says it was an accident.

That she slipped.

But they weren’t there.

I was.

And the worst part? I didn’t even move.

It’s been a year since June died.

Today’s the memorial.

I don’t want to be here.

The church is too warm. The walls feel like they’re closing in. Everyone smells like perfume, soap and tears.

They say June would’ve loved the flowers.

They’re wrong.

They don’t know June like I do and they never will - not anymore.

I sit in the third row, hands sweaty and clenched in my lap, staring at the floor because looking at her smiling face in the photo feels wrong. It’s the one she hated - the one where her smile was just a little off. I remember her pretending to gag when it was posted online. Now, it’s framed in gold.

Someone is saying something from the Bible, but I can’t hear any of it.

It’s all just muffled. Like I’m underwater.

My throat tightens. Not from crying. From pretending.

And then I hear my name. “Lila, would you like to come up and say a few words?”.

Say no. Say you’ve lost your voice. Say anything but yes.

But I stand.

And my legs carry me forward before my mind can protest.

The podium feels too tall.

My hands are shaking.

The silence is even louder now.

“June was…” My voice cracks. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely even hear my own thoughts.

“She was my best friend”.

Lie.

Truth.

I don’t know anymore.

I swallow hard.

“I keep thinking about how we used to sneak out and sit by the cliffs,” I say. “How she said the stars looked better from there. How she-”

I stop. I can feel the tears ready to race each other to my chin but I blink them away. I don’t deserve to cry.

“She was brave. And kind. And-”

Dead.

Killed by the silence.

By me.

I step down from the podium, away from all the whispers, stares and claps. Back into the silence that haunts me.

I wake up to the sound of my dad knocking on my door, asking through the hard wood if I’m okay.

After June died, he hasn’t stopped worrying about me — and deep down, I know I don’t deserve it.

I sit on my bed and rub my hands together. The cold feels real but everything else is distant.

I remember June — not the perfect June from the memorial. The real June. The one that would drag me out of bed on the weekends and make me laugh until my stomach ached.

She was loud, stubborn and feisty—the one who could make anyone smile, even on a bad day.

But then there’s the other part. The part I try not to think about.

The last day at the cliffs. I don’t have the full picture - only pieces.

Her raspy voice calling my name. The wind fighting us. Her hands trembling when she reached out to me.

I try to forget, push them away - but they always sneak back on me when I least expect them - during class, at night when I’m lying down in bed, even when I’m in the shower.

It’s like a puzzle with missing pieces and I’m scared of what it’ll look like when it’s complete.

At school, I keep my head down. Avoiding the pitiful sorries, the whispers, the glances.

Some friends check on me, ask me how I am. I always say the same thing. “I’m fine”. I’m not ready to talk yet, not now, maybe not ever.

I swore I would never come back here.

The place I lost June. Betrayed her.

The cliffs haven’t changed. Same sharp rocks, like teeth. Same steep drop. Same ocean that seemed to stretch on until the end of the Earth like nothing ever happened.

But I’ve changed.

I lean closer to the edge. Not too close. Just enough to feel the cold breeze under my arms. Just enough to remember that weight in my chest.

There’s no blood. No footprints. No sign she was ever here. No trace of June. She’s really gone.

Except in my head.

Maybe… just maybe that’s worse.

I’m standing still but my mind is running back - back to the fall.

366 days ago.

A flicker.

A flash.

Not of her falling. Of her turning around. Someone else’s shadow, almost too quick to catch.

My pulse spikes. That’s new. I’ve never seen that before.

Am I just making things up, trying to rewrite the story or was someone else actually there?

I hold my palm against my chest as if my heart is about to jump out of my body and I’m trying to stop it.

I don’t know why I came here. Maybe to feel braver. Less silenced.

Instead I feel smaller.

But still… something new.

And this means not everything is lost.

I’m being followed.

I know how that sounds - paranoid, dramatic, crazy.

But I can feel it.

The ants-crawling-on-your-skin feeling, like someone’s behind you. Watching.

It started with subtle things.

My locker door creaking open after I’ve closed it shut.

My pen moving just half an inch on my desk.

A photo of June and I at the cliffs together from my bulletin board - gone.

I ask my mum if she’s seen it. She blinks, as if the answer is obvious, and says, “You just moved it the other day, sweetheart.”

I didn’t.

At least I don’t think I did.

The hallway at school feels too long today. Every footstep seems to echo. There’s a mirror at the end of it. I’ve passed it a hundred times but today I stop.

There’s someone behind me. I’m sure of it. They’re wearing the same clothes as me - a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. That’s strange. I whip my head around but nobody is there.

I look back in the mirror and it’s just me. My clothes. My face. My expression.

But something in the reflection feels off… like it’s me but it’s not.

Later, I lay awake at night with my blanket to my chin. I haven’t been sleeping much lately.

Every time I close my eyes, I see her - June. Not smiling. Not laughing. Just falling. Over and over again. And me, stuck in place.

I wake up panting, out of breath with my fists in balls. Nails digging into my palms.

Sometimes I find by window slightly open.

Sometimes I hear footsteps in the hallway when everyone’s asleep.

I’m scared— but I don’t know of who. Or what.

This morning I look in the mirror. My eyes are hollow.

I don’t recognise them. They don’t look tired, just empty.

Something is wrong with me.

Or around me.

Or both.

The silence is turning into something else.

Something darker.