Post by Joel on Aug 8, 2013 19:02:15 GMT
There was something too lovely about living by the waterside—a peace crooned within him because of it. He could not describe the water nor explain the calm it gave him, that for the briefest moments his tired bones felt at ease and he could feel his muscles sink into the sound of the shore and its continuous lapping over sand and rock. It was a good, simple sound. It was simply substance moving—just the gentle carrying of the breeze and the propelling squirm of creatures below. He had a deep fondness for the good and simple. It was something that one need not think about, it was something merely there and something that did no harm. He could appreciate that. He could appreciate that something merely existed without the existence of another thing, and that it carried on its work despite a forever growing chaotic world. He appreciated that some things in the world never changed. There was a consistency, and the grounding stones of reality still glimmered when one took a moment to breathe and recognize them. He needed the stable and the permanent. Something somewhere to keep him knowing that his earth still endured and he along with it—to know that he was not within the horror of a dream.
The village, though flourishing in its own manner, was quaint, an aspect which he particularly enjoyed. There was something much more pleasant and attractive to him in the atmosphere of a small town—no unknowns, no mysterious strangers, and a specific familiarity and closeness that made it warmer in nature than the plot of a large city. The skyscrapers, raking across the blue horizon and stretching towards the puffs of white made the sun gleam so much colder with its fierce metal and a thousand windowed eyes. People moved with severity and selfishness—also a harsh direction that could never be stopped, always rushing, frustrated, and within themselves. It was too rude and too frigid for him—no , he relished in scent of sun-beaten grass and wheat stalks in the summer wind, the ripples on the fish ponds, the family owned business in old wooden buildings, the entire intimate nature. Though not exactly like the blue memories from his younger and less stressed days, he imagined that what was established now was the closest he would ever return to home. (That word, since the epidemic, had always seemed quite foreign to him. However, with family near and Ellie roaming about, he grew cozier to the word than he ever had in a very long time)
That, however, did not leave this newfound home without its signature cold spots. There were those in the community, certainly, that he did not favor, and those that were allowed to join of which he proved to be exceedingly skeptical. He had trusted his brother to be highly stringent with the growth of the community in regards to outsiders—though joining gave hope to stragglers in the waste, it also endangered those within, leaving them vulnerable to those who may be secretly plotting or aiming to join the community for a less than moral cause. He had learned over the years to become greatly mistrusting of people—often their proved to be an underlying motive or hidden cause than an individual strived for—not that he was immune to such things himself, it was simply that all one needed to survive was one's own strength and sanity and nothing more.
Consequently, he passed near a group of fresh faces, new to the dam community–naturally, there was an astringent sense of disapproval within him as he eyed their standing. There was one in particular, however, whose presence caused him to light with particular disturbance and burning scrutiny. Her secretive nature was difficult for him to accept—he himself was quite mysterious in his own right, but he knew well the type of the community that was meant to flourish near water's edge. It was for family and community, and did not mean to serve as a refugee camp or to pass along free beds and handouts. Generosity was crushed in this world with prevalent greed and hunger for survival. He could not help but get the troubling impression that she hungered for something that no one else new of. Perhaps he could make her reveal and, through this, make himself know.
Approaching the cloaked women (who seemed so intent at making her identity and gender a strictly anonymous thing), his brows furrowed with thick measure over a dark earthy hazel glare that fell with intensity upon her figure. "Hey," he called, his voice a thick, rugged drawl, "Come over here." he demanded, his lips pursed in a thin, unmoving line. "I wanna' talk to you."