Atmosphere in Saline

This is a mockery about the truth within your lies. (Roxas-centric. Vaguely AkuRoku, maybe Zemyx).


Sky's red like haunted bleeding.

Before everything, you understood nothing but the crimson, serrated, spiderlily lines along my wrist like disconnected stories of beating hearts stitched back with invisible tape and shoplifted staples.

Even then, you thought it was all a joke.

Ha, ha. I forgave you for that one.


Sky's indigo like eleventh-hour twilight.

I used to tell you that beach houses were overrated. But there we sat, outside, a little ways from the shack. Feet from the steam-darkened windows, fingerprints and scratch marks on broken stained glass. It was a little haven for upside-down-inside-out scandals.

Dusky canvas above, clouded with stars. Planets aligned.

Glances shot across, pools of green skim the white water gushing along the sandy path of jagged shards and broken needles; half-empty syringes from God only knew where. The bonfire, crackling away like microwaved popcorn, sending amber fireflies up into the cold midnight air—golden flecks flickering in the breeze. Little sounds of a strumming guitar and unprofessional crooning reigned. Rookie music, pure and unadulterated. And muted laughter from the dancing figures of yesteryear's best friends, silhouetted in the distance.

Seventeen, we were. Seventeen, maybe a little more.


Sky's black like dead diamonds.

Happy like a nervous kid, grinning from dimple to dimple. Music in your ears, you laughed at her, your emerald eyes crinkling, marshmallow stick between your teeth, fingernails a mess of blue and neon yellow highlighter. It was like you thought I couldn't see your hard tears behind those eyelids, hiding from the faces of the people whom you knew truly loved you. I cared more than you would have believed. But you still looked the other direction with curling eyelashes, bright hair glowing silver-scarlet under moonlight. Sat there with the bottle of vodka and lemon coke at your feet. I didn't realise how beautiful you looked, boy, but only that your eyes were blackened with lust.

She smiled back, all polished teeth and scarlet lips and devilish secrets, hair swaying perfectly in the wind like a strawberry dream.

I threw my newly-lit cigarette to one side and crushed it with my chequered black-white chucks.

So much for half truths.

That night, love was conquered by lust and you went away with your pretty new friend, back into the beach house with the blackened windows.

I guess, in retrospect, I wouldn't have had it any other way.

I never belonged to you anyways.


Sky's lilac like approaching dawn.

The Bible of Jack Johnson and John Mayer had multiple pages ripped out. Didn't know why. The rookie left in a screaming fit and his silent friend who smelt of dust and six different kinds of cologne tried to drown himself.

I slept in deep quiet when the fire burnt out and the dancers disappeared.

I didn't actually close my eyes.


Sky's orange like a perfect sunrise.

The sea smelt like a cocktail of ice.

You came back in the early hours of breakfast with bloodshot eyes and a shattered smile. And you said hello and maybe whispered a sorry, I fucked up.

I think I just shrugged and walked away to quietly steal more tape and staples.