&& every time i look inside your eyes [OPEN]
Feb 13, 2012 12:35:39 GMT -5
Post by Skylark Jennings on Feb 13, 2012 12:35:39 GMT -5
There was a brisk wind soaring in, carried by the ocean currents. It was a rather dismal kind of day, the kind of day that makes one realize that it's wintertime. The sea was grey, reflecting the sky, which was grey, and making the whitecaps, which were another, albeit lighter, shade of grey, more menacing. Even the sand, usually so vibrantly golden, had taken on a greyish tinge. Seagulls did not help the monotonous scene with their white and grey colors; it was only their incessant cawing that broke the simple, lulling sound of the waves. That sound was calming, and made a trip to the cold winter beach worth it in and of itself. That and the smell of the salty air. And that calm was what drew Skylark Jensen to the beach today. Her favorite beach days were some other time of year - autumn, when the heat had died down and the bustle of preparing for winter had arrived. Then if she walked the beach, she could look out and see all the busy preparations for the hardest time of year.
That was a much better time of year. With all the rushing around, stocking up on food and other items, fishing to milk that last little bit out of the sea until spring... Of course, fishing did carry on through the winter, but everyone knew it was harder. Maybe the fish didn't have quite the same sense of seasons as people, but the cold infiltrated the water and sedated them. They hid deeper, further out, anything to maintain some of the warmth of the oceans. And that meant less success for the fishermen and women. And much less success for the pearl divers. Lark was one of the most successful, having been taught by her now-absent father long ago, at a young age. And he, in his time, was the best there was. There was a trick to it, a trick he had taught her. It's not enough to guess where the oysters will stay; she had to know. And how did she know? She had to think like an oyster. It was a natural ability, she was told. Some have it, and some don't. But that was not her concern today. She was not diving today. It was frigid at best, even with the specially designed suits that the divers wore, to keep the cold out.
Lark had reached the water's edge, and here she dug her toes into the sand, feeling the minuscule grains between her toes. For some reason, today her mood was worse than normal - regret was the word. Each of those granules of sand represented to her a regret about her life - a friend she had not tried to make, a father she had not known to try to keep. She looked over her shoulder at the edge of the village nearby and shuddered. What she wouldn't give to escape this lifestyle. Not the ocean. She supposed that if she had to live within the Capitol's grasp, District Four was a blessing for one with her talents. But she wanted to be free, truly free, to do as she pleased. She hated being stuck in a cycle where she, nor anyone else, had any control. And she didn't pass up an opportunity to say so. It had made her quite the estranged teenager. The only one who seemed to put up with her sarcastic, ruined views of the Capitol was her mother. Her only family. Her only friend.
She still didn't understand how she had avoided being swept up by the Peacekeepers, and no one else did, either. And they never let her forget it. A spray of the icy water swept between her toes, surprising her - a rapid exhalation sounded like a hiss, merging with the ocean's sounds. She was glad for the momentary disorientation - it had distracted her, and kept her thoughts from wandering more down that path. "It will only get you in trouble, Lark," her mother's voice echoed in her mind. And she couldn't let that happen. Couldn't leave her mother to fend for herself. Couldn't just up and leave, like-
"No." She jumped. The word surprised her, as she had not meant to speak aloud. It was almost the tone of a stranger, too. It was foreign, unknown to her - and she wondered how many days had passed since she had last spoken. Usually, she had plenty to say, much to the dismay of those unfortunate enough to be around her. But lately, or, more accurately, this winter season, she had been much more subdued. Perhaps it was the combination of events - her sixteenth birthday, the anniversary of her father's desertion, the upcoming reaping - but she simply could not get her sarcastic frame of mind back in place. She hurriedly looked around, to see if anyone had heard her talk to herself. As if she needed anything else to prove to the district that she was odd...
That was a much better time of year. With all the rushing around, stocking up on food and other items, fishing to milk that last little bit out of the sea until spring... Of course, fishing did carry on through the winter, but everyone knew it was harder. Maybe the fish didn't have quite the same sense of seasons as people, but the cold infiltrated the water and sedated them. They hid deeper, further out, anything to maintain some of the warmth of the oceans. And that meant less success for the fishermen and women. And much less success for the pearl divers. Lark was one of the most successful, having been taught by her now-absent father long ago, at a young age. And he, in his time, was the best there was. There was a trick to it, a trick he had taught her. It's not enough to guess where the oysters will stay; she had to know. And how did she know? She had to think like an oyster. It was a natural ability, she was told. Some have it, and some don't. But that was not her concern today. She was not diving today. It was frigid at best, even with the specially designed suits that the divers wore, to keep the cold out.
Lark had reached the water's edge, and here she dug her toes into the sand, feeling the minuscule grains between her toes. For some reason, today her mood was worse than normal - regret was the word. Each of those granules of sand represented to her a regret about her life - a friend she had not tried to make, a father she had not known to try to keep. She looked over her shoulder at the edge of the village nearby and shuddered. What she wouldn't give to escape this lifestyle. Not the ocean. She supposed that if she had to live within the Capitol's grasp, District Four was a blessing for one with her talents. But she wanted to be free, truly free, to do as she pleased. She hated being stuck in a cycle where she, nor anyone else, had any control. And she didn't pass up an opportunity to say so. It had made her quite the estranged teenager. The only one who seemed to put up with her sarcastic, ruined views of the Capitol was her mother. Her only family. Her only friend.
She still didn't understand how she had avoided being swept up by the Peacekeepers, and no one else did, either. And they never let her forget it. A spray of the icy water swept between her toes, surprising her - a rapid exhalation sounded like a hiss, merging with the ocean's sounds. She was glad for the momentary disorientation - it had distracted her, and kept her thoughts from wandering more down that path. "It will only get you in trouble, Lark," her mother's voice echoed in her mind. And she couldn't let that happen. Couldn't leave her mother to fend for herself. Couldn't just up and leave, like-
"No." She jumped. The word surprised her, as she had not meant to speak aloud. It was almost the tone of a stranger, too. It was foreign, unknown to her - and she wondered how many days had passed since she had last spoken. Usually, she had plenty to say, much to the dismay of those unfortunate enough to be around her. But lately, or, more accurately, this winter season, she had been much more subdued. Perhaps it was the combination of events - her sixteenth birthday, the anniversary of her father's desertion, the upcoming reaping - but she simply could not get her sarcastic frame of mind back in place. She hurriedly looked around, to see if anyone had heard her talk to herself. As if she needed anything else to prove to the district that she was odd...
