The Drownding Dream

The boy took in the salty air as he leaned on the edges of the ship. The sails caught the wind high above him, making the sound of faint clinking. As he hummed under his breath, a song that was heard by the sea many times. He heard the crew yelling and rushing around but paid no attention to it; he was the captain's son. As he let the warm sunlight hit his golden skin and the salty air rustle his dark brown coils. He let his hands rest on the old wood of the ship’s side, excitement getting to him as if they were going somewhere; they weren't; they were just out for a joy boat ride on the willing sea that took them places far and near. Today though the sea only took them a few yards out.

His pure silver eyes glinted with excitement, as his tan lips closed over them, the world went black. He could feel the ship swiftly move under the waves as the cold saltwater was being heated by the sun. He hit the side of the boat and the barnacles held on tight to look be tacked away with the wave that crashes into the wood said of this old pirate boat that had passed down in his family, or that’s what his father had said. The only thing he got from his father was his sense of which direction to go by the stars. They did not look at all alike he had gotten all his late mother's features.

He smiled as he remembered her cinnamon and turmeric smelling clothes as if he were back in the kitchen being shooed away “raat ka khaana taiyaar nahin hai, apanee bahan ke saath kheton mein khelen.” he remembered her warm hugs and the way her hair laid at her said in a plat, he remembered the way she would scold him when he did not pray to there gods. He sometimes looked into the mirror and saw a son that was grateful to live but also wished the reminder of her untimely death was not written in his so similar features. He clearly resembled his mother’s looks.

He opened his eyes once more as a shadow fell upon him, at first he had thought it was his sister the one that always was up in the crows nest it really was a nest to her when they got on their ship always called off to the girl how would jump on to the said of the ship admittedly then rush up to the crow's nest where she would only come down if she must eat. Her nose was other in a book or sketching the water or the people below. His sister with their father's features had always been good at remembering a face. She even slept up there He would often find her auburn hair undown the curls wrapping around her like fire. Her pale freckled skin clear as the night sky above her when she settled down with a thought to ask for a heavy blanket. The wonder we all called her, the girl who slipped into another world through the pages of a small book.

But when he had opened his silver eyes, there were no wonders red curls to be seen no ivy green right eyes and dark misty grey right eyes staring at him all there was heavy wind in the sails & storm clouds gathering around them as the wind picked up and saltwater flicked him in the face the weather had changed so fast that if you had blink you would have missed it. As the rain started to pour down on the wood deck of their ship. The sails coved in cascading water droplets & this boy's silver eyes caught the worst thing to catch sight of when out on the sea lightning striking the water. His name was being called by a men's voice then a girl sweet one “ Atlas, Atlas, get away from-”

The boy never got to hear those words from the fair lips of his sister. He went over bored as a wave hit the side hard and he tripped as the boat rocked a little to left and he slipped- falling over the railing. He fell into the luke-warm water as his body hit the surface hard and he sank down. Water entering his lungs as he kept sinking, no one jumping after him as his clothes soaked in the seawater as he tried to swim out of the dark, his arms flailing out. He was trying his hardest to kick to the surface he felt his lungs taking in more seawater as he choked on it, the salt causing pain in his throat and chest.

Atlas woke with a start, his eyes snapping open as he came away, still in a dream-like state. He stretched his back and slid himself up the old, ragged armchair, his legs felt as if they had been compressed as he sat up. Atlas looked around. He was still in the victorian library he had been in before when he had come in the afternoon. Atlas ran his hand through his brown coils as his silver eyes went to the shelves all around him. ladders leaned against the walls so you could clean and get what he thought were the best books which were always up high all the way at the top for some unknown reason he had never asked why, they were so high up but now thinking about it he should sometime.

Once Atlas's dream-like state seemed to vanish into thin air, his heart rate slowed and his breathing settled back to his normal, paces in and out. Then he crossed his legs, the strings from his ripped jeans hit his skin, his Irish turtle-neck knitted sweater came over his chin as he buried himself in the softness. His silver eyes caught a book laying in his lap “Starless Sea” he also smelled the homemade cinnamon tea his friend made all the time for him. The cup that had been brought in for him when it was late afternoon was still stinging there, the cinnamon-smelling steam reached his darkly freckled nose.

Atlas lips curled as he leaned forward setting down “Starless Sea” down next to the red Starbucks mug as his hands warped around the handle and he set the mug up to his lips as the hot tea settled in his mouth, the cinnamon making him sink deeper into his chair as he calmed down more from the nightmare he had in his dreamland. As he sipped the tea slowly, so as not to burn his tongue, he saw on a window sill, a couple of feet away from the satin curtain, a partly black cat. It sat nicely on the edge of the window sill their tail looked as if it had been dipped in milk- the end of the cat’s tail was a pure white. It was a deep black outside the window which meant it was nighttime. Had he really been asleep that long? Also how was his tea still warm if he had been asleep for hours?

Atlas did not wonder for long as he took another sip of his tea, staring at the book in front of him. The only reason he saw it was because of a scary thing that his right, silver eyes, had slid to the left a little when he caught a ship on the horizon. In an oil painting the exact ship that had been in his nightmare, it was sitting in the oil painting, turned towards the horizon. At this point, if Fate started talking to him he would not be surprised. Had he seen that painting before? Was it new? Atlas had never seen it in the library before this. He had studied and read for seasons here in the victorian library. He always came here to this hidden cove behind stacks of books and bookshelves because he wasn’t not much of a people person.

Atlas let himself slip into his thoughts. Yep, he would leave the pink-haired women to Zachary Ezra Rawkins, the mystery of the interweaving would be left for his friend Athena to figure out or maybe her twin Artemis would. But this book caused these types of nightmares about a timeless sea, of course Atlas knew that was a complete lie because once he was captured by the pages of a book, there was no way he would not finish it or even put it down. He could hear it calling his name. Ugh fine.

ned forwards causing the long-sleeved shirt under his sweater to get more credible and trusted. As he tried the cinnamon tea, which now had just leaves at the bottom that any fortune teller would love to read, was now just sitting there as Atlas brought his knees up and held the book tight. He opened it to page 230.