Leave me in the sky with the lawn chair

Smell that air, smell the salt, smell the feel. Rolling waves crashing softly against rock and sand and wet type moss and crab and earth. The sound of the oceans movement, all of it, all the waves, small ones, big ones, splashes, surps; comes together to make the static that swells the ear, fizzes out bad thoughts. Weathered rocks, rounded but sharp, faded blades of an old heated conflict cut around the shoreline separating sand, earth and water. Pools in the creases of rolling stone. Grass grows in the spots earth chooses to group, yellow though. Swampy; even by the ocean it’s swampy around here. Sand pools where earth and water doesn’t… but none of these things are separate are they? (Mix and mingle, we just deal with generalities.) Waves crash on the rocks, roll on the sand. Behind the rocks that circle the world there’s a hill, big ass hill, charming to look at, even to climb, but some don’t much cozy up to it. Grassy, weedy, yellow, brown, green, dances where the blow goes, always has, coves the hill, carpets it, thick and thin, strong like an old sailor who’d soon die as he lets go of rope. Hill crawls up to a faltering drop, drop down to see the face, face of the world: their world. face is made jagged, frenzied and chaotic like nature wants and dictates, also like a sailor’s. (Maybe this islands a sailor’s soul?)

On top of the hill is a big blue house, Where it’s not blue it’s white. Smaller at the base then is up top, magical like a children’s thoughts and hopes. But the kids here don’t dream of the island, they dream of land. Boy dreams of adventure, dames, and excitement… on the surface, I think the kid thinks of company more often than not (mainly dames…). Girlly? Girlly dreams of adventure and of being the dame, getting rescued, getting swooned. Dreams of being loved, or maybe just someone giving a shit… both them looking for company, companionship, you’d think they could find it in each other… Not like that though… no, like friends or something, siblings like they should be, as kin, but these two got their own problems…

So these two kids live in this house by the sea, (might as well be “in the sea”.) taking care of them is Charlie. Charlie is their “dad” or their “uncle”. I don’t know what Charlie is, no one else around here knows what he is to them either, except despicable. But no one knows. But we assume, assume because we see, see the sickness in him, see the sickness leaking out of him. Pity ends where kids come in, and I didn’t much feel sorry for Charlie since I’ve seen him; except once… but that was a long time ago.

The three musketeers lived in their chatteou in the middle of the sea, but not fully alone in the literal sense, there was islands everywhere, there’s was the farthest away from town but they were close enough. Well towns an interesting word huh? Let’s try cluster, just dots of something in the big blue gray nothing connected by ropes and twine and boards and boats. All the islands pretty much the same. Rocks and not so dead grass, sand I guess, crabs, crabs everywhere. Like pigeons, and on about birds there ain’t no seagulls left either, not here. So there's nothing to eat the buggers. Remember when I first saw a crab I thought it was the most interesting thing I’d seen. Its way of moving, its features, so alien, wonderful wonderment. Now they ain't nothing more than disgusting to me.

Boyo’s sitting on the rock, watching the waves buckle up beneath his scratched white kicks. Head in hands and back bent looking down at nothing really. Sees the water, sees it crash and slither but the fuzz has got em, drifting away in sweet ol static he looks without seein, hes thinking, about what? Don’t know and if someone bothered to ask he’d instantly forget. Just one of those moods. Girlly’s up top in the shack, looking out from her old glass window at the sea, but actually looking, looking as far as she can. Sky’s gray today, usually is, more comforting that way (in a way). Both kids lost in thought not thinking that daddy’s about to come home.

“Hey!” yelled a gruff unsympathetic voice behind, Boyo looks to see Charlie in his grease stained flannel, opening to a greasier under shirt. With ol worn jeans and scratched untied boots. He was greasy but not slimy (well slimy looking) had unkempt brown hair and a rough face with shadow that seemed to go right up beneath his eyes. Had the look of an honest working man who’d been doing it long enough to be battered but nothing less than hardy. “come on now, I got a job for you.” Boyo picked up and caught up to Charlies back side. Boyo himself was kinda hardy, wiry looking kid, but not without any strength. Blonde and ragged hair forming the oh so varied bowl of hair that’s synonymous with youth, or ugly youth), flat face with a short nose but wide nostrils, and wide jaw. Big ears and a look to his eyes that seem to detest the world; once again, oh so synonymous with youth, though come to think of it maybe synonymous with eyes . Stood about 5 foot nothing.

Pacing behind Charlie he thought about what he’d have to do, knew better than to ask though.