three two one count it down
swim or drown
One of the concrete rules of the way of the world is no one is born with wisdom; it is earned and bought and paid with and suffered for. Atlas has the ghosts and scars of old wounds to prove it; the nightmares that grind his teeth at night and give him migraines. His learned tongue is the product of innocent sessions such as schoolmarm switches and a youth embroiled in a culture of respect, and visions of horrible, horrible, things, that steal the breath from your lungs and make language turn to useless dust in your mouth.
He is glad Kibou is absent of such lessons, for he thinks nothing would be sadder than the suffering of such a nice, young boy.
The boy is proud of his mother and Atlas sees a heaving chest and blood streaming from nostrils. He plasters a smile on his face, anyhow. What had his own mother ever done for him that would earn his sorrow besides lecture him on not having children. “She sounds admirable,” Atlas said, instead, turning away from silk spread on a damask tile floor. He had heard, vaguely, of Katniss, Denocte’s Champion, though aside from whispers and her title he could not even put a face to the name. To rectify this, he says “I should like to meet her some day.”
He watched Kibou go to town on his ice cream cone and felt, not for the first time, incredibly stupid; but his young friend seemed to know what he was doing and Atlas relaxed as he called out his instructions. He watched with unbroken fascination as the vendor deftly rolled the scoop in desiccated coconut and then topped it with another scoop, of chocolate studded with chunks of both the dark and white varieties. He ladled a white sauce over it and handed it across the bench, announcing it was on the house. “Thank you, sir,” Atlas said, thoroughly humbled by the gesture of kindness and also the towering confection which now hovered in front of him; he was so distracted by it that he almost missed Kibou gesturing for him to follow. They made their way to a nearby cluster of tables where Kibou set in on his own cone with a voracious hunger; Atlas chose to ponder his for a moment, turning it about, trying to decide what angle to attack it at.
He finally ventured a cautious taste shortly after Kibou asked him what he thought of it. It was both rich and floral, and he ran the cold coconut chunks across his teeth. “It’s… sweet,” he offered, truly unsure of what to say.
Distracted and slightly overwhelmed, Atlas turned his attention to his new friend. “Is coconut your favorite flavor of ice cream?” he asked, hoping to strike up a conversation as he slowly but steadily consumed his treat.
He is glad Kibou is absent of such lessons, for he thinks nothing would be sadder than the suffering of such a nice, young boy.
The boy is proud of his mother and Atlas sees a heaving chest and blood streaming from nostrils. He plasters a smile on his face, anyhow. What had his own mother ever done for him that would earn his sorrow besides lecture him on not having children. “She sounds admirable,” Atlas said, instead, turning away from silk spread on a damask tile floor. He had heard, vaguely, of Katniss, Denocte’s Champion, though aside from whispers and her title he could not even put a face to the name. To rectify this, he says “I should like to meet her some day.”
He watched Kibou go to town on his ice cream cone and felt, not for the first time, incredibly stupid; but his young friend seemed to know what he was doing and Atlas relaxed as he called out his instructions. He watched with unbroken fascination as the vendor deftly rolled the scoop in desiccated coconut and then topped it with another scoop, of chocolate studded with chunks of both the dark and white varieties. He ladled a white sauce over it and handed it across the bench, announcing it was on the house. “Thank you, sir,” Atlas said, thoroughly humbled by the gesture of kindness and also the towering confection which now hovered in front of him; he was so distracted by it that he almost missed Kibou gesturing for him to follow. They made their way to a nearby cluster of tables where Kibou set in on his own cone with a voracious hunger; Atlas chose to ponder his for a moment, turning it about, trying to decide what angle to attack it at.
He finally ventured a cautious taste shortly after Kibou asked him what he thought of it. It was both rich and floral, and he ran the cold coconut chunks across his teeth. “It’s… sweet,” he offered, truly unsure of what to say.
Distracted and slightly overwhelmed, Atlas turned his attention to his new friend. “Is coconut your favorite flavor of ice cream?” he asked, hoping to strike up a conversation as he slowly but steadily consumed his treat.
