Give the blog character, y'know?
CLE
P.s. To you all who read this, I am very curious about why you continue to read (if some of you are regulars anyway). How on Earth do people find things so deeply buried in the bowels of the interwebs?
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The November sky was gunmetal-grey and tinged with lavender; the mass of clouds covered what was surely a spectacular sunrise. Waves pushed up the shoreline lazily, a strange cobalt blue that receded fully from the pebbles each time. It was not the first time either of them had snuck out at four o’clock to watch the sun come up. At least twice a week - there was a schedule set in advance, altered when necessary - Emanuel and Oliver would sit side-by-side where the beach met grass, mostly in silence. Books were allowed, but only if they were read aloud. Sleeping was prohibited, much as it was even in the most stale lecture halls. Sometimes they talked, but conversation was sparse or heavy with accompanying drowsiness.
Emanuel was wrapped in her uncle’s army jacket. She’d probably stolen it out of her father’s closet the night before and would absolutely be yelled at for it when she returned it the following Saturday. No matter how much she moaned about it, the girl loyally returned home every available weekend. To Oliver’s mind, it was something akin to self-induced torture; she had a martyr complex, but God help the person who even alluded to the fact. He was damned if he was going to bring it up now, when she was happily leaning against his shoulder. Well within their senior year, Oliver still harbored affections for the girl snuggled into him. He had never told her, never admitted into anything. Things had changed this week, however, when Emanuel announced her determination to finishing her schooling in the United States. She loved Cornell and Columbia Universities, but often joked about how she didn’t have a shot in hell for either. He hadn’t thought much into it, thinking he was just going after his brother to Trinity - and for what, he didn’t know.
Oliver felt the weight lift off his right side, glancing over to see Emanuel staring bleary eyed out to sea. Rays of the sun caught on the fleeting strands of red in her dark hair, making it light up copper. She was porcelain doll pale with exhaustion, but an untrained eye would not have noticed this. Emanuel wore a touch of lip gloss - something not oft seen in these early hours. She preferred to apply her makeup on the bus, saying "It steadies my hand better". Oliver shrugged at this because he really did not care. His dad told him: "Women'll do wha' women'll do. There's no point in tryin' to keep 'em from wha'ever 'tis they're gonna do". The older man could not have been more right.
The sun finished it's promenade into the center of the horizon line. The sky was harvest moon orange, weak and warm. Emanuel reached down, fingers disturbing the pebbles' peace. Oliver did the same, but eventually tossed an unlucky stone into the steely waters.
"I wonder if we're closer to the Channel or the North Sea..." Emanuel murmured.
"I'd say we're in both, if that makes sense." Oliver slurred a reply. His jaw had yet to get into shape for the day's worth of talking.
Emanuel nodded in agreement. "The North Channel, then?"
"The North Channel it is." And she grinned that bloody brilliant grin at him. Oliver felt his heart tug but stayed where he was. He willed his brain to keep control, maintain as well as it had all the days until then. He half-heartedly returned the gesture, but it felt disingenuous.
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