cold tides/pogue

pup
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Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Sept 14, 2023 20:52:48 GMT -5

cold tides/pogue Jan 18, 2016 20:35:32 GMT -5

Post by pup on Jan 18, 2016 20:35:32 GMT -5

Milen Roxen

My mouth forms an O and a yawn pushes itself past my lips. I stretch my arms out in front of me. My brown eyes flutter open from the yawn and survey the beach around me, waves rolling up the pearly sand and stopping right before my feet.

Because of the cold, not many have ventured out onto the beach as of late especially with the wind causing any exposed skin to immediatly feel numbed. I find the empty beach relaxing and stand on the sand in brown boots, long pants, and a light blue heavy winter jacket which reveals only my face and a bit of my brown hair.

The waves crash against the sand in a rhythmic pattern that calms me and makes me relax. The wind whips my hair around my faces and I need to brush it back beneath my hood so that I am able to see the sight of the ocean waves slapping against the shore.

The wind pulls my hair out of my blue hood again and I need to brush it out of my face yet again before I place my hands in my pockets. Suddenly, I hear the noise of feet crunching against the sand and the thought of who else would be out here ran through my head. I didn't really notice anyone on the beach when I came here so it must be a new arrival. I turn around, my brown eyes ready to look upon the newcomer.

pogue sorry for no fancy table for now. Also sorry that its so short xD

^Made by the amazing Onyx^

pogue
Graphics

1,811 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

cold tides/pogue Feb 1, 2016 22:43:46 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Feb 1, 2016 22:43:46 GMT -5

I C A R U S

"Never got no good doing what I'm told"
_____________________________

He never learned to swim.
But he'd learned to jump.

Wind whips through the orange locks on his head, dried-blood, cracked up knuckles shoved deep into his coat pocket. When he was younger, he'd cover himself with rag tag, holed through winter coats in an endless battle against the cold of the District. Sometimes, when he focuses hard on it, he can still feel the shivers of those childhood days, when the wind would crawl through his pores and chip away at his bones.

Crack, his bones would shatter with the cold, shivers and shakes doing nothing to fight against it. He'd taught himself to make a fire when he was far too young for the responsibility, thrown in the fireplace of a home with walls too thin to cover up the screams and wails of his childhood.

Crack, he'd watch the flames lick at the air, whipping and snapping in a losing battle. He remembered relating to the flame, in an odd way.

Fighting, falling, dying.

Fight, fail, die. They'd snap and they'd crack and every pop that they screamed at him would remind him that he was just the same way as they we're.

Door creaks and pats on the back, once a year his dad would come home with a new coat. Sometimes, it was threading piece by piece, no holes adorning its skin.

Other times, it was dusty and old, worn through and tired. They we're never any warmer than the last, even the ones without holes. But he accepted with gratitude, with love and with dignity.

His dad always took care of him, he always took care of them. Even though he'd leave for months, creak slam of a door sentencing them to the cold, he'd always come back. He'd always return to the flicker of a dying flame, to a dying family.

A week ago, Ingram had spared him one of the many pristine, warm coats he had in his closet.

Sand crushed beneath his feet, it's the only thing in his life who's ever parted way for him. Importance defined by the movement of dirt beneath his feet, shattered ego defined by the movements of the waves to his left.

He grinds his teeth as the memories of a flashing fire fly through his mind, clashing together with the rhythm of the waves, with the rhythm of a water coffin. Clench fists inside his pockets, his father had always decided to return when they needed him most.

He'd mistaken it for caring, for love.
He'd mistaken himself for gratitude, for admiration.

He scowls, he sulks, he spits, watching the spit splatter amongst the ground beneath his feet. Stop, turn, he stares out at the ocean and they waves scream back, laughing in his face.

He feels the water choke his throat, memories giving way to dreams giving way to nightmares giving way to-
He feels the water in his throat

Cough, cough. Wind blows and he shakes his head, taking one step two steps away from the edge of the ocean, watching the hands of the waves clench and drag into the depths of the hell with which they came from. It snarls, the ocean, and then it laughs, deep and cold, heartless and true.

Glance left, those are the cliffs where he jumped.
Where he died.
Once.

But Ingram had kissed him on the lips and had drawn water from his bowels, breathed life into his soul again.

He can remember his eyes fluttering and coughing coughing coughing amongst the stares of his demons and the angel above him. It was the first time he'd met his own brother, yet his sibling had already done more than his father ever had.

Fire on his head, the flaming locks snap and crackle with the wind of the beach. He doesn't know what draws him back to this cemetery, he's never bothered to try and think about why, either. Maybe it was the memories turned nightmare turned reality, lassoed around his soul and dragging him back back back to the place which haunts his dreams, which rules his nightmares.

Maybe its the isolation, free from fist fights and jeers and taunts and dares and jumps into the abyss. He tells himself it is because a small part of him longs to be alone, instead of wrapped up in the yells of the crowd.

He tells himself, he lies to himself.

Crash. The waves scream at him to turn his head and he's left with no choice but to obey, following the commands of the reaper who'd almost stolen him once.

A girl, brown eyes, voice lost amongst the screams of the waves. Invisible, wandering, he hadn't noticed her when he'd come here.

Maybe he hadn't wanted to.
Maybe he'd wanted to be alone, for once.

He nods, half-smile dancing across his face before his eyes drop to the ground, slowly rising back up.

"Hello."

The waves scream, laugh.

"Little cold out here for you, ain't it?"

template by chelsey

pup
Veteran Member

3,008 POSTS

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last seen Sept 14, 2023 20:52:48 GMT -5

cold tides/pogue Feb 2, 2016 20:06:28 GMT -5

Post by pup on Feb 2, 2016 20:06:28 GMT -5

Milen

Crashing and smashing and raging against the sandy shore, the waves create a rhythmic, relaxing beat. My breath and heart take up the steady beat of the waves. My brown eyes turn to face the newcomer, the waves reflected in my shiny brown irises. I blink as a wind, blowing from the sea, crashes along my face just like the waves against the pearly sand.

My arms, tired from the earlier training in the career center, reach up and brush a strand of my dark brown hair that the wind pushed into my eyes. I now have a clear view of the boy who had snuck up behind me. I place my hand back in my coat pocket, the cold already starting to creep its way onto my fingers, trying to numb me to the bone.

The boy looks to be about my age, with firey orange hair and bright orange freckles dotting his face up like it was a paint canvas for an angry child with a polka dot addiction. He is tall and well muscled like most people here in district four, I wouldn't be suprised if he had been trained to kill like me. I am surprised that I hadn't seen his freckle marked face anywhere in the district before, but then I remember how huge of a district this is compared to the many others.

He nods, a small smile playing across his lips. His eyes meet with the sandy floor before raising back up to meet with mine. He greets me, a deep voice echoing from his lips that were a nice shade of red. In my head I think about how cute he is.

I smile back at him and blink swiftly a few times to get the blowing sand out of my eyes, my lips peeling back and parting to reveal my pearly white teeth.

"Not cold enough to keep me inside." I say, my smile continuing to dance across my lips and into my hazel brown eyes.

Wordcount: 335

^Made by the amazing Onyx^

pogue
Graphics

1,811 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

cold tides/pogue Jan 1, 2017 20:53:05 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Jan 1, 2017 20:53:05 GMT -5

There's something different about the ocean in the winter. It screams and hisses, waves pound against one another, crashing and colliding together and jumping out at him, dragging themselves back to the depths before repeating it all over again. The wind whistles at him and the sudden crash of a wave sending a jolt through his skin. His breaths catch in his throat for a moment, his lungs hardening and his chest tightening. The water rushes out to him and he steps back slowly, watching as the water tries to brush against his shoes.

It recedes back inside of itself, biding its time until it can have him again.

"Not cold enough to keep me inside."

Her voice draws him back from the waters and he turns his head, listening to the sound of her voice because anything-

anything is better than the sounds of the waves. He grins, turning back to the ocean before dropping onto the sand,letting the sand snake its way in between his fingertips, grinding against flesh as he rests his weight on his palms.

After a few moments he glances up at her again, hazel eyes staring at her before he raises an eyebrow, patting the sand next to him.

"You gonna sit, or are you just going to stand there and stare?"

He turns away from her, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, sliding one in between yellow-tint teeth and holding it in place with his tongue. He cups his palm around the cigarette, feeling the warmth of the flame as it sparks the cigarette.

The water almost took his lungs once, drowned him from the inside out.

Funny thing is, he deals with the trauma by killing his lungs with smoke, instead.

He holds the pack out to her, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Want one?"