05-09-2022, 02:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-31-2022, 11:47 PM by Edmund Reynolds.)
Whitby was so much different than the town Edmund grew up in.
It almost felt like a dream. Somehow, everything was just a little too gray, too washed out. It made the town seem just a little dead. Back in Pennsylvania, everything felt alive, for better or for worse. The trees, the people, the rumors. There was a breath somewhere in all of it.
The only breath Edmund has recognized so far in Whitby is the ocean, where he is loathe to go. Back home, there was more flora and fauna than people knew how to deal with, but it was harmless if you weren't dense. Just don't climb too thin trees too high, don't feed animals you don't want coming back, don't cause problems with people bigger than you are. Simple. But the ocean is all too eager to kill you, swallow you whole. It was endless.
Even the air was different. It was thick and heavy with salt, a constant reminder of the death that was just beyond the sand. It was cloying. In Pennsylvania, the air was rich and green and fresh even after travelling miles and miles of grasslands, or cold and soothing and tranquil from the mountains.
Maybe he was homesick.
The one thing that was the same, thankfully, was the people. Wonderful, oblivious, bumbling people.
Rare were the days Edmund had a spare minute away from his sister, and he wasn't going to let this chance pass him by with nostalgia and nothing else. He was hungry, so Mable must be starving, but stealing straight from market stalls felt too risky. Therefore, some unfortunate person's pocket was the target today.
Maybe he was visiting the church too often, but Edmund found himself praying halfheartedly as he scanned the crowd. He would only use the money he acquired to buy absolute necessities, he reasoned to whoever was listening, and he'd make sure it would last as long as possible.
Edmund imagined whoever was hearing this laugh at him, staring right through his black and tainted soul. Forgiveness for such a small sin was not nearly enough to save him. Why even bother? Why not just add it to the weight on his shoulders? He'll never be able to feel the difference.
No, the boy scolded himself, now was not the time for that. What good was pity when he and his sister were hungry? What good was it to the dead? What good was it to a sinner? None, that's what. Determined anew, Edmund fixed his hair as casual as he could manage and scanned the street around him once again.
It almost felt like a dream. Somehow, everything was just a little too gray, too washed out. It made the town seem just a little dead. Back in Pennsylvania, everything felt alive, for better or for worse. The trees, the people, the rumors. There was a breath somewhere in all of it.
The only breath Edmund has recognized so far in Whitby is the ocean, where he is loathe to go. Back home, there was more flora and fauna than people knew how to deal with, but it was harmless if you weren't dense. Just don't climb too thin trees too high, don't feed animals you don't want coming back, don't cause problems with people bigger than you are. Simple. But the ocean is all too eager to kill you, swallow you whole. It was endless.
Even the air was different. It was thick and heavy with salt, a constant reminder of the death that was just beyond the sand. It was cloying. In Pennsylvania, the air was rich and green and fresh even after travelling miles and miles of grasslands, or cold and soothing and tranquil from the mountains.
Maybe he was homesick.
The one thing that was the same, thankfully, was the people. Wonderful, oblivious, bumbling people.
Rare were the days Edmund had a spare minute away from his sister, and he wasn't going to let this chance pass him by with nostalgia and nothing else. He was hungry, so Mable must be starving, but stealing straight from market stalls felt too risky. Therefore, some unfortunate person's pocket was the target today.
Maybe he was visiting the church too often, but Edmund found himself praying halfheartedly as he scanned the crowd. He would only use the money he acquired to buy absolute necessities, he reasoned to whoever was listening, and he'd make sure it would last as long as possible.
Edmund imagined whoever was hearing this laugh at him, staring right through his black and tainted soul. Forgiveness for such a small sin was not nearly enough to save him. Why even bother? Why not just add it to the weight on his shoulders? He'll never be able to feel the difference.
No, the boy scolded himself, now was not the time for that. What good was pity when he and his sister were hungry? What good was it to the dead? What good was it to a sinner? None, that's what. Determined anew, Edmund fixed his hair as casual as he could manage and scanned the street around him once again.
