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Post by chiara on Dec 22, 2010 18:06:33 GMT -5
I AIN'T GOT NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE,
-------------------------- nothing to lose.
3:45 PM ; OPEN ; RIVER DOCK ; SUNNY WITH A BREEZE ; WISTFUL"Where does the time go when you forget about it?" Solomon squinted, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he tried to read the time on his watch against a wall of bright, brilliant clear blue sky. His thin wrist hung in the air, twisted to see the antique time piece strapped on by a loose piece of worn leather. The sun was too bright, shining down in a brilliant radiance that warmed his pale face and partially exposed chest. Forgetting the time in a matter of moments after reading it, Solomon lazily allowed his arm to retract and rest against his forehead, providing a little shade for his eyes. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, nothing but a vast blue vault shielding the entire world from the vast, inevitable darkness looming behind it. Solomon could briefly allow himself to believe there was no such thing as space, as if the sky was merely a painted backdrop and life a cartoon. "It disappears into thin air, as if it never existed at all."
Solomon was in a languid pose, lying on the dock in the absolute stillness. With his boots neatly placed to the side, one leg of his trousers had been rolled up, allowing for a single white foot to hang off into the cool lapping waters. His other hand hung off the side as well, every so often dipping the back of his fingertips. His loose white shirt was unbuttoned down to his naval, allowing the wind to pick up the sides and lightly toss them around like the feathers of a dead bird. With his right hand still languishing over his brow, his statuesque face held a contemplative expression, brows furrowed and lips in a slight frown. The wind brushed against his warm skin, caressing his neck and toyed with his hair. It felt good not to move for once. Closing his eyes, Solomon felt as if he was sinking into the dock, allowing his body to become one with the movement of the earth. He could only hear the soft murmuring of the trees as they shifted together and the occasional melodic chirp of birds on wing. The lurch of the waves consoled his troubled mind, and soon Solomon's pensive brow smoothed in relaxation.
Solomon decided that he would enjoy to live in the countryside one day. A small cottage house with a dilapidated wooden fence and acres and acres of woodland, pasture, and several ponds. He'd get a couple horses, dogs, cats, chickens - all sorts of animals to keep him company. He'd never see another person again if he could help it. He'd play the cello only for his animals, maybe even write a book. A book about nothing - boring nothingness. A book that would never be published, but something just to keep him busy as the world passed by. Solomon imagined he would be happy there, uninterrupted. He'd get a dock just like this one and lie there for hours. No time. No responsibility. No obligations. But that dream seemed so far off. Solomon opened his eyes and dropped his wrist, allowing his head to turn and stare off at the rippling waters. He could get there faster. All he had to do was slip into the water and float away. Float far, far away.
Pulling himself up by a tight set of abdominal muscles, Solomon rose to a comfortable sitting position. Shoulders slumped, he let out a soft, low yawn into his hand before rubbing his eyes, feeling so sleepy underneath the warm sun. He wondered if there were any fish in the river, but leaning over the side discovered only his own reflection staring back up at him. Across the river was a portrait of green landscape, and just upstream the glorious castle that was the Kostine Academy. A lavish prison nobody ever leaves. He didn't feel real here. He felt as if he were a ghost, wandering the same garish halls year after year. Every day the ornate golden molding seemed to grow, like a creeping ivy, as if it would consume them all. He dreaded the return. Leaning over the side of the dock, Solomon's fingertips danced along the glass-like surface, gently muddling his reflection into an oblivion of ripples.
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Post by amber on Dec 23, 2010 21:15:26 GMT -5
 SOMEDAY YOU'LL WIND UP SOMEWHERE.
YOU'LL WISH YOU WEREN'T SO TYPICAL.[/color][/center]
How come Ireland was so beautiful? There had to be a reason behind it, really, there had to be. There was no place that was just beautiful because it was. Maybe it was the angle that the sun hit the northern country; Amber would like to think there was a reason like this. It sounded poetic, and Amber liked to think deep, poetic thoughts though she would never say them aloud. Unfortunately, she couldn't always fool herself into believing such things. She knew that there was much of Ireland that was untouched by full-on industrialization. Ireland wasn't like England that years ago was over populated so much that they destroyed tons of forest to make room for the people who lived in the country. Much of England was compact cities, but then there were places like that in every country. Ireland must've had places like that just like England had places like Ireland. Amber had only been to the English countryside once or twice to visit relatives, which made Amber feel like all of England was like London. She knew better than to believe things like that, but being so sheltered in one part of England made her ignorant just like it had when she was in Ireland. It was difficult to believe that there were factories in Ireland because Kostine Academy was in the country. That's why Ireland was so beautiful - because Amber saw the beautiful parts.
Amber would capture those beautiful if it was the only thing she could take away from her educational years at Kostine. It was a beautiful day out. The sky was clear, the breeze cool and comforting, the perfect day. Amber had her multi-lense, far-too-expensive-for-her camera hanging around her neck. Her father had taught her the key aspects of photography at a very young age. She started with disposable camera, moved on to cheap digitals, then when she was fourteen she had finally graduated to the professional camera she now cherished. Her camera was a part of her; she could be the only being alive in the world and not be lonely so long as she had a camera. With this camera she took her serious photos that she had begun to compile into a portfolio. One day she wanted to open a little studio on the corner of a street in a smal town with a beautiful selection of go-to locations nearby. Ireland had given her so much; it made photography almost easy. While it came naturally to Amber, there were a lot of technicalities to take into consideration when taking photos like lighting, camera angles, the little details in the foreground and background, among other things to be aware of.
Today she was set up across the river that divided the Kostine land in two. One one side was Kostine Academy in the distance and green, rolling hills which hid the sporting fields and the garden. On the side Amber was on there wasn't much. There was a dock, and some more land. Amber didn't have a tripod, and she liked it that way - it made her feel more connected with what she was doing. She was positioned with her back towards the sun, careful of where her own shadow would fall. She was facing the dock at an angle that it was on the right side of the shot, the river cutting across, and the castle in the distance. She had taken countless shots of this area, and never could get the perfect one. Amber couldn't figure out why none of the photos seemed to give her a feeling of deep satisfaction. Today though, there was something different about what she was doing; she just knew it.
She gave credit to the boy who was on the dock. She couldn't quite make out who it was, but she wasn't going to take photos without his consent. Amber liked being behind the lense, not in front of it. Although nobody would really be able to distinguish who he was in the final print, it was just a moral thing Amber had to do - taught to her by her father. She approached the boy, and coughed slightly as to not startle him. She stood where the dock met the land so that she could make a quick escape if he declined or back up quickly if he gave her permission. "Hello," Amber said casually, "I was just wondering if you'd mind being in some photos of mine? The photos are of the landscape, but you'd be part of it so I figured I'd ask."
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Post by chiara on Dec 23, 2010 22:16:05 GMT -5
I AIN'T GOT NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE,
-------------------------- nothing to lose.
3:45 PM ; OPEN ; RIVER DOCK ; SUNNY WITH A BREEZE ; WISTFULSolomon let out a deep sigh, feeling the soreness that he so often carried in his shoulders. He carried so much tension during the day, as if he was constantly under threat of attack. Worry hung about him, like a ball and chain, dragging down his mood and wrinkling his forehead. Concerns about grades, cello competitions, and personal responsibilities riddled his mind, making him conscious of every wrong step. He had to get away from it all. All the pent up energy was making him emotional and thoughtless as of late. He acted like a total idiot with Seth on the internet, and revealed more than he had cared to. Not to mention he was losing his mind on the cello. His fingers had been bloodied and bleeding from so many broken strings, not to mention he had cracked his bow from throwing it against a wall. Solomon could take on a lot of stress, he had all his life, but every so often he felt as if he would shatter into a million pieces. Feeling frail and vulnerable, Solomon tended to avoid people, and today it brought him to the dock.
Hearing a soft cough and the crinkle of grass. Solomon paused, staring down at the waters. As the ripples calmed, he could make out the glass-reflection of the girl standing at the edge of the dock. Her soft, tentative voice wafted through the air. It didn't annoy him, so after a contemplative pause he finally turned to face her, the breeze picking up a mass of dark brown fringe away from his face. "Photos?" he crooned, deep voice atypical to his lean physique and even more atypical to his reputation. He rarely spoke at all in school, and sometimes even Solomon forgot what he sounded like. His cool blue eyes gently fell from her face to her elaborate camera hanging about her neck, like an emblem of her craft. Or a shackle to which her talent was bound to. "You're photographing the landscape? That landscape?" Solomon turned his head and shielded his eyes with his hand, looking out over the peaceful river and the castle. He shook his head with disdain, facing her again.
"You can do as you like, I don't care. But that landscape is meaningless. It's crap. Would you like to know why?" Solomon asked her rhetorically in his snobby tone, but he was obviously going to tell her whether she wanted to hear or not. "Because beauty is common. Everyone takes beautiful pictures, and they all look the same, and they're all crap. But ugliness is always unique, because suffering is what makes us individual." Solomon stood up from the deck to his tall, lofty height. His unbuttoned white shirt fell down his white shoulder, lightly freckled with sun. He stood and faced her with a grim expression, misery seeping through his glassy stare. "I'll give you a good picture then, aye?" Solomon chuckled to himself, managed a sad smile. He shook his head and then shrugged, diving his hands into his pockets. "And who may I ask is this future Ansel Adams?" He inquired of her name, referencing the only famous photographer he could think of off the top of his head. They were in the same class, but such things were irrelevant. Solomon was often too lost in his own world to even pay attention to the names of his teachers.
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Post by amber on Dec 24, 2010 11:55:39 GMT -5
SOMEDAY YOU'LL WIND UP SOMEWHERE.
YOU'LL WISH YOU WEREN'T SO TYPICAL. [/color][/center]
Amber didn't like his attitude, although it matched hers. Maybe that's why she didn't like it - because it was too much like her. Those words were something that she could definately say and probably would if she was in a mood and somebody asked her the same thing. Still, she took his words to heart, listening to his explanation and - reluctantly - let him be right in her mind. Amber wasn't the girl who always had to be right, but she didn't take criticism well from people who knew just as much as she did, if not less. Now, if this boy was a photographer of a higher level, she'd take this as wonderful feedback, but as far as she knew he wasn't even a photographer to begin with. She was too defensive. What was it about girls that made them so defensive? It was rather annoying really. Maybe Amber would just start taking any critique kindly. There was no reason to be all uptight and angry about peoples' opinions. Some people probably knew more about certain things than Amber did, so maybe this boy was one of them... Or Amber was just in such a great mood that she was being unnaturally nice.
Nah, it wasn't unnaturally nice because Amber was a nice girl, just she could be mean sometimes. This boy had given her attitude so naturally she would give it back, but she was controlling herself. He didn't seem to be having a good day so she couldn't get upset with him about that. Somewhere a piece of her mind was though. Why did he have to be so critical about the landscape? Although what he said was true, Amber didn't like it. His words were so true that she reluctantly believed them. Was that why she couldn't take a photo she liked of the only piece of Ireland she saw? No, no that was not true. It couldn't be true; Amber had taken pictures of beautiful things for most of her life and some of them had won in contests against works displaying 'ugliness'. She also had taken 'ugly' photos like this boy was suggesting necessary; some of those had won too. See? There could be a balance. It was just personal preference. She wanted to tell him this, but she refrained. He had a right to his thoughts.
When she looked closely at the boy, his smile was sad and he just seemed... Amber thought that it was a sad exsistance, even if it was only because today he wasn't in a good mood. There were days when Amber's exsistance was sad. This though, this seemed bad. He had kind of taken a stab to himself saying that he'd make the photo a good photo, and it was almost a stab at Amber, but she didn't take it as one because that would be looking into it too far. She didn't know what to say. She was just kind of in awe of it all, though she didn't know why. "Amber..." she introduced herself, "Amber Crowne." He was an attractive boy, she thought, though definately not her type. There was something about him - or maybe there was something about her, someone in the back of her mind. Ridiculous. All of that was ridiculous because she didn't care. She wasn't looking for anything in him or in anyone else. Her mind was always working in photographs. She was always taking snapshots and remembering them; that's what she was doing now. "Who might you be?" she asked back. He was what she needed in these photos of Ireland. That in a place so beautiful, for at least a day, there could be a sad exsistance.
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