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fandomhighdorms2009-01-20 02:25 pm
endsthegame) wrote in fandomhighdorms2009-01-20 02:25 pm
Entry tags:
The Pool, Tuesday Morning
He hadn't spoken to a lot of people lately: just Ben, and their usual bounce-off-bounce-on of tactics and stories from different lifetimes and banter, the kind kids their age were supposed to have. Ender didn't mind the quiet, as it gave him time for his thoughts, which had been a jumble of things lately.
He was already in the pool, drifting, as the thought struck him. The water wafted around his head, h2o and chlorine soaking his hair, when suddenly he shoved his entire head under the water. The rest of his body quickly followed, and his hand stretched out, touching bottom. He searched for the right angle, and pushed off again.
His feet almost skimmed along the edge of the surface, but not quite. There was more pressure here, and he had to adjust for it mentally before he tried again, pushing off the far wall to hit a well-calculated spot along the bottom.
It wasn't the same, of course, but it was still play in the only way he really knew, finding spots, handles and angles.
After a while, his movements slowed, and his body drifted back up. He looked at the ceiling then, and mouthed a word, or maybe a couple. That wasn't important. He was alone, and it was a relief. A strange relief that was just painful enough to be familiar, and he clung to it, drifting deep before he let his head slip back under the surface.
Another push. Try again.
[ pool's open like a pool, of course ]
He was already in the pool, drifting, as the thought struck him. The water wafted around his head, h2o and chlorine soaking his hair, when suddenly he shoved his entire head under the water. The rest of his body quickly followed, and his hand stretched out, touching bottom. He searched for the right angle, and pushed off again.
His feet almost skimmed along the edge of the surface, but not quite. There was more pressure here, and he had to adjust for it mentally before he tried again, pushing off the far wall to hit a well-calculated spot along the bottom.
It wasn't the same, of course, but it was still play in the only way he really knew, finding spots, handles and angles.
After a while, his movements slowed, and his body drifted back up. He looked at the ceiling then, and mouthed a word, or maybe a couple. That wasn't important. He was alone, and it was a relief. A strange relief that was just painful enough to be familiar, and he clung to it, drifting deep before he let his head slip back under the surface.
Another push. Try again.
[ pool's open like a pool, of course ]
no subject
She wasn't at all sure what he was doing.