Post by Pearson Blake Lewis on May 20, 2008 12:57:57 GMT -5
The sun was out and though it was slightly chilly Pearson didn't mind. He was wearing a pair of board-shorts as usual, these a light blue with a basic stitching pattern, and a banana yellow shirt that made his year round tan look almost perfect.
Pearson sat on the edge of the fountain with his legs dangling over the side. A pair of rocketdog shoes sat beside him that were obviously his. Moving slowly Pearson moved his feet in a rhythmic counter-clockwise motion with his eyes shut almost in a trance of some kind. He would inhale softly for a count of five, hold it in for a count of five, release it from his lips in a count of five and then repeat the process. Over and over again Pearson did this. From an outsider-looking-at-him's point of view he would seem almost at peace, something that he defiantly was not, but from his point of view he was in a stage of remembrance; of a of a past that seemed more like a movie than actual life itself.
He was remembering back when he was ten. His birthday had just passed and his mom had promised him that she'd teach him how to surf that next day. He waited all day at the beach. She had to work but he didn't complain. He just waited for her to finally get off. Finally after everyone had left for the day, when she closed up shop, she grabbed her board from behind the counter and asked him if he was ready. Pearson jumped to his feet and raced to the shoreline. She taught him the basics that day. He remembered how hard it actually was to get standing up on the board without falling compared to what he thought it would be...
This is what he remembered, as he inhaled softly...1-2-3-4-5...held it in...1-2-3-4-5...and let it out slowly....1-2-3-4-5.
Pearson sat on the edge of the fountain with his legs dangling over the side. A pair of rocketdog shoes sat beside him that were obviously his. Moving slowly Pearson moved his feet in a rhythmic counter-clockwise motion with his eyes shut almost in a trance of some kind. He would inhale softly for a count of five, hold it in for a count of five, release it from his lips in a count of five and then repeat the process. Over and over again Pearson did this. From an outsider-looking-at-him's point of view he would seem almost at peace, something that he defiantly was not, but from his point of view he was in a stage of remembrance; of a of a past that seemed more like a movie than actual life itself.
He was remembering back when he was ten. His birthday had just passed and his mom had promised him that she'd teach him how to surf that next day. He waited all day at the beach. She had to work but he didn't complain. He just waited for her to finally get off. Finally after everyone had left for the day, when she closed up shop, she grabbed her board from behind the counter and asked him if he was ready. Pearson jumped to his feet and raced to the shoreline. She taught him the basics that day. He remembered how hard it actually was to get standing up on the board without falling compared to what he thought it would be...
This is what he remembered, as he inhaled softly...1-2-3-4-5...held it in...1-2-3-4-5...and let it out slowly....1-2-3-4-5.
