Stanley was losing his grip, he knew. He held the rope with one hand and reached into his back pocket with the other. The rope dug into his hand, all the rough splintered bits rubbing at his fingers as he swayed ever so slightly forward and backward. He stuck one foot out and prepared for impact, the whole swing set rattling as he skidded to a stop. He let go of the rope only after he'd completely stopped, ignoring the giggles from the neighboring swing. He shifted the pad into his right hand and reached for the pen he'd tied to a string looping around the top buttonhole on the left side of his jacket. Stanford could laugh all he wanted; he never had a pen when he needed one.

Stanley raised the pen to his lips and tugged the cap off. He pushed the cap around in his mouth, his teeth sinking into the soft plastic. Sucking in a breath of salty sea air to center himself, he tried to let his thoughts flow elegantly from brain to paper. Words were like passageways, some were simple ink roads between one brain place and another, like a highway or the dirt road that led from their house to the woods, but others, others ran deeper, hidden like the secret tunnels he knew twisted beneath half the county.

He chomped down on the pen cap, pressing it down into his lip. He had to focus on the task at hand and forced himself to start writing.

Do mermaids have two respiratory systems? Where would the extra organs be stored? Are they divided between the fish and human halves? If a creature is half-human is there a point where it stops being human?

"That pen taste good, Stanley?" Stanford piped up from beside him. He kicked at the sand, propelling himself upward. The swings let out a shrill groan in protest which was altogether ignored.

"Shouldn't a mermaid be all-human and all-fish at once- therefore, all mermaid?" Stanley asked the air. He raised the notepad up to his face, even though it was harder to write that way.

"What does that even mean?" Stanford frowned at him, slowing down somewhat.

"Um, well," Stanley took the pen cap out of his mouth then quickly replaced it, "I'm… well, are half-human creatures human or not?"

"I don't know… Wait a second…" Stanford came to a standstill and rifled through his pants pockets. "Shoot."

He stood up and walked over to Stanley. The wind picked up, plucking the smell of hot dogs from the boardwalk and dumping it down on them.

"What's up?" Stanley peered up at his brother from behind his notepad.

"Stand up, nerdo," Stanford ordered, tapping at his brother's glasses with a dirty finger. "Step back and prepare to be amazed. I'm gonna do some magic."

As soon as Stanley pulled himself up, Stanford reached his hands into both of his jacket pockets.

"Presto!" Stanford pulled an unfamiliar wallet from Stanley's right pocket.

"W-what! Where did that come from?" Stanley's eyes widened and he crumpled his notepad. "You're not supposed to be stealing anymore!"

"Ain't no big deal, o' sweet brother of mine." Stanford liberated a couple of bills from the wallet and handed one to Stanley. "I took it from some fat kid in a Hawaiian shirt- his parents looked loaded; he'll be fine."

"And what's this for?" Stanley held up the dollar.

"Hush money," he breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "And I was thinking we could share some ice cream."

"I can't argue with that," he sighed, putting away his notepad and shoving his pen behind his ear. He let his pen holding string dangle from his jacket. "It sounds too good."

Ice cream in hand, the two set out for the swing set. Stanley liked the way the boards creaked underneath them. He reached for his notebook, but Stanford slapped his hand away, shouted, "Tag you're it! Chase me, loser!"

Stanley trotted after him, knowing he wouldn't catch him. Stanford threw off his shoes the second he'd reached the sand and jumped onto his swing. He stood up on the swing, moving forward only in short bursts. He was somehow holding his popsicle and the swing's chain handles all at once. Stanley blinked at the wooden seats, wondering how his brother hadn't gotten a million splinters.

Stanley sat heavily on his designated swing, picking at his frozen lemonade cup. He poked at a small cut in his tongue with his spoon. The lemon flavor stung at the cut but he was determined to enjoy the treat nonetheless.

"Be a real kid and have some fun, Stanley!" Stanford half-shouted, popsicle stick hanging from his mouth as he kicked himself forward on the swing. Part of his popsicle broke off and slid down and off the stick. "Shoot!"

Stanley pulled a napkin from his pocket and tossed it at his brother, trying to hide his laughter.

"I think you're having more than enough fun for the two of us," Stanley smiled, impressed when Stanford expertly plucked the napkin from the air without unsettling his ice cream further.

"Well, I'd be having more fun if I knew you were too," Stanford pouted, wiping at the juice stains streaked down his face.

"I am having fun," Stanley insisted, waving his spoon hand around in the air, "Just because I'm not yelling and picking pockets doesn't mean-"

"Swing, Stanley, swing like you've never swung before! Feel that freedom that they can never take away from us! And then we're gonna hijack that sailboat!" As he spoke, he pointed to a boat calmly navigating the placid waters, a determined hardness creeping into his face.

"If I do some serious swinging and we go play some boardwalk games, could you consider not committing grand theft sailboat?" Stanley pulled a second napkin from his pocket and wiped at his hands. They were chapped and reddened from the rope swings.

"I'll consider."

"Deal?" He reached out his hand, not quite at the right angle for a handshake. Stanford took it. Stanley was tugged along as his brother propelled himself forward. The two were like links in a tiny chain, swinging in the air. They bobbled clumsily along, hands still intertwined.

"Deal."

Writer's woes: I wanted to write some nice things. I just really wanted to write about beaches and swinging ahhhhh. I love love love the image we were left with in Not What He Seems. I love being by the ocean (even if my mom hates it so I haven't been to the beach much...) and I am always sneaking out to find parks to swing at. I wanted to do more description but then this became more of an action by action piece.