{ shells } tango

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semper
Retired Staff

2,354 POSTS
last seen Jan 1, 2014 0:57:11 GMT -5

{ shells } tango Nov 30, 2013 13:31:51 GMT -5

Post by semper on Nov 30, 2013 13:31:51 GMT -5

Luckily it’s not a chilly morning or else I would have to consider stopping diving for the winter. I’ve had a pretty good run so far this year with all the items I’ve collected and jewelry I’ve made from them (most of finished product I give to Vivi), but I don’t want to end it now. I love hunting for the little clams, I love finding driftwood along the shore, and I love the occasional shark tooth or fish skeleton. Any little thing I find along the shoreline can be made into something and that’s what keeps me occupied when I’m not rolling up a joint or trailing behind my sister or brother. Usually I don’t care if I’m productive or not (because being alive is already quite a task) but these pieces of jewelry are art to me. I put a high level of craftsmanship into each one and it makes me smile to see others enjoying my works as much as I do.

The surface of the sand is warm, but the further I did my toes in the colder it gets. The chill in the sand is a stark contrast to the overall odd warmth of a fall morning; the sun’s rays flatten out the goose bumps on my arm and I stand on the shore, basking in the sunrise. The sky is painted with hues of pink and red, reflecting off the waves that roll up on the shore and the… um… white foamy waves that form farther back. I’m always thankful to live in that abandoned boat right on the shoreline but it’s mornings like these that really make it worthwhile. I enjoy getting up early to watch the night sky steadily brighten and the sun peek over the wet horizon, and while much of the world is still asleep I use these drowsy hours to my advantage.

(A brisk morning swim never hurt anyone, right?) The first step into the ocean quickly tells me the water is definitely cold but I don’t linger on that thought for too long. Without a second guessing myself I spring forward and dive straight in, feeling a rush of air being taken out of my lungs as I go under. The sensation is wonderfully familiar but I quickly surface, gasping for air and gleefully chuckling to myself. (Just don’t stop moving, Huddy.) I swing my hands forward and stroke at the water, propelling myself forward. There’s a certain area a little ways down the shore that I normally go to for my dives that’s deep; it doesn’t take long to get there and I don’t hesitate to go right down.

It’s cold underwater, yes, but as soon as I open my eyes I’m greeted with a very welcoming sight. There are large rocks that somehow ended up on the shore, acting like a wall between the shore and the water, and a cluster of shells has overtime collected at the base of it. I make a beeline to it, moving slowly so as to adjust myself to the pressure, and settle at the bottom. Carefully I rummage through the shells, picking out a few whose color designs interest me, and then I make my way back to the surface. There’s a particular rock that has a cup-like dip on its surface and I stash my shells in it before sucking in a deep breath and repeating the process. I go back down a few more times before the hole is filled with oddities and I’m satisfied with the gatherings. There are a multitude of lovely shells that would make great necklaces or br—um, er, the… things around your wrist, y’know? I’ve made a few of them for Vivi and even Davitt, and today I’ll make them more.

I haul myself out of the water and onto the rocks, enjoying how much their surface has warmed up. (It’s easier to swim without a shirt on but I don’t know why I never bring one along to wear after I’m done diving because it always gets cold.) I stick the shells into the pockets of my soggy shorts and start walking back along the shore to the boat, purposefully dragging my toes along through the warm sand. A hand runs through my wet hair and sends drops of salty water rolling down my neck and bare torso and resulting in another set of chilly shivers to arise. They’ll stop, though, in due time when the sun’s warmth starts burning off the cool morning.

((WOW I’M AWFUL AT STARTERS I’M SO SORRY TANGO D: ))

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i hear the mountains calling me home

Tango
Hunter

61 POSTS
last seen Jan 19, 2014 7:39:55 GMT -5

{ shells } tango Nov 30, 2013 17:46:46 GMT -5

Post by Tango on Nov 30, 2013 17:46:46 GMT -5

Screams. Ghastly, murderous screams screeching deep into the core of my mind, picking at the fibers of my brain and branding my memory with that hollow, eternal sound. Always faint at first, smeared by the waves and drowned out by the gushing of the tide. But with each second they’d grow louder, more defined... they’d climb upon the clouds and bellow through the heavens scorched black and enlightened by strikes of flashing, furious gold. Sometimes it was cold, like ice roamed through the labyrinth of veins throbbing against my aching flesh while frost spread mercilessly, cocooning my existence, devouring me from head to toe. Sometimes it was hot, feverishly hot like the fires of hell swam at my feet and sprung venomously north to strike with impassioned haste at my chest, my cheeks, the very heart of my eyes. No matter the climate that struck upon that desolate rock-face, no matter how loud the banshees wailed, the conclusion never changed, it was there as always to spit and thrash at my soul, daring it to forget, forcing it to remember. Reef. Reef falling into the waves...the waves that would never again permit him to leave their company and instead be constrained in their mitts for eternity.

It was these dreams that caused me to stir in the early hours, it was the haunting that found favour in my presence and excitement in my sweat that reared me from the night and forced me to embrace the mornings with a bitter breath. Perhaps I should have been thankful, to see dusk fall and darkness retreat under the power of the sun, for it was something euphoric, something magnificent... but it didn’t mean all that much to me. Nightfall...Sunrise...They weren’t so different, not to me. Both equally as unpredictable. It just so happened that one had a more malicious stigma surrounding it; like a rumor you just can’t seem to shake. No one ever heard me leave anyway. Or if they did they didn’t seem to care. Things had been different since Reef’s death, like life itself had been drained from my parents, drawn from their breast and seized from the very furnace of their cold, empty hearts. They weren’t alive anymore, I could see it, see it in their pale, hopeless eyes. I’d never been the favourite, I’d known that all my life and I’d never cared, not a single bit. But I’d always thought I meant a little more than something that could be so easily discarded under the veils of grief and misery.

No matter how much it irritated me however, I let it pass. What was the point in fighting for a cause that was already non-existent? They were gone and they weren’t coming back and it didn’t upset me, it provoked no sorrow and ignited no pain... just annoyance, an internal rage that flared every now and again and caused me to break something, just to feel a wave of calmness, a fraction of reality. But today wasn’t one of those days. The house wasn’t worth destroying, it didn’t get a reaction and it didn’t produce the same erratic flush of adrenaline it once had... so naturally instinct threw me straight back towards nature, straight back to the sea.

The walk took no time, for within minutes the sand embraced the bare strips of toughened flesh upon my feet with the warmth of a lost companion. Its encouraging touch enough to diminish all thoughts of the night terrors which possessed my subconscious and throw all concentration to the waves singing their gentle lullabies adoringly to the shore. Seconds saw the removal of the clothes I’d thrown messily over my head in a state of blurry sleep deprivation, the shorts tossed into the sand alongside a white shirt that faded perfectly with the ivory grains beneath its graceful decent. Hesitation wasn’t necessary, for in moments the baltic rush polluted all else, that breath-stealing, skin-tingling sensation of cold water cementing its hold upon your entire being, drawing you closer to your potential grave within its condemning depths claimed me completely.

Time passed as if it itself was an illusion. Seconds, minutes and even hours seemed nonexistent beneath the sea, beneath the world above. Without the restriction of clothes or society. Without the incessant chatter of useless voices so accustomed to talking nonsense that bullshit frequently passed through their treacherous, lying lips. Maybe when we died we’d become part of the sea and we’d never have to surface, never have to be bound to the insufferable disease of humanity for a moment longer. But unfortunately I wasn’t dead and I had no intention to die. Reluctantly after time reoccured to my distracted mind I began to evacuate my escape, slowly, as slowly as possible, I began to direct myself back to land. It didn’t take long, stamina propelled me forwards and the current pushed in my favour and within minutes the soaking silhouette of my body was free to stand in all its pride once more upon the shore, free to bask in the silence and serenity of the empty morning air.