call the chants inside {dars/aylin}

Freedom's always been a subjective construct within the corners of my mind.

Never so much as tethered to the ground by a shackle clung to my feet, digging the bone within flesh in my ankles in an attempt to prevent my from reaching new heights within stars. Light spills from the sky and over my face, I am bathed in warmth. A sharp grin cracks my features and I run my hands through my hair, clicking and popping my bones to the rhythm of tide and the salted scent of the sea.

I know that freedom's a subjective concept within the corners of my human reasoning, it shouldn't make a difference whether I'm popping my knuckles and clicking bones outside to the sound of the tide or doing the same thing but to the harmonic of silence but the thought of stepping foot outsides twists my scowl into a grin.

My pulse races beneath my fading wrists and I'm left to wait for silence to be broken by the by the tides.

I take the overwhelming silence in stride, ignoring the racing heartbeat within this hollow chest of mine and the heat beating into the back of my neck and grin. I suppose freedom is freedom, subjective or no. After all, whether it's freedom from the burning watchful gaze from my father's eyes and my sister's concern or the freedom to walk the streets after daring picking a fight with suspense then it's all the same. Either way, my joints remain free from iron.

My pulse accelerates with the absence of iron.

I spot them in front of me, too many people to count in the street but it's easy to simply label them as another type passerby within my travels.

I pause, movement stands out from the crowd and there's someone's gaze burning into the back of my skull, like the barrel of a loaded gun pressed against my spine, fingers itching to pull the trigger and leave the taste of gun smoke and powder as my last impression upon broken ships. I'd almost define the pair of eye burning holes into my back dangerous.

(but nothing's as dangerous as the eye of the storm, shattering ships and splintering oars)

Clenching my fists around the throat of suspense, I let my head turn slightly and spot the girl who's just there, suspense and knowledge her weapon within her holster. Dark brown hair, brown eyes -almost stern- and I will admit, she's a looker and she's pretty and it would be a real shame to have to stomp on such a pretty sight. So I my fists loosen and I turn to her, letting my smile return. "Y'know, if you're gonna stare at me then at least talk to me and offer to buy me a drink or something."

She hasn't fucked with me, yet.