Engraved In Sand))) [Kiara]

[arx!!]

``` ~~~ --- Aryn Jacckson --- ~~~ ```

It's been awhile since my dad has been home. Ever since the day he beat me to nothing but a bloody pulp and then staggered out the door into the night he hasn't been home. But am I worried about the man who drinks himself to death, killed my mother, and does nothing but beat me and drug me until I can't tell if I'm even alive of not? Yes, of course I do. He's my dad. And if I don't have him, then who do I have? The windows in my house have never been open - probably haven't been cleaned since after mom died - but today is a different day. My fingers grasp at the locks that have held everything in for so long. The smell of liquor, blood, and urine. The sound of screaming, crying, and begging. The taste of sorrow and pain and even death itself. I push up on the metal window frame, using as much force as I can muster, until it slowly begins to stutter open, bit by bit. I clench my teeth as the metal digs into my hands and my bruised arms cry out for relief from the strain I have forced upon them. But I can't stop. I can't let the nightmares of this house race through my mind forever. I can't. The window slams against the frame, reaching it's limit, and I breathe in the air that wafts into the house, bringing the scent of sand and salt and ocean. Cool air hits my face, drying the beads of sweat on my upper lip and forehead, effectively getting me to close my eyes and enjoy the bliss. Give me the ocean and I shall rule the world.

I smell fish frying in and laughter and I find myself remembering the the only time I had ever gotten to eat fish. It was the middle of the night, warm breeze just waiting for us to come and great it on the sandy shore outside our little house. The stars sparkled in the sky, the ocean raced up and down the shore, and only a few boats dotted the horizon line. I was only just six, but I can still see it. A child doesn't forget the only time they saw their mother smile. She took me to the docks, giving me the choice at which fish I thought I might want to eat. I vaguely remember crinkling my nose and making a face before I pick one of the ugliest ones of the bunch. But mother had said it was a good choice, one of her very favorites from when she was younger. We gathered driftwood along the shoreline after that, which was really quite strenuous considering I had to stop and pick up every seashell I saw, too. And then I watched my mother create a fire from almost nothing. She showed me how to descale a fish and pick out the good parts and then we cooked it right over the fire. At the time, I had hated the smell, wondered how anyone could even think of bringing something that smelled so disgusting to their lips. But then I tried it, after much resistance, and found myself wanting more. But we only had money for one fish and nothing to trade either. So instead, we lay out on the beach, making sand angels and naming every constellation in the sky until the sun rose and turned the dark blue ocean into a sparkling sheet of orange. And that was the best memory of my childhood that I can remember.

Before I even realize it, I find myself turning away from the window and bounding barefoot down the front steps. The sand on my feet almost makes me smile. Almost, but not quite. The tiny grains stick to my feet and rub in between my toes with every stride I take, but the feeling couldn't be more welcome. I weave my way through rows and rows of beach house, not slowing down for anything. I pass an elderly lady sitting in a chair swing, a little boy carrying too many fish, and so many fisherman that I can't even count them. Some stare as I pass but most pay me no attention, too preoccupied with other thoughts to care about some barefoot girl with tangled hair and a bruised face. I find myself running out onto the beach and up onto a wooden dock lined with boat after boat after boat and filled with so many people that I have to dodge and duck under every arm and leg and plank that swings at my head. Until finally, I slow to a stop at the very edge of the dock. I look out at the crowded harbor listen. Captains calling, first mate pulling at ropes, young boys running across the decks, men laughing and opening up a few bottles of beer. All of them sailing away into the ocean. How lucky they are. Each of them gets to sail away from their worries everyday. Leave them on shore for us land-dwellers to pick up. I sigh and look down. My toes jut out over the edge of the pier and I curl them down to grasp the edge, as if my foot could somehow turn instantly into a hand. I look down past my feet and into the dark blue depths below. I resist the urge to get down and beg.

Swallow me, blue waters. Swallow me whole. Fill my lungs with your salt and sand until I drown. Then hold me forever in your sweet embrace, and never again let me resurface to the nightmares.

Instead I sit at the edge, letting my feet dangle and my face turn to the breeze. I close my eyes, letting my other senses swallow me up and take control. And for the first time in a very long time, I can feel the edges of my lips perk up ever so subtly. Some days, just some, I am glad I am alive.

[Words: 1008]

[mcmarti99]

Don't let me tumble away
Into the throws of the shadowy bay
I cling to the rock
And it's crumbling off

[/font][/i]
[/size]

The sun started to burn through the layers of sweat on my skin. I felt like I was running from something I couldn't escape. Every step I took in the burning sand, the ground seemed to slip out from under me. I stumbled often, but never made it all the way to the ground. Always righting myself so I could keep running from whatever was chasing me. From whatever continuously stole the ground from under my feet. My hair was completely drenched with the moisture that covered my entire body. It was like I was a droplet of water. Stinky, filthy, water that was tumbling from the sky, it's feet searching for ground. Then reality hits, then I splat against the concrete.

[/i] But I felt more like tumbleweed. Something of emptiness bowing around at the mercy of the breeze. Something breathless and without life. The heart sending blood rushing to my ears proved me wrong. Along with the constant beat of my heart, my breath rung in my ears. I was alive.

Suddenly, the ground fell out from under me, and I was not able to catch myself. I tumbled to the ground, picking up a mouthful of sand. Where the ground had fallen beneath me was close to the water's edge. The slope I had tumbled onto was a downhill slope, and before the hole in the ground could close, before I could right myself again, I was laying in the hard sand. The sand by the water's edge, and the water crept up on me now. Willingly taking me back into the sea with it. But I fought. I was alive. Hadn't I just proved that to myself? The water did reach me, but I lay there, unwilling to let the water pull me away. But I allowed it to wash over me, taking a layer of sweat with it. Causing my to choke up the sand that had made itself into my mouth.

I lay there for quite awhile. Letting the water wash over me, removing layer by layer of sweat until I was pleasantly cool. Allowing the water to approach and recede over me, but not to take me, just the layers of sweat and sand. I was much too heavy for the water to grasp anyways. The surf wasn't that big today. My eyelids started to flutter. Butterflies are too innocent to define me.[/i] Slowly, the waves grasped me, pulling me little by little into the sea. I'd let myself slip away, I'd stayed true to the tumbleweed.[/i] I drifted out to sea, closing my eyes, and flowing at the mercy of the breeze.

Before I knew it, the waves had consumed me, pulling me into their peaceful hold, and rocking me to sleep like a mother. Like my mother. Only I didn't sleep. I knew better than to sleep while I was submerged in water. Instead, I lie on my back, letting the salty water form a barrier against the harsh sun. Keeping my ears underwater was so much easier then forcing them to listen to the sounds of the world. The hustle and bustle at the nearby docks, the violent crash of waves against the rocks lining the beach. The water had no sound. And under it, was like a silent peace of eternal heaven. But soon enough, my "eternal" heaven of silence was broken. My head slammed into a pole holding up the pier that stretched far out into sea, away from the docks. I hadn't noticed I'd floated that far. I grudgingly heaved myself out of the holy water by a ladder on the side of the pier I'd bumped into. My expectations were that I'd be alone, that I could let my feet dangle off the edge until either the rotted boards burned my skin, or the sun had it's same effect. My expectations however, were wrong. Sitting on the edge of the pier, in the same place I'd imagined myself sat a girl. She looked alright, and I sauntered over to sit next to her. I didn't look at her. I just wiped some of the water that had stuck to my bare chest into the ocean in front of us. The expansive water stretched father than our human eyes could. I wondered if the girl was familiar with the water. My legs dangled much lower off the pier than her's. I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing some of the water from it towards the opposite side of the boards from the girl. I wasn't really sure why I'd come over here to sit next to her. Not one for socail situations, I'd hoped she'd start up some sort of conversation, or even ask me to leave if that's what she wanted. Just for some reason I wanted some sort of human interaction today. Someone who wasn't one of the snobs at the Career center, or a poor kid scavenging for food by the docks. I just wanted to talk to someone normal.

I stole a quick glance at her face. And realized maybe I was wrong. She didn't look normal. Bruises coated her freckled face, but I hardly noticed that. What I noticed, and had never seen before, were her blue eyes. I'd seen plenty of blue eyes in my time, living in District 4, it was more commom then not. But these weren't blue like the horizon on a clear day. They weren't any common shade of blue. They were like a deep teal, a mixture of the ocean and sky. They were completely memorizing, extremely distracting, and beautiful. I couldn't break my gaze from them, but my eye often darted to the millions of freckles that dotted her under eyes. If I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have seen those little speckles. I imagined from a distance, the girl's eye bags and droopy expression would grab one's attention more than her eyes, or the freckles. But I hardly noticed anything besides her eyes and speckles. I almost slapped myself, I was being rude. I knew better than to stare at a girl for any length of time without a noticeable reaction.

"I'm sorry. It's just.. you're eyes. They're very unique, intruiging even.."[/b] I muttered, directing my gaze away from her and back into the ocean quickly. A little tint of red rose to my cheeks and I shifted a tad closer to her, hoping she would take it the right way. Hoping she wouldn't think I was weird, but I wasn't done yet. My gaze drifted down to my hands, and I watched as I made them fold over themselves over and over. I realized then, why her eyes were so intriuging to me. They were like the ocean. Also known as my eternal heaven.[/size]

Toss me a heavy rope

[/font]
It's a slippery slope[/font]
Come bail me out
Of this God forsaken precipice[/right][/i]

-Word Count: 1050-

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[arx!!]

--- Aryn Jacckson ---

I remember when I used to dream of happy things. It was years ago, back when I was too naive to understand that my household was much more complicated than other kids'. Back when my mom told me to go outside and play when dad took her hand. Back when I was too little to understand that it wasn't normal for a daddy to hit a mommy. Back when I huddled in a corner and cried when I heard mom screaming from behind their locked bedroom door. I had happy dreams then - sad, I know, but it's the truth. I was a little girl who dreamt angels and mermaids and every other kind of mythical creature I was ever taught about and of drifting slowly away from the land that holds me so tightly - a tiny boat with a tiny sail carrying me off into the sunset and away to a different place where there wasn't so much yelling and screaming and crying and bruises. The place where an innocent little girl would never be harmed. But that was when mommy was still around. That was before dad killed her and and everyone believed him when he said he didn't. That was before he turned to his daughter when he couldn't find mom in his drunken stupors. That was before he hit me and stuck a needle in my arm to keep my high for all eternity - to keep me endlessly frightened and loyal of him. I dreamed happy things when mom was hurting and I was watching - and I hate myself for that.

But now every night I have nightmares - at least if I can get to sleep. I shudder and sweat and cry for no apparent reason. I'm slowly losing control and I'm not sure if I will ever regain it. Staring into the distance, watching the waves roll over and over and over, I can almost forget that I'm going through withdrawal. There used to be a day I wished that I would never have a needle forced into my skin, but now that I know what I am without it, I'm not sure I can stand much more of it. I searched through the entire house - drawer after drawer after drawer - but I cam e up completely empty, crying at the idea that I may never get any ever again. My fingers begin to twitch against the wood of the pier and I clamp my hand down on the edge, letting myself lean farther out over the edge in an attempt to forget - perhaps, even, a chance to deny the truth. But I can't. The truth is: If dad doesn't come home soon and stick me with a needle, I will become completely lost. I used to walk around in a daze, watching bugs crawl over my body and wake up in the middle of nowhere, my throat rubbed raw from screaming and my arms scratched to bits as I tried to kill the bugs that, no matter what I did, always swallowed me whole, crawling into my eyes and ears, choking me ...

Suddenly I'm awakened from my deep thoughts by a voice. "I'm sorry. It's just.. your eyes. They're very unique, intriguing even.." I turn my head, realizing he must've been sitting there for awhile now, watching me. I look away just as he does, my eyes suddenly blurring the ocean in front of me. I blink, trying to get my vision to clear, but instead it only gets worse. My head spins and I instinctively lash out, my hand finding the boys shoulder.I steady myself, rubbing my hand over my eyes, attempting to rub out the swirling of the Earth in front of me. I push off the boys shoulder and get to my feet, everything coming back into line as I get to my feet. I take a few steps back, finding my balance as a back into a pole. My eyes? They are nothing but dead orbs of deception and lies. I lean against the pole, my hands behind my back and look down at the boy, confused. I know I should probably just walk away, seeing as the last time I met a boy I couldn't even remember the encounter the next day. But as I blink at him, I find his face morphing into my father's and I wonder if maybe, just maybe, he happens to know where the drugs are.

"I'm sorry ... Do I know you?"

[mcmarti99]

Don't let me tumble away
Into the throws of the shadowy bay
I cling to the rock
And it's crumbling off

[/font][/i]
[/size]

Her hand finds my shoulder, and her fingers cling to it like it's her last chance at life. The girl's hands rub her eyes, and I wonder if I'd offended her by talking about her eyes. Surely she wasn't trying to scratch them out, right? I moved my hand to stop her, so maybe I could gaze into those blue orbs some more, but she stood, her fingers again digging into my shoulder. She stumbles backwards, and I stand, ready to catch her or even dive in if need be. But she rights herself, her hands behind her back to a pole. Something sparks in her eyes. Something my mother described to me once. "Ashton, it's a longing more desperate than anything. And I'm glad you'll never live to see it."

[/i] But he was seeing it. And he knew what it meant. Somehow, his young brain had formed the image of this longing his mother told him about in his eyes, aged it a few years, and lived life thinking that was what his father looked like.

Now he hoped he was wrong. The girl's features looked distraught now that he could see her full body. Beneath the clothing, it was obvious that her body had suffered some kind of abuse. Now he questioned the image of his father- had he looked that distraught? Her baggy clothes concealed most of it. But just on the tips of her ankles, on the hidden features of her face, on the bruises coating her shaking hands, I could see the abuse the drugs had caused. I never imagined it would be so bad. Then I looked closer, and the blotches I thought the drugs had caused were throbbing. Bruises. I remembered my first bruise. It was when I was little. I'd slipped on the rocks by the shore, trying to gain independence from the balancing hand of my mother. I was too little, too unbalanced, and I'd tumbled into the tide pool, my legs scraping against the rocks, painting the water red. Tears had welled in my eyes, but my mother had picked me up and sat me on the beach. We'd waited till nightfall, then watched the stars.

The girl's hair lay in tangled mats, covering most of her face. But her swelled eyes, the unnatural curvature of her nose, and the sadness in her eyes I'd seen past were clear now. She looked frightened. It wasn't just general fear though. There was something behind the intent gaze of her eyes, how they changed as they stared into me, that almost scared me. "I'm sorry ... Do I know you?" Her voice came slow and unsteady, barely audible. I sat as the expression on her face changed and shifted uncomfortably. Her stare so intent on me... She didn't know who I was, but I knew what she was. This girl, this frail, fragile looking girl with beautiful eyes was addicted to drugs. I never met my father, but he was too. My mother only told me about it when I was twelve, after some kids a few grades above me offered me some morphing.

I stood, trying to hunch my shoulders, trying to not look intimidating. I still towered over her, which was hard not to do since I was 6'1. My feet inched closer to her, my body following slowly. "No. But I'm Ashton..." I spoke, not finding any other words to say. Something inside me told me to get her to come with me. To take her somewhere safe, where she could recuperate and maybe get over her addiction. Some protective part of me told me to stay with her, to make sure she was safe. I knew though, from the scared look on her face, that I wouldn't be convincing enough. She'd never trust me. '' I stepped closer, so that only a few inches separated us. I needed to get her somewhere... and I knew the perfect place. My own dear, mixed with that of her own was terrifying. I didn't wish to scare her. I just wanted to help.

As gingerly as my man-hands could, I stretched my fingers out to her, taking her hand in mine. My eyes darted to her's searching for any signs of fear. Confusion more than anything was evident in her gaze at our hands. Or rather, my hand enveloping her's. "I promise I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm here to help. Just please... don't be afraid of me." I took a deep breath in through my mouth and slightly tugged on the girl's hand, pulling her next to my side without even trying really. She fell against me and I righted her, trying to keep my touch gentle. I placed my hand over her hip on the opposite side from me, still keep a hold on her hand. Pushing slightly on her bony side, I pulled her further into my side, trying to support as much of her weight as possible. I'd wished that she'd just go along with it and let me carry her, but the scratching that came against my hand proved me terribly wrong.

The girl had used her hand I hadn't contained yet, and scratched at the skin on my knuckles. I winced in pain, but moved forward. She tried to stay behind, but I pushed gently on her back and she moved with me. Her clawing at my hand became more and more fierce, and her body tried to tug away from me. With little success, however. As I was much stronger than her. I pushed harder on her back until her steps became even with mine, her nails still clawing at me and her body trying to maneuver out of my grasp. It pained me to see her this way, to force her to do something she didn't want to. But it felt like I had to. We weaved through the crowd, her struggles become more noticed the more dense the crowd became. I pulled her closer into my side, applying more pressure to her hip. With my forearm, I was pushing her along. With my hand, I was holding her's, trying to ignore the pinches of my skin. With my other hand, I was pulling her hip closer into me. I lead her off the docks, and didn't take a moment to stop before we reached the sand on the beach.

The minute the docks business was left behind us, I swooped her up in my arms, her weight unbelievably light. Her body squirmed against my grip, making carrying her a bit more difficult than I had originally though it would. I positioned one of my arms under her legs, on the underside of her knee cap. My other hand, I used at the small of her back, trying to hold her steady as I quickened my pace. She struggled more and more, but never did I let go of her. Never did I stop to tend to the blood on my knuckles.

I carried her along the beach for quite a while, her struggles lessening with each step. I slowed my pace as we approached an opening in the palm trees across the sand from the ocean. As I bent to set her down, her last struggle was her nails slapping me across the face, the blood dripping down in tiny bits. I had planned on setting her down easy, but my hand tried to automatically rub my cheek, and she started to tumble to the ground. Quickly, before she touched the ground, I snuck a hand under her back, lessening her fall. Still, she hit the ground with a thud. My body landed just slightly to the left of her's. I sat up before she had the chance to and leaned half my body over her so she couldn't get up. Some sand seeped into the cuts on my hands, but I watched the girl's eyes, hoping that someday, she'd forgive me for what I just did.[/size]

Toss me a heavy rope

[/font]
It's a slippery slope[/font]
Come bail me out
Of this God forsaken precipice[/right][/i]
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]