Title: Lifeless Words
Summary: Her voiced seemed to have disappeared, along with her drive to live. And soon enough, maybe she'd disappear too. But no one seems to know what happened.
Thanks to both sacredstorm (593228) and Frosthold (523489) for beta'ing this story. You guys rock. :)

It was as though she'd forgotten how to speak. Her lips never seemed to part, even when she smiled, and never did a sound escape them. Everyone would've believed she was mute if not for the fact that last year, she talked. Some still believed she'd lost her voice over the summer somehow, others thought she was just refusing to talk. And the stupid ones were convinced she'd forgotten how.

Her family pretended to fall under the last category.

Her head lolled to one side, pressed against the back of the couch, and gazed blankly at the doorway leading to the hall. Her neck muscles screamed at the stretch, but she blatantly ignored them, eyes dull and empty with a stare as lifeless as her body. Her mother sat to the other side of her, desperately seeking her attention, holding up flashcards of the alphabet and trying to get her to pronounce the sounds. Her father watched helplessly, eyes filled with concern, from the doorway. She could hear them, both of them knew that, but she acted as though neither of them existed.

"Estell," her mother's voice shook, "please, say something. Make the sound for the letter 'B'. You can do it, you've done it before." And by "before" she meant a little under a year ago, when the family had last heard her voice. When they had last heard her laugh, heard her talk, heard her cry, heard her make any noise at all. Even in her sleep, she didn't utter a sound, and deep down they knew she was not like a baby that didn't know how to speak English. But was there an other way to try and help?

"C'mon honey," her father's gruff voice broke into the onesided conversation, "She's had enough for today. Just let her be." His hand fell on the mother's shoulder; her eyes turned toward him, brimming with unshed tears. He glanced at his daughter, "Estell, make sure to finish your homework before going to bed."

Estell made no movement, made no sign to show she'd heard his instructions. She only continued to stare at the hallway; her hands lay limply in her lap, legs folded loosely on the couch.

"Roger, I don't know what to do anymore," the mother cried as her husband helped her to the doorway. Estell didn't seem to notice or care about the words that left her mother's mouth; Roger spared her a sad glance before calming his wife with meaningless words of sympathy.

Once her parents were out of sight, Estell lifted her head off the couch and glanced at the flashcards that lay, scattered, beside her. She looked over the top ones, then slowly blinked and looked up. Her father was walking past her, bending over to pick up the cards, and looking toward her at all.

"She's only trying to help, Estell," he said, and she knew this was the truth. "We just want to hear you talk again. We don't know what happened to make you stop, but we don't know any other ways of helping. Everyone's concerned for you, and it seems you could really care less." His words weren't meant to be rude, or brash, or strict - just honest. And she'd heard them before. He said the same thing every night, as if this was a usual routine. And it was.

She didn't bare to listen anymore and picked herself off the couch. Her skinny legs carried her with distinct effort; her hands inhumanly relaxed by her sides; her shoulder-length brown hair like thin paper on her head. Her frame was small; she was short for her age. She looked like she could disappear at any moment. And maybe that's what her family really feared.

--

"Now, Estell, I'm Mrs. Winters, your school consellor. I've heard you stopped speaking, is that true?" This Mrs. Winters was really an Ruby Deshka, but she kept her maiden name for her job. Her hair was a faded red, her roots coated in grey. She had a few extra pounds from growing older, and she looked like a woman well in her forties. Those had been her first words to Estell, over six months ago, and even now she tried to coax words out of her.

"Estell, hello, how was your day today?" she asked, even though the second period of school had only just begun. Estell sat on the vintage couch, head lolling against the back, eyes gazing on the wall next to her. Mrs. Winters didn't seem to notice, or didn't seem to care. Estell had sat like that, in that same spot, every appointment.

"That bad, huh?" she continued her onesided conversation. Even though she may have been old, working too long, and not too pleasant on the eyes, her voice was soothing and she had honest eyes, which, at the moment, looked concerned. But Estell made a point not to look into those eyes.

It had been a long time since Estell had ever looked anyone in the eyes.

"I see your grades are just as high as ever. Such an honor student, you are," Ruby complimented, laughing good-naturedly and leaning forward a little in her chair. "Did you want to go to class?" Estell didn't bother moving her head one way or the other; no matter what she did, Mrs. Winters would find a way to keep her in there until her original class was over. She came here every week for one hour; the teachers didn't mind because she had always been a good student and lately it didn't seem to matter if she were in class or not.

"Have you tried to converse with others?" And by "converse" she meant make inane hand symbols to explain what she wanted to say. But around people, Estell barely moved, and if she was choosing not to talk, she was choosing not to converse by any means.

"Can you tell me about the night you decided never to talk again?" Estell's eyes always seemed to flicker with sadness and hurt whenever this line came up. Mrs. Winters said it every session; just to reassure herself that life could, really could pass through the girl's empty eyes.

And time slowly drifted by. For Mrs. Winters it seemed almost a helpless encounter, for Estell it was just another hour. She had time to spare; even if she knew she really didn't.

"Well, that's all for today. Have a good week, Estell," the Middle-age woman said warmly. Estell only walked out the door, signed out on the sheet, and headed to her next class. Just another hour. After hour. After hour.

--

"Hey, Estell," a bubbly blonde smiled in greeting. "Your birthday's this week, right?" No nod, no response, no sign she'd even heard the question, but the friend went on. "You're turning seventeen, right? Did you want anything?"

Once again, Estell didn't respond and took her seat at her desk. Drawings and words were scribbled all over the desk with a smudged look; she glanced at them, bag placed by her feet, and put her own pencil tip to the wood. She drew a slow, sketchy hand and a curved arch underneath. The blonde watched disapprovingly over Estell's shoulder.

"That's vandalism, you know."

The bell rang and the teacher silenced the class before explaining the next lesson. Math class may have been boring, but Estell never made a sign to show she disliked it. Every class was the same; every class had students, a teacher, and a lesson to be taught. But these lessons only tried to help the future of the students, not the lives.

--

A month had passed. No progress it seemed to the mother and father, or to the friends in her classes, or to Mrs. Winters and her teachers. Her eyes were still empty, still devoid of life; her lips never parted; her movements were still that of a doll, limp and unfeeling. She still made no sound. And now she was a seventeen-year-old girl in her junior year that had not talked in over a year. Had not laughed, or cried, or gotten angry in over a year. Had not lived in over a year.

"Estell! Estell!" Her mother's teary voice matched her grief-ridden eyes. Her calls fell on deaf ears; her body screamed with fear and care. Roger held the mother back. He stared hopelessly after the girl, so small and frail-looking, as she walked away, a shadow in the driving rain.

"Relax, honey, let her go. Give her some time; she still needs some time." He coaxed her back into the house, closing the door softly behind them, and praying their daughter would be safe. Would come back alive, and maybe even alive. He prayed for the same thing he prayed for every night, and got rejected every day. But as the rain outside skidded to a stop and he guided his wife to a seat on the couch, he prayed extra hard that night.

--

Estell walked blindly, moved with powerless legs, and continued with no goal. This had been the first time in over a year that she did anything purely out of want. Normally she'd act robotic, or doll-like, but today she chose to walk out the door, pitied by the sprinkling rain. Her feet guided her to the one place that stopped her life. The one place she never wanted to see, but could never forget: the bridge that connected the cities.

It had been a long walk, but even through the distinct pain in her legs, the rush of adrenaline up her spine, the burning in her throat, she was there. Strangely, she wasn't the only one. Another woman leaned against the railing, head bent to look into the rushing water, curly brown hair resting on her back. She wasn't the skinniest woman, but her curves were clear and her form wasn't large. She was only a few inches taller than Estell.

Without another glance, she walked up to the same railing, frail body leaning against the sturdy obejct. Her listless hair hung about her face, her dead eyes looking toward the water, but focusing on nothing. Minutes passed slowly for the other woman; time passed as it had been for Estell.

"My daughter died here," the woman said out of the blue, not sure herself why she was saying it, but letting it out. "I don't know why I'm telling you, you probably don't care, but it's been too long."

Estell said nothing, but she was listening closely. She showed no signs of it, but the woman didn't need that, she'd continue anyway. Estell made no movement, barely breathed, and waited the next words to fall from this woman's lips.

"She took her own life." Estell inhaled sharply. "Right here on this very bridge. Actually, right here on this ledge." The woman's voice swam in sadness and tears, not unlike Estell's mother when she called after her daughter. Maybe it happened the same way? Maybe it was that girl from over a year ago that she had heard of. Maybe that was why she was so concerned.

"Her name was Sammy."

That was definitely why she was so intent on listening. The memories she could never forget screamed to be acknowledged at this woman's words. She blinked rapidly as unfamiliar tears pooled in her eyes, her hands gripped the railing with more force they'd ever used for a year, and her lips trembled - apart.

--

"What're you doing?" Estell walked onto the bridge, eyes filled with concern, hand reaching out hesitantly.

"I'm not sure anymore," the other girl replied.

"My name's Estell, what's yours?"

"Sammy."

"Why do you... have that?" her eyes shifted to the knife in the girl's hand.

"I'm not sure anymore." Her feet were glued to the ledge, her back to the rushing water, tears rolled down her face; she frowned.

"Are you... okay?" Estell's words were hesitant, as if she didn't know what to say. And she didn't. She didn't know what to say in this situation. It looked like this girl was planning on hurting herself, but Estell had never known a person like this. She'd never met a child that held a knife so loosely and yet so carefully. She'd never known a girl or boy that cried with empty eyes and stood upon the ledge of a bridge. She'd never known of a boy or girl that looked so completely sad that Estell wanted to wrap her arms around him or her at that exact moment and soothe the pain away. She didn't know what to do.

"I'm not sure anymore." And that seemed to be Sammy's permanent answer.

"Are you in pain?" Estell's voice wanted desperately to be strong, to say "I'll help you," but it sounded more like a desperate "Don't die in front of me," voice.

Sammy nodded; the knife she held glinted in the fading sunlight as she raised it. She looked at it like it was the savior of her life, like it could solve everything, and the slowing tears sped back up.

"Can I help you?" A shake of the head. "What happened? Why are you in pain?"

"I'm not sure anymore."

"But if you were..." Estell didn't know how such words come about, but they flew from her mouth.

"My friends forgot I existed. My mother forgot I existed. And I'm just one more person that doesn't matter."

Estell was shocked at that type of thought. Never had she heard anything so depressing. "Why would you say that?"

"How many people are on this earth? How many people? Over six billion, right? I'm just one out of six billlion. And I'm not anyone important. I don't get good grades; I'm not super popular; I'm not pretty. I don't have any ambition; I don't learn quickly. And I disappoint people way too much. I'm just another teenage girl. I'm just another average teenage girl. Soon enough I'll be dead, and no one will remember me. My name won't be any where; I'll have never gotten famous, or well-known. I'd just be dead and forgotten. And now that I'm already forgotten, I only have the dead part to go."

Estell listened intently and frowned. While some of that could be true, while some of that she could understand, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. What had happened to make this girl feel she was being forgotten? What made this girl think she was nobody? What made her think she'd never be remembered after she died?

"Sammy, you..." But Estell froze. What could she say?

That pause seemed to do more damage. Sammy's tears rolled down her cheeks; her eyes shined with sheer grief; her body held itself with defeat. The knife glinted in the approaching darkness. "I only have the dead part to go."

And as the knife dug into her arm, as she followed her vein with the blade, Estell rushed forward. Her own eyes erupted in tears, and she rushed to pull the knife out of Sammy's hands. Blood flowed like the tears in her eyes, like the tears in Estell's eyes, like the water in the river below them. Like the pain pulsing through Sammy's veins.

Estell gripped the knife, the blade biting her fingers in rejection, and cried, wailing. "Sammy... No!" she screamed. "We have to call the ambulance."

"I'm not sure anymore, Estell," she said, letting go of the handle of the knife and raising her arms. "You'll remember me, won't you? Please, say you'll remember me, Estell," she said, despair laced her voice, her expression, her tears, her body.

"I'll remember you, Sammy. I'll never forget you," she heard herself say.

Estell watched Sammy's lips twitch upward in a sad, thankful, tearful smile before she fell backward into the water. Estell watched as her body was lifelessly carried along the river. She watched as the blood dyed the water red. She watched as the blade in her hand fell. She watched, with sad, torn eyes, as her feet carried her away. And as she barely found the power to move, she didn't find the power to move on. This memory, this girl, would be her only memory.

--

Until now, she thought, turning to face the woman. Tears were mirroring the river, lips moving apart to try and grasp words. "I..." she started, voice hoarse from lack of use, "I watched her die," she choked out.

"You what?" Her voice was unsure, disbelieving, and frightened.

"Sammy. I watched her die." Estell's voice was soft and broken, her eyes staring at the light scars on her fingers. "She wanted to be remembered, but she was already being forgotten." Estell kept talking, not knowing how it had become so easily. Her eyes were swimming with self-loathing; her body was rugged with weakness; her voice was finally heard.

"Why didn't you stop her?" The woman's voice was accusing, but a deflated sort of accusing.

"I didn't know how." Estell whimpered, her fist clenching by her sides. "I didn't know what to say. I just remember her asking me not to forget her," her voice cracked, "and I told her I'd always remember her. And she smiled, and then she died. And for a year now, she's been my only memory." He looked up at Sammy's mother, "I haven't spoken a word since that day; I haven't made a sound. But I couldn't keep being silent with you. Not with her mother right by me." Estell took a few cautious steps before hanging her head. "Please, forgive me. Please."

The woman rested her hands on the railing, eyes gazing at the sky rather than the water rushing beneath them. "She asked not to be forgotten?" Estell didn't nod; the mother had been talking to herself. "I would've never forgotten her had she asked or not."

Sammy's mother asked no question, but wanted an answer. Estell knew what to say, knew it was the truh, knew she had to tell this woman. "I wouldn't either."

"I'm glad she smiled before she... died," the mother's voice broke in that sentence. "I'm also glad I got to see you. I can't possibly blame you." She finally faced Estell, and for the first time in over a year, the younger woman looked the older woman straight in the eyes. "Thank you."

Estell smiled, and left.

--

Her hand gripped the knob, her eyes closed briefing as she sucked in a breath. Her feet were sore; her hair was dampened by the rain; her face was tear-streaked. But her eyes were shining with emotions, even though they may have been sadness, concern, and regret, there was emotion. Estell didn't know whether could speak after that conversation. But she kept asking herself what good being silent had done. It hadn't helped Sammy; it hadn't brought her back to life; it hadn't changed anything. But it had kept the memory more fresh. But that didn't seem like a good enough reason anymore. She would always remember, always, with or without silence.

The door swung open, and Estell stumbled. Her mother and father gave her once over, from her damp hair to her soaking shoes. Her father smiled lovingly before guiding her inside, shutting the door softly, and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him, surprised and confused, before shifting her attention to her mother who was now cradling her head.

"Oh, we were so worried," her mother claimed, babbling on. Her father only smiled, knowing that his prayers had finally been answered. It was all there, in his daughter's eyes, no longer empty anymore. His daughter had finally come back to them, for whatever reason.

"Welcome back," Roger said warmly, meaning it in both ways not knowing if she caught that. He knew his wife did not.

A hoarse voice, soft but beautiful, frail but sweet, smiled, "Thank you." Estell's mother only hugged her tighter while her father placed a kiss upon her head.

It was only a start. Estell knew that. But she would make everything up. There was a lot to make up, a whole year plus more, but she'd do it. No matter what.

Thank you, Sammy, she thought, I'll remember you forever. Her arms loosely and carefully wrapped around her parents. She closed her eyes and slowly sunk into the feeling, breathing soundlessly. I'll try not to be forgotten, too, she thought, I'll try really hard; so don't forget about me, okay?