dark waters {billy/abel} ☸
Sept 10, 2017 16:45:07 GMT -5
Post by rook on Sept 10, 2017 16:45:07 GMT -5
☸
The ocean is a greedy creature that swallows up everything it can, giving nothing back.
Little memories swim across my consciousness as I try to envision these quays maybe five or six years ago. The heavy, wrought-iron hulls of the harbour's infamous fishing reavers were so rusted and stale that they resembled dead relics of a bygone age. But when the pink morning sun kissed the horizon and their engines choked into life, they would cut through the black waves like they were gulls soaring on high winds, weightless and free.
The industry was booming. Fish was more plentiful than milk or grain. Not a single person in the lower District went hungry that winter.
But nothing ruins prosperity faster than the greed of men. They ignored the warnings of those who knew the value of sustainability and the dangers of overfishing. The ocean became slick and polluted, laiden with oil that drove the fish away.
The following winter was desolate. The children walked around the District aimlessly, their skin tight to their bones, their mouths gaping and their eyes devoid of any life.
Prosperity wasn't good enough for the one-percent, they wanted to push it until it broke. Fucking assholes.
I look now at the docks, gazing on the age-old boats bobbing up and down on a midday tide, sitting dormant like soldiers waiting to go to war again. I wonder if they dream of those glorious days when the fishermen celebrated their ships, giving their vessels famous names; Suncatcher, Crescent Hauling, Orion Blue. Now they're just registered numbers on a port register.
I stroll down over the wooden pier, trying to take my mind off of the pain in my arms. Dad had me doing upper body strength this morning following a disappointing sparring session with a guy twice my height last week. Your technique is flawless, but your lack of natural strength will get you killed, Belinda. His voice is always so calm, and my response is the usual, Yes, sir. Because it's all I've ever known how to respond. It's all I'll ever have until I'm nineteen and this charade ends. And then what?
The salty air feels good in my lungs. It ignites an appetite that has me looking around the harbour for somewhere to get a quick bite. Their isn't much activity here. The Fishermen aren't fishing, they're drinking. They are tired - their wives are no longer beautiful and their nets are always empty. They lack purpose, save for whatever they can find at the bottom of their pints.
Having no luck, I head further along the shoreline, up to where Dionysus often ties his small trawler. I hope to find my friend, but his boat is not there, and neither is he. I pause, staring first at the pool of water where the red hull of his ship usually floats, and then out to sea. Whilst most have given up on the autumn catch, he is out there, still trying to gather enough to feed him and his kids.
He has purpose in his life. He isn't a Career training for a Games that will never happen.
No, I was wrong. I am the greedy creature, not the ocean. I want for things that I have no right to. I haven't earned anything. Not yet.
Little memories swim across my consciousness as I try to envision these quays maybe five or six years ago. The heavy, wrought-iron hulls of the harbour's infamous fishing reavers were so rusted and stale that they resembled dead relics of a bygone age. But when the pink morning sun kissed the horizon and their engines choked into life, they would cut through the black waves like they were gulls soaring on high winds, weightless and free.
The industry was booming. Fish was more plentiful than milk or grain. Not a single person in the lower District went hungry that winter.
But nothing ruins prosperity faster than the greed of men. They ignored the warnings of those who knew the value of sustainability and the dangers of overfishing. The ocean became slick and polluted, laiden with oil that drove the fish away.
The following winter was desolate. The children walked around the District aimlessly, their skin tight to their bones, their mouths gaping and their eyes devoid of any life.
Prosperity wasn't good enough for the one-percent, they wanted to push it until it broke. Fucking assholes.
I look now at the docks, gazing on the age-old boats bobbing up and down on a midday tide, sitting dormant like soldiers waiting to go to war again. I wonder if they dream of those glorious days when the fishermen celebrated their ships, giving their vessels famous names; Suncatcher, Crescent Hauling, Orion Blue. Now they're just registered numbers on a port register.
I stroll down over the wooden pier, trying to take my mind off of the pain in my arms. Dad had me doing upper body strength this morning following a disappointing sparring session with a guy twice my height last week. Your technique is flawless, but your lack of natural strength will get you killed, Belinda. His voice is always so calm, and my response is the usual, Yes, sir. Because it's all I've ever known how to respond. It's all I'll ever have until I'm nineteen and this charade ends. And then what?
The salty air feels good in my lungs. It ignites an appetite that has me looking around the harbour for somewhere to get a quick bite. Their isn't much activity here. The Fishermen aren't fishing, they're drinking. They are tired - their wives are no longer beautiful and their nets are always empty. They lack purpose, save for whatever they can find at the bottom of their pints.
Having no luck, I head further along the shoreline, up to where Dionysus often ties his small trawler. I hope to find my friend, but his boat is not there, and neither is he. I pause, staring first at the pool of water where the red hull of his ship usually floats, and then out to sea. Whilst most have given up on the autumn catch, he is out there, still trying to gather enough to feed him and his kids.
He has purpose in his life. He isn't a Career training for a Games that will never happen.
No, I was wrong. I am the greedy creature, not the ocean. I want for things that I have no right to. I haven't earned anything. Not yet.
