Chapter One

What is it like being dead and nothing to think about?

Sane's grip around the railings of the rooftop was tight, almost wounding his palm in the process, as he could almost hear the beating of his heart ringing in his ears like a siren call in the middle of the night. He drew a big breath before shooting his look downwards, but immediately looked back at his hands that were sweating profoundly against the metal railings. 

I have lived a good life. Surely, I wasn't a bad person. Will God forgive me for this breach or will he put me into judgment for something that doesn't really speak to who I really am?

It was funny how he thought about being in hell first rather than thinking about the interest of the people he would be leaving if he ever jumped off the building. Maybe it was really true that it was nature for humans to be selfish, and to think about their own welfare first before others. Or maybe it was human to feel human, an idea that he was still trying to grasp. He hadn't thought about until at that very moment, and he realized that maybe, he should've.

Maybe it was usual for people who seemed to not get tired to feel tired, especially with the never-ending misfortune the system seemed to enjoy giving to those people.

Was he really tired?

He was exhausted.

Never did he think that he would get tired of the redundancy of his mundane life. He thought that it didn't matter. As long as he got to help his mom, his family, it was already fine for him. He didn't think much about himself, putting the welfare of other people first than his.

But then he realized, was it really fine? When he weighed things, it felt like he was existing but not actually living. It felt like he was there, but wasn't really there. He seemed to be living the life that one could easily forget, that even the stars couldn't even manage to remember.

The redundancy of his life spoke as to why he would consider it mundane: from 6 AM to 2 PM, depending on the circumstances, he would be in Music Emporium, working his ass off. And if ever there were classes, he would work according to his schedule, trying to balance work and his studies. And he wasn't just studying. He was maintaining grades. He was maintaining good grades. It wasn't easy, and he knew that he wouldn't really able to balance those two things. One would need to break off because he was no genius, he was no prodigy. 

And he knew he fucked up when the letter he swore to himself he shouldn't receive had found its way to their mailbox one morning. He was even lucky he got it first before his mom did because it was such a news. It was the kind of news that would leave someone sprawling on the ground, wishing that the day never happened.

He was failing his scholarship because of his unmistakenly lower grades last semester. The sponsor was backing out. He knew it wasn't anyone else's fault but his. All those efforts and prioritizing, all those balancing, those sleepless nights had been in vain. Everything that he did, even when it exhausted him to the depths of his soul, wasn't enough.

When he found out he was failing his scholarship, he felt like he was also failing life.

When someone failed as a student, he also failed as a son and as a person. That was how he took it.

How would he be able to attend the upcoming classes in fall? It was supposed to be his last year. He couldn't stop, he shouldn't. He had been carrying the heavy burden of responsibility that failing his classes was one of the most tragic things that could ever happen to him. They barely had any money to cater for their family's needs in the first place, and education wasn't always free, and if it ever was, it wasn't entirely.

He had been barely swimming on the sea of expectations, but he wasn't so sure that he would be able to stay afloat.

Sane had become the provider of his family ever since his dad was sent to jail. In a snap, everything fell apart, even his mom wouldn't get up to find work and to provide for the family. The electricity and the water supply had been cut off, and they were left to suffer as they tried their best to survive the harsh coldness of the winter with no heater.

He remembered those nights when his younger brother, Ride, would cry because he was hungry and there was no food in the refrigerator that wasn't even working, and what was left in his purse was two shillings and thirteen pence that he took out of his miserable piggy bank. Those wouldn't even last them for a day, and could only buy them food that wouldn't even fill their stomachs.

That night, he was very desperate to help. He strolled the Grove Street with his identification card, desperate to find a place that would accept him, who wasn't even of legal age, to work. He went door to door, owner to owner, and he got rejected over and over again, sent out, laughed at, shamed.

At that time, Sane wanted to feel pity towards himself, but he was poor, and poor people were most often than not, left with no choice. Shame shouldn't even be an option because if he'd only continued being ashamed to seek out for help, then the three of them could've possibly been lying five meters below the ground with their cold, lifeless body. At a young age, Sane had come to realize the reality of life, that it wasn't as colorful as how other kids saw it.

No one seemed to want to give him a chance, not until he bumped into a guy who wasn't really his friend. He was Edmund Anthony Rosales.

One couldn't possibly not distinguish the guy from afar. He had long brown hair that was all around his long face, thick brows that were only a few millimeters apart from each other, and he was annoyingly noisy.

Everyone knew him, even his mom who didn't go out a lot, and when their paths crossed that night, he swore to the heavens he didn't want to be bothered by his sick jokes. Contrary to his initial beliefs, Edmund wasn't there to annoy him. He said that he saw him going around, looking for work, and couldn't help but feel curious. He didn't mention about him feeling pity towards Sane, and the latter was glad for that. The guy also overheard the situation of Sane's family, and with that, he told him that he could work for a part time in the Music Emporium.

He wasn't even the owner of Penny Lane's Music Emporium so his offer wasn't very convincing. He even thought that he was playing with him at first, but when he started scrutinizing the guy's face, he looked serious, adamant even. Even when he was feeling a little hesitant, he went together with the guy out of desperation. Edmund even said, “Trust me, I got you. You know, I'm a charmer.” and he followed him, shaking his head.

He felt indebted when he was hired just like that. He didn't even need to introduce himself formally. There was no need for documents that he couldn't even afford. He was just asked a bunch of personal questions, including the reason that brought him there, and he was already free to go. He couldn't thank Edmund more and even if he was so loud together with his band, he was a life saver. He literally saved his and his family's life. 

Now, thinking about those hard times he had put himself through just to live and to provide for his family, he thought more about what he would be doing.

Was it really selfish to only think about himself?

He had thought about other people first more than himself. Was it really selfish to finally put himself first this time?

And wouldn't God ever forgive him for the sin that he was thinking? For one single sin? Would he really rot in hell?

Subconsciously, he lifted his head to look at the sky with his puffy eyes. The starless, dark sky stared at the pitiful being that he was. If God were watching every time, He must know the hardships he had been through, right? He'd know that his reason would be enough. He was already exhausted with everything, with the system, with the responsibilities, with the expectations, everything.

With one big breath, he once again felt the tears rolling down his cheeks down to the back of his neck. He couldn't even breathe properly because of his constant crying, and the constant tightening of his chest.

Oh, God.

As if his knees had given up on him, he collapsed on the floor of the rooftop.

“God will provide, God will provide,” he told himself. He tried to remember every single thing Pastor Nicholas told him back when he was still serving their church.

Put God first and he will never ever put you last.

Every single day of his life he had never failed to put God first. He had never forgotten to pray every single day, to honor and worship him. He even served the church because he had been taught to put his Creator first.

He couldn't help but ask whether there was anything that he failed to do as a Christian or as a child of God. He knew that he did everything he was capable of doing, he knew that he genuinely did everything, but why did it seem like God didn't mind? Why did it seem like He was sleeping?

Everything went through him.

The night when they were starving, he locked himself into his room to pray, asking God for help as he could barely hold on. Did the prayer help them not to starve? No. His perseverance and efforts did.

And he thought about those starving African children. Was God putting up a blind-eye or were there really plans laid for them? What exactly was the plan?

He thought about those victims that were ruthlessly killed. They said God saw everything and if He did, He for sure had seen those killings. What did He do? Turn a blind-eye?

Was the Creator really a loving God or was He just someone who was egotistical, who made humans worship him, who drowned innocent children in one big flood, who killed innocent children in the plague to punish one single man and had been turning up a blind eye of everything?

No, no.

He shook his head. It was wrong to think about the God who gave him his life like that. He knew that God didn't work like that. God helped him not by filling his bank account with millions, but by giving him the strength that he needed to continue.

It was a big mistake to blame Him for every bad thing that had happened in his life. It was a big mistake to question the Almighty. 

He knew his Mom would be very disappointed if she would ever know.

He closed his eyes and muttered his sorry. The baggage on his chest felt even heavier. He felt as if everything that he did, everything that he thought of, was wrong.

It was his fault alone and he shouldn't blame God just because he was a little careless. Maybe he really was a little careless. Maybe all those hardships weren't enough. And he was so done with everything. So done.

He stood up once again before looking down. He could already feel the rushing of the wind, the coldness of the breeze, the hardness of the pavement.

And he thought, did she feel the same way if ever the legend was really true?

Afterall, she might have stood in the same exact position he was in. And he might even die on the same spot she did.

He chuckled, his other hand finding its way to the strands of his hair to grasp them.

He thought that the legend was petty and preposterous. No one could have chosen to die a pitiful death. It was funny how he thought that way, but life led him to that same situation that he regarded as petty.

He might even be the subject for the next legend. He could be the next phantom.

What could she have been thinking before finally deciding to jump?

His chuckles were antsy soon after.

And it might only be the product of his own drunk imagination, but when he loosened his grip on the railings, it was as if he heard footsteps behind him. The footsteps were only light, like a child's. They seemed to come from someone who didn't want him to hear that she was there. 

Sane immediately looked back to know whether there was someone else on the rooftop as he realized that he wasn't entirely sure he was alone. He just went there in a rush, and drank the whole bottle of gin. The idea of having the Dead Girl together with him sent shivers down to his spine. He wasn't scared of ghosts nor was he scared of that legend, but he couldn't understand why the beating of his heart against his chest seemed like the sound of thunder. Maybe because even when he convinced himself not to believe, the idea of what he didn't know was terrifying because how could he know if he didn't even know what to look for in the first place?

He was a little intoxicated because of the gin that he spent drinking alone. That might explain why he was thinking about all those things. Why did he even decide to drink in the first place? He wasn't even a drinker. Maybe because he wanted to think about the things that he had been avoiding to think. Alcohol helped him do that.

The rooftop was dark and silent. If it weren't for the faint sound from the Music Emporium and Casbah Coffee Club, the night would have been as silent as the dead. He couldn't even hear the rustling of the leaves from the trees nearby.

He swallowed the lump on his throat, and tried his best to calm himself. It was probably because of the alcohol, nothing more.

Ghosts aren't real. Ghosts aren't real.

He didn't know why it was such a big deal. If he were to see her and suffer from extreme misfortunes, it wouldn't matter because he would be dead by then. Maybe he didn't want his last memory of his life to be haunted by the red eyes of the dead that they were saying. He wanted a peaceful death, no ghosts, no red eyes.

He breathed deeply before looking at the ground that seemed to be luring him in. It felt...hard even when he really hadn't experienced falling from that height. He felt a surge of panic, making his breaths faster but heavier. Gravity would do his work.

He lifted his head to look at the sky once more.

God, I'm sorry.

And that was when he heard the song that immediately sent shivers down to his spine.

At first, he thought it came from the Music Emporium as that was usually the case since bands would often have their gigs in there, but as he listened to it longer, the more he came to realize that the song came from behind. Behind him. It was like a whisper, soft, shivering. And he swore he could also feel a presence behind him. What was more terrifying was that he wasn't sure who it was or what it was.

The thought terrified him even when he was under the influence of alcohol.

Sane was drawing small but heavy breaths. He knew that if he were to stay that way, he'd probably have a panic attack sooner. His head was throbbing a little because of the way his heart beat. He could no longer catch up to what he was feeling.

He couldn't figure out what was happening but whoever was the person who was playing a joke on him, that person must be singing.

He muttered profanities under his breath which he usually didn't do.

With one swift breath, he felt that the breeze that brushed against his skin was colder now.

‘Jump,’ a part of him was telling him to do so but he couldn't move a finger. He just stood there frozen, and he swore he could almost be mistaken as a statue if it weren't for the trembling and sweating of his hands.

He couldn't make out the words he was hearing. It was like listening to that sound one would hear from seashells. It was silent, almost soothing.

And when he felt a cold finger against his knuckles, that was when he lost his cool.

In one flick of a finger, his world started to darken before his hands completely lose their grip on the rooftop's railings.

He wasn't unconscious but wasn't also that conscious to figure out what was happening.

He fell, but not off the rooftop.

He slowly opened his eyes but the world seemed to revolve around him. He couldn't figure out a single thing except for a pair of black orbs that was staring back at him. He breathed deeply as an overwhelming surge of panic travelled through his entire system.

And before he passed out, he heard the soft singing once again. Only this time, he had figured out the words.

“And any time you feel the pain, Hey Sane, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.”

And he swore he heard his name and saw a smile before he completely lost his consciousness.