Post by Bear on Oct 26, 2016 17:13:27 GMT -5
If You're Walking Through Hell and High Water
Welcome back post
Cal is sick sick sick
Calloway was one big old rain cloud of misery, and she was sprinkling her piss-poor attitude on everyone and everything she came into contact with. On a normal day, Cal was the color grey. Not exactly warm and inviting, but practical, functional, easy to spruce up, nothing special, but sturdy and dependable. Here she was black. Jet black, coal black, a void, call it whatever you want, all that really mattered was that it wasn't grey.
Cal wondered how long it would be until this little plot of land was discovered. Would they put an amusement park over her grave? Would they ever find the remains of the plane; or would the tide have taken that as it's prisoner as well?
She shifted her body uncomfortably on the large rock and brushed some matted hair away from her dirt stained face. Her eyes never moved away from scowling at the ocean. A few weeks ago this had almost seemed like a dream to her - she was a marine biologist on an uncharted island where weird lagoons sat, virtually untouched by human hands. She had seen coral that she had never seen before - coral she couldn't even compare to something she had seen before. Weeks ago she enjoyed watching the monkeys as they played about over head, their calls lulling her to sleep in her makeshift shelter among thick tree roots and warm island moss. Now the waves reminded her of cast iron prison bars - the sound of them whooshing against the shore sounded more like a gate sliding closed and leaving her trapped. This paradise had become her own personal hell.
A sigh escaped her dry and cracked lips. How was it possible to feel so dehydrated when you were literally surrounded by oceans worth of water? Salt. God damn salt. Tender finger tips wrapped around the smooth belly of a small stone she had collected - in fact, she had a small pile of smooth stones gathered next to her little perch. When you had this much time to kill you could be expected to do silly things like scam the cast beach for perfect stones.
She examined the rock by flipping it over a couple of times in her hand - it was cool to the touch, damp from the constant humidity that hung in the air. With a swift flick of her wrist the rock was sent spiraling through the air, it caught the tops of a few waves, skipping three times before vanishing into the green depths. If she were at home maybe she would be able to teach Neenah to skip rocks. Without her there would anyone teach Neenah to do that? To enjoy the little things like that? Would they tell her how Cal and her siblings would go to the park near their house and skip rocks at the geese? Or about the one time Cal was successful at hitting a goose and the damn bird flew out of the water and maliciously attacker her in revenge while her brother died of laughter a mere few feet away? Would they talk about Cal at all? Or would they pretend, for the child's sake, that she had never existed?
Cal struggled with the memory of her daughter often. She wasn't a religious person, but she found herself praying often for the little blob of genetics that came from her. She thought of strawberry blonde hair, and piercing silver eyes and... little hands stealing another cracker from the bowl even after she had been told no. It was difficult to shake the thoughts. But Cal tried. With every ounce in her being she tried. Cal picked up another rock and without hesitation flung it into the ocean - she only wished she could tie her memories to it and watch as they sunk into the deep blue.
Please Don't do it Alone
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