insert_cliche_here
12-18-2010, 01:33 AM
I wrote this the other day. Just thought I'd share it 'cause I'm happy that I finally wrote something again :D
It has a swear word in it, but that will be censored by the forum. I'm sure you can figure out what it is.
I am drowning. The ocean flows around me, stretched endlessly in all directions. The horizon is slashed across my vision, a blurring of blues with dashes of orange where the sun is sinking into the sea. The salt water soaks into every pocket of my lungs and the spray from the waves stings my eyes like tiny knives hacking at my ocular nerves. The vastness is suffocating. I fear it will soon overwhelm me and I shall be dragged to the bottom of the sea. Perhaps I will eventually wash up on the distant shore, left to rot in the sun as a warning to others foolhardy enough to venture into these waters. For now I just bob up and down in the undulating tide.
My clothes billow around my body. Such beautiful things, the fine threads laced together so intricately, yet so carelessly, layer upon layer to form a shirt, a skirt, shields, protection from the malicious eyes of others. Eyes that seek to undress me, and behold my flesh, the corrugated, anemic wasteland it has become. This vessle I use to move about, arms and hands and legs and arse, hair and eyes and lips and tongue, and ****. Fingernails. Fingers. No scars that tell a story. No veins, swimming just below the surface, taking blood to my constantly beating heart. No hairs imperceptibley longer than others, speckled along my antibrachium. No toes. Toes are unimportant. Toes are bland and frigid, providing no pleasure and peeking no interest. But fingers, fingers are sensual. Fingers tracing lines on skin, fingers exploring parts unknown. Fingers slipping over a lip, circling a tongue. Pulling, pinching, plucking. Toes can do none of this. So here I float, only the useful parts of a body, surrounded by sodden clothes designed to protect. But the fabric has frayed. The colour has been leached out of the once vibrantly dyed cotton leaving only warped threads the colour of the vomit you produce when you've drunk too much vodka. Yellowy and pale. Inadequate amour against an on-going assault.
At some point I realise I have been here for days, weeks even, maybe months. While I've floated around, blissfully unaware, the sea has been slowly seeping into my skin. The salt crusts around my pores, leaving an abrasive coating I can't scratch off. The sand settles in my hair, clinging to my scalp like a drowning man clutches a lifebuoy. The ocean demands all of me. It infests my being, infiltrates my body, engulfs my defenses. The waves are becoming more violent. They rise above me and shower me with droplets of acrid liquid that burn my eyes. The water surges into my mouth and I try to cough it out but it forces itself down my throat. I feel it blistering the soft flesh as it passes, scarring me, marking me as its own. The waves again tower over me and this time they topple and crash, sending me spinning under the surface. I writhe and reel, spiralling into the pressing darkness. The pressure hammers on my ear drums, the resounding beat making my whole head throb. My skin prickles. More water rushes past my chapped lips and floods my lungs. I choke and struggle, but the weight of the waves holds me down. I force my legs to kick through water that feels like hardening cement. I raise my face to the light and grapple with the foam as I break through to the surface. Fresh air whips my face and forces my tired lungs to absorb it. I breathe in gaps and silences. Nothing matters but my obtainment of more oxygen.
The sky is pink now, streaks of pale scarlet fleck the blue expanse like scratches on an rapist's face. The light is fading and in the growing darkness I don't see the flotsam that smashes into my skull, breifly pushing my head under the water again. A piece of wood no doubt, worn smooth by the swirling sand. I touch my scalp and discover blood there. There is nothing I can do but wait.
One by one the waves draw up and tumble down, regather and collapse, ceaseless, ageless motions to which I am meaningless. I am tossed like an empty bottle, twisted in the current and dragged under the surface. My clothes tug at me, as though drawn by magnetic forces to the ocean's floor. They constrict me, wrapping around my limbs so I can't keep myself afloat. I tear at the fabric, trying to prise it from my skin, but it is fused to me, every hair on my body is entwined with the threads of my amour. The weight of my waterlogged accroutrement holds me still as the ocean draws back. I am sucked into the hollow as though it is a sink hole and the sea is draining away. Above me the wave builds higher and higher, obscuring the sky, plumetting the world around me into darkness. I shiver uncontrollably as the air whisks upwards. The crescendo cracks. The wall plunges down, folding in on itself with the sound of demons escaping hell through the fissure that has surely opened in the earth. The sky has been slashed open and the last shreds of oxygen are ripped from my lungs as I am driven deep into the gaping mouth of the ocean. It swallows me.
For a moment I naively struggle, determined in my belief that I can break the surface again. But all at once I realise I will never taste the sweet, biting air, I will never feel the sand, the earth beneath my feet, I will never experience the sun's carress of my wasted skin again. I swirl my arms through the water, creating trails of bubbles and finally let my shields down. They float about me, as though dancing. The water ripples and rolls across me, no longer menacing, no longer suffocating, but playful, helpful, like a child and mother in one. It embraces me as I close my swollen eyes and absorb it. It takes my body, even the useless parts, it takes my clothes, my sheilds and armour, it takes all of me. I am drowned.
It has a swear word in it, but that will be censored by the forum. I'm sure you can figure out what it is.
I am drowning. The ocean flows around me, stretched endlessly in all directions. The horizon is slashed across my vision, a blurring of blues with dashes of orange where the sun is sinking into the sea. The salt water soaks into every pocket of my lungs and the spray from the waves stings my eyes like tiny knives hacking at my ocular nerves. The vastness is suffocating. I fear it will soon overwhelm me and I shall be dragged to the bottom of the sea. Perhaps I will eventually wash up on the distant shore, left to rot in the sun as a warning to others foolhardy enough to venture into these waters. For now I just bob up and down in the undulating tide.
My clothes billow around my body. Such beautiful things, the fine threads laced together so intricately, yet so carelessly, layer upon layer to form a shirt, a skirt, shields, protection from the malicious eyes of others. Eyes that seek to undress me, and behold my flesh, the corrugated, anemic wasteland it has become. This vessle I use to move about, arms and hands and legs and arse, hair and eyes and lips and tongue, and ****. Fingernails. Fingers. No scars that tell a story. No veins, swimming just below the surface, taking blood to my constantly beating heart. No hairs imperceptibley longer than others, speckled along my antibrachium. No toes. Toes are unimportant. Toes are bland and frigid, providing no pleasure and peeking no interest. But fingers, fingers are sensual. Fingers tracing lines on skin, fingers exploring parts unknown. Fingers slipping over a lip, circling a tongue. Pulling, pinching, plucking. Toes can do none of this. So here I float, only the useful parts of a body, surrounded by sodden clothes designed to protect. But the fabric has frayed. The colour has been leached out of the once vibrantly dyed cotton leaving only warped threads the colour of the vomit you produce when you've drunk too much vodka. Yellowy and pale. Inadequate amour against an on-going assault.
At some point I realise I have been here for days, weeks even, maybe months. While I've floated around, blissfully unaware, the sea has been slowly seeping into my skin. The salt crusts around my pores, leaving an abrasive coating I can't scratch off. The sand settles in my hair, clinging to my scalp like a drowning man clutches a lifebuoy. The ocean demands all of me. It infests my being, infiltrates my body, engulfs my defenses. The waves are becoming more violent. They rise above me and shower me with droplets of acrid liquid that burn my eyes. The water surges into my mouth and I try to cough it out but it forces itself down my throat. I feel it blistering the soft flesh as it passes, scarring me, marking me as its own. The waves again tower over me and this time they topple and crash, sending me spinning under the surface. I writhe and reel, spiralling into the pressing darkness. The pressure hammers on my ear drums, the resounding beat making my whole head throb. My skin prickles. More water rushes past my chapped lips and floods my lungs. I choke and struggle, but the weight of the waves holds me down. I force my legs to kick through water that feels like hardening cement. I raise my face to the light and grapple with the foam as I break through to the surface. Fresh air whips my face and forces my tired lungs to absorb it. I breathe in gaps and silences. Nothing matters but my obtainment of more oxygen.
The sky is pink now, streaks of pale scarlet fleck the blue expanse like scratches on an rapist's face. The light is fading and in the growing darkness I don't see the flotsam that smashes into my skull, breifly pushing my head under the water again. A piece of wood no doubt, worn smooth by the swirling sand. I touch my scalp and discover blood there. There is nothing I can do but wait.
One by one the waves draw up and tumble down, regather and collapse, ceaseless, ageless motions to which I am meaningless. I am tossed like an empty bottle, twisted in the current and dragged under the surface. My clothes tug at me, as though drawn by magnetic forces to the ocean's floor. They constrict me, wrapping around my limbs so I can't keep myself afloat. I tear at the fabric, trying to prise it from my skin, but it is fused to me, every hair on my body is entwined with the threads of my amour. The weight of my waterlogged accroutrement holds me still as the ocean draws back. I am sucked into the hollow as though it is a sink hole and the sea is draining away. Above me the wave builds higher and higher, obscuring the sky, plumetting the world around me into darkness. I shiver uncontrollably as the air whisks upwards. The crescendo cracks. The wall plunges down, folding in on itself with the sound of demons escaping hell through the fissure that has surely opened in the earth. The sky has been slashed open and the last shreds of oxygen are ripped from my lungs as I am driven deep into the gaping mouth of the ocean. It swallows me.
For a moment I naively struggle, determined in my belief that I can break the surface again. But all at once I realise I will never taste the sweet, biting air, I will never feel the sand, the earth beneath my feet, I will never experience the sun's carress of my wasted skin again. I swirl my arms through the water, creating trails of bubbles and finally let my shields down. They float about me, as though dancing. The water ripples and rolls across me, no longer menacing, no longer suffocating, but playful, helpful, like a child and mother in one. It embraces me as I close my swollen eyes and absorb it. It takes my body, even the useless parts, it takes my clothes, my sheilds and armour, it takes all of me. I am drowned.