you looked like a swimmer / open

[branch calix oliver]

and, oh! the day never comes—

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[atrb=style, background-color:#efefef; padding:20px] The dull pressure of the water filled his ears and subdued the echoes and footsteps of the room around him to the point where Cal could hardly hear them. If there was any other presence here, he wasn't aware of it: he felt utterly alone. It was a little after six in the morning, and the first wisps of winter sunlight were beginning to diffuse through the windows, sending shimmering reflections across the water. A couple of hours still remained between him and the desert of the school day. He was going to take advantage of them. One length after the next, after the next; he ploughed through the pool with almost amphibian ease, each stroke breaking the light patterning across the surface. At this moment, his mind was free of thought: he felt the sting of chlorine at his eyes, the labouring of his lungs, the reverberation of his pulse. His senses absorbed him - no words, just the effort, the sheer physicality of what he was doing. Being the first person to plunge into that body of water was one of his most precious rituals. The solitude made him feel so tranquil. Cal couldn't tell you how much time passed before he felt like returning to dry land. With a push so sudden it was almost violent, he heaved himself out and onto the side. Immediately, the dignity the water had lent him was torn away, and his body was revealed as it existed: gaunt, ungainly, heavily freckled. With no obvious witnesses, he didn't move with any shame. The tiles were cold under his feet. A multitude of water droplets ran down his skin and his ginger hair was plastered to his head: it wouldn't be long before he would be shivering. Before the chill could reach him, he was striding over to the bench at the side of the room where he had left his clothes and towel. They were gone.

© OXYMORON

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[shi]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 600px; padding: 0px; background: #ffffff;,true][cs=1]	[atrb=width,200] NO I'M NOT COLOR BLIND I KNOW THE WORLD IS BLACK AND WHITE TRY TO KEEP AN OPEN MIND BUT...I JUST CAN'T SLEEP ON THIS TONIGHT STOP THIS TRAIN I WANT TO GET OFF AND GO HOME AGAIN I CAN'T TAKE THE SPEED IT'S MOVING IN I KNOW I CAN'T BUT HONESTLY WON'T SOMEONE STOP THIS TRAIN DON'T KNOW HOW ELSE TO SAY IT, DON'T WANT TO SEE MY PARENTS GO ONE GENERATION'S LENGTH AWAY FROM FIGHTING LIFE OUT ON MY OWN
[atrb=width,300][cs=1]	[atrb=width,200] tagged: cal words: 387 notes: yay for swimmers!
[cs=2][atrb=width,400] Shiloh loved early morning swims. They were almost as calming as playing the piano and he could work hard enough so that he’d end up being somewhat mellow the rest of the day. He came every morning to practice with the team, and even on the days the team had off. Today was one of those days, and there was only one other person in the pool. It was that ginger senior who was also in art with Shiloh. His name was tree or leaf or twig… or something like that. To be honest, Shiloh didn’t care that much, seeing as he hardly interacted with the kid. In fact, Shiloh hardly interacted with those outside of the swim team. He never felt like dealing with drama and politics; yet for some reason he ended up as captain of the swim team this year. Don’t get him wrong – Shiloh was incredibly happy to be captain of the team, and enjoyed his responsibilities. He just wasn’t the most social person on the team, that’s all. Walking out on deck, he stepped up to the edge of the water. Shiloh slipped his goggles on and dove in, relishing the feel of the cool water. His sister was always calling him “poisson” or “fish” due to his inability to stay out of the water. Time flew by as Shi swam back and forth and before long it was time for him to get dressed for school. Pushing himself up and out of the water, Shiloh made his way to the locker room. That ginger kid had yet to get out of the pool – if he didn’t hurry, he’d end up late. Shrugging it off, Shi grabbed his things from his locker and slipped in a changing room to get ready. Coming out of the changing room clad in a warm flannel shirt and jeans, Shiloh noticed the ginger kid staring wide-eyed at an empty bench. Raising an eyebrow, Shiloh spoke, ”You forget something, rouquin? Perhaps you shouldn’t have left your stuff sitting out where anyone has access to it.” Shiloh hung his towel up in his locker and locked it all up. ”Or you could bring a lock like guys on the team do. Granted, you won’t be able to use a varsity locker, but you could use a community locker.”

TEMPLATE BY ROYALSTANDARD OF ETS AND CAUTION

tyle]

[branch calix oliver]

and, oh! the day never comes—

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[atrb=style, background-color:#efefef; padding:20px] There was something about being almost naked - really, his hideous red-brown swimming trunks didn't count as clothes - in front of someone fully dressed that made for a very unpleasant sense of vulnerability. Branch was quite literally exposed. His brows knit together, clearly showing his discomfort, as he avoided Shiloh's gaze. This kid was probably three years younger than him, and here he was, semi-nude and unable to make eye contact. He wished he could claim this humiliation wasn't familiar. "Ginger" rolled off his back without a sting: sure, it was shot at him as an insult, but it was a statement of fact. He almost didn't appear to hear the spiel about the lockers: his gaze roamed around the room, searching for possible places where his belongings could have been stowed. He was surprised he didn't see them floating in the pool. That had certainly happened before. "There was nobody here to have access to it. The place was empty." When he arrived, there had been no reason for him to bother changing in the locker room instead of out in the open. He had taken it for granted that he would be able to leave in the same way. Branch crossed his arms over his chest: his long, thin body was still dripping water onto the tiles. The cold was seeping ruthlessly into his bones. He kept a tense control over himself, repressing the need to shiver. "Ou est ma vetements?" he asked. His command of French was decidedly imperfect, but the evening he had spent with Mallory brought it to the forefront of his mind. Maybe appealing to the guy in his own language might soften him up a little: Shiloh was the only person he had seen here this morning, so needless to say, he was the most suspected culprit. Still, accusations weren't going to help Branch any.

© OXYMORON

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