Building Castles In The Sands Of Time
Sept 11, 2017 19:59:38 GMT -5
The Anarchist and Kyle Shane like this
Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Sept 11, 2017 19:59:38 GMT -5
06.15am - Sunday 10th September 2017
Location: Bournemouth Beach, Dorset, England
Though the skies remain blackened by the fading night, the waves have not stopped to slumber as they lap against the British coastline. Even where the night needs its rest, swapping its shift with day, the transitional period produces a navy blue sky. First light is about to break. Somehow, Mother Nature knows this. It is an alarm clock for her children. The gulls squawk ravenously, darting across the sky like shooting stars. The residential squirrels that inhabit the nearby parks finish their scavenging along the seafront in order to return to their homes. The air somehow tastes of sea salt, perhaps exonerated somewhat over the course of the night.
Even at this twilight hour, there are more early birds than just the gulls. Along with a select few running along the beach as part of their pre-work fitness regime and those forced to walk their canine friends at such a time, there is one particular female walking along the promenade with a black buggy. Dressed in a red duffel coat, Amy Metallinos-Trenton stops in front of a closed ice cream stand. She takes a look at a watch over her wrist, letting out a series of short, sharp, yet raspy coughs. This is followed by one that is much longer, heaving as though her lungs are about to collapse.
From behind the very makeshift parlour in which she had stopped, the towering figure of Dominic James Atkinson steps towards her in three great strides. Despite the low temperatures, he appears to be dressed in the same attire that he would normally be seen wearing in a competitive capacity, as if he were heading straight to his next contest once his business is finished here. He immediately notices the sags in Amy’s eyes. She looks tired. Sickly, almost.
She had been subjected to the endless barrage of Horacio’s warped virtues for the past fortnight, the same length of time from which she had been estranged from her husband. Yet during this time, she had not left her daughter’s side. Even as newborn an infant as Dawn was, Amy had watched her child’s earliest stages of development; from the increased roundedness in her cheeks to the volume of her gurgles, though small changes they may seem, they fill Amy with motherly pride. The baby can be heard whimpering beneath a small mound of soft blankets, her forehead covered by a pink hat that looks as delicate as Dawn herself. Amy instinctively leans over to check on her. She does not appear to be in any great distress in spite of the cool breeze blowing across the seafront.
“You came,” Amy smiles gratefully, having composed herself after her coughing fit. His eyes are transfixed to the pram, or rather its contents. He does not answer. He breaks his silence only after gauging his wristwatch. “I know that its early,” she says, sorrow consuming her voice at this realisation. That was the understatement of the day, even though it was only six hours deep, “Dawn has been awake most of the night. I thought that getting her out of the house might help.” Dominic stands rigidly, not one flicker of emotion flares on his robotic face, not even tiredness. Instead, he resorts to his trademark gesture of looking into his watch once again.
“Is this your way of asking me to share the load?” Dominic mutters monotonously, folding his arms.
“No,” she lied convincingly. “Although it is a struggle raising a newborn all on your own. I mean, my parents have helped me no end, but it just isn’t the same as I thought it was going to be.” Dominic knew full well what was implied.
“It was your decision to leave Shawn,” Dominic states assertively, attempting to defuse any emotional time-bombs that may have been triggered as a result of answering her plea to meet in person. “When you remarried, you committed not only your own devotion to him, but also promised to have him as a part of Dawn’s life.”
“It was in the spur of the moment,” Amy explains, slightly insulted by the lack of empathy displayed by a man who she once considered her very closest friend. “Your friend Horacio spoke with such conviction and confidence. How could I turn down such an opportunity to look at life in a whole new way when I am living in silent suffering?” She ends the sentence with a wheeze, letting out another cough but stops herself before they become as uncontrollable as they had been before.
“Maybe you should consider talking to someone rather than suffer in silence?” Dominic suggests half heartedly. Amy frowns at him, unsurprisingly.
“What do you think I call you here at the crack of dawn for?” Amy scowls. “It wasn’t just Dawn who couldn’t sleep, you know?”
“So talk!” an exasperated Dominic retorts, speaking firmly yet not at the volume of an aggressive shout. Amy shushes Dominic instantly, quickly glancing towards her daughter, who wriggles in the pram only in an effort to reach a greater level of comfort. Monitoring her for just a second with only the sound of the crashing waves in the background, Amy turns back to confront Dominic.
“As much as I want to learn more about The Chronological Order,” Amy begins, staring venomously at Dominic, “I feel that there is a side to the group that I am not being told. Such as the ramifications of its teachings.”
“Ramifications?” Dominic grunts, puzzled by this statement.
“You’re a completely different person, Dominic!” Amy sighs. “Remember when I found out I was pregnant? I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t talk to Shawn about it, but you were so understanding. And kind. And considerate. While we both came to the same mutual agreement, there was a part of me that didn’t feel right about it. Could I really go through with such a sham as my own daughter having no connection to her biological father?” Dominic is solemnly quiet, yet he does not show any facial expressions associated with guilt or sorrow. Instead, he merely gazes out towards the open ocean that is slowly being unveiled by the rising sun, the first sparkles of the day begin to shimmer across the ripples in the water. With a smile, Dominic lifts one foot off the ground, curling his leg so that he is able to wrap his fingers around his shoe, slipping it off after some vigorous twisting around the heel. He removes his black sock and stuffs it into the vacant shoe. He repeats the process with the other foot as Amy watches on slowly. He takes a step off the concrete that stretches along the promenade and onto the beach. Tens of thousands of tiny grains of sand are disturbed beneath his weight.
“It isn’t a sin to feel that way,” Dominic decrees, his back turned to Amy as he reaches down to pick up a handful of sand. “In all honesty, I know how you feel. Some people feel like they are wallowing in quicksand with no means of escape.” He allows tiny crevasses to form between his fingers. Sand trickles through the narrowest of openings and drop to the ground as delicately as feathers. “Others will just let time pass them by, living in their very own state of limbo.” With that, he spreads his fingers. A torrent of sand falls back onto the beach, no single grain is more distinguishable than the others. “And then, there are those who build castles…”
“Sandcastles?” Amy scoffs.
“To an extent,” Dominic turns and smirks. “We build castles out of the Sands of Time. We create our own paths, our own destiny.” He scoops some sand with his foot into a small pile. Given the sheer size of his feet, it only takes a few strokes of his feet beneath the sand to create a sizable mound. Amy has now wheeled Dawn’s buggy down a small ramp leading to the beach to join Dominic on the sand.
“So you would honestly spend more time chasing an unachievable dream than have anything to do with me and your daughter?” Amy grimaces. Dominator immediately pivots, clearly her words have struck a nerve. Whether it is a result of her lack of understanding or her own emotions clouding her judgment, such disrespect is something that The Suzerain of Time does not tolerate.
“Understanding this,” Dominator says with the utmost of fervour, “What I am chasing is not an unachievable dream. There are so many people whose bodies succumb to time that they are unable to accomplish things in their lives due to the restrictions that come with older age. We both know this. Shoot, even someone on the wavelength as High Tide knows this. Do you know how many time in my career I’ve been labelled as a ‘Has Been?’ This is in spite of my relatively short tenure at PCW. But what people fail to realise is that I am, in fact, a seasoned veteran. But it is with the sincerest of gratitude that I have been offered a second chance thanks to The Chronological Order. I feel… reinvigorated. Refreshed. Reborn.”
“I understand your passion,” Amy acknowledges, still dismayed that Dominic is not seeing what she perceives to be sense, “but do you really think that The Chronological Order can usurp religion itself? It is like bringing back Blockbuster Video from the dead to try and compete with Netflix. It just isn’t possible. It isn’t even feasible.”
“Anything is possible when your mind is set on it,” come the words of wisdom from The Zenith.
“Until life kicks you in the balls and send you crashing back down to Earth,” Amy replies snidely. This causes Dominator to frown, void of amusement. He recalled all too well how the contest on the last Trauma ended. He had lived up to his name, decimating the competition with relative ease. All that had been thwarted by what was not even a well-placed boot between the legs.
Never before had he come up short through such inanity.
“But you’re right,” she concedes. “If you really put everything into what you believe in, there is no limits to what you can achieve. Which is why I still have hope that you will be a part of your daughter’s life some day, before it’s too…”
She immediately stops herself with a loud gasp, almost shocked by how she was about to conclude that sentence. She lets out another coughing fit into her hand. Dominic tilts his head, staring right into Amy’s eyes. They say that the eyes are the windows into the soul. Yet Amy’s window’s are masked by a teary film. What once were the whites of her eyes have turned a distressed shade of pink, reflective of the deeper shade of colour that has now appeared on her face. She quickly turns back to the pram, but Dominic appears to have taken notice. He hauls himself out of the sand and back onto the concrete. He tries to look over Amy’s shoulder, but she turns away coldly.
“Before it’s too late?” Dominic asks with a slight splutter. For the first time, genuine concern makes its presence within his voice.
A tear trickled down the side of Amy’s face before being plucked away by the breeze.
Slowly, she runs her fingers through her hair hesitantly.
And that was the moment when she took off the wig.
Those beautiful locks of golden hair now rested in a tangled clump in her fist. She shivers as the sea breeze rushes across her scalp. With eyes full of sadness, remorse and tears, she looks at Dominic beseechingly, imploring him for a greater level of attention and understanding.
His jaw loosens.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Dominic,” she weeps. “Dawn needs a father.”
“Her father.”
“Ahem!”
From ten feet or more behind them along the promenade, the feigned clearing of Mortimer’s throat is enough of an indication on its own. Combined with the tapping motion he makes as he points to his wristwatch is nothing short of patronising. His timing could not be worse… or better, depending on how you look at things. Dominic glares at Mortimer, yet he knows full well that he cannot spend any more time in Amy’s company in spite of this heart wrenching revelation, not with the flight back to America in sight. The prospect of Hurricanes Irma and Jose causing a delay was also a possibility. He tries to find the right words that might be able to provide some sort of final reassurance before his departure. But they do not come. Not out of callousness, but more from the exposure of Amy’s distress. Knowingly, Amy shakes her head.
“Go,” Amy nods, wiping her eyes. “I‘ll be alright. But before you do, I have something for you.” Motionless, Dominic stands in dismay at the situation. Amy reaches into the back of the pram beneath the baby’s seat and withdraws a small paper bag with two string-like handles. She hands it Dominic, who slowly takes it from her, almost unwillingly. She urges him to take a look. He does so. The sadness immediately dissipates from his face and is instead replaced by amusement.
“Really? A groin cup?”
“That should make you nigh on invincible, right?” Amy jokes lackadaisically. Regardless, the two exchange a small grin. They stare at each other for a moment, only for Amy to dive into Dominic’s solid chest and embrace him with all her might, as feeble as it may be. Dominic is caught completely by surprise by the hold. Hesitantly, Dominic places one hand against the back of her neck soothingly for just a brief second before Amy is summoned away by the cries of their daughter. She looks back to Dawn’s buggy before looking back to Dominic one last time, smiling. Dominator himself stares out towards the open sea once again. He looks at his watch.
06.28am
The sun has risen over the horizon, lighting up the sky with an orange, blue and purple hue. The tide has started to go out.
“Go and build those sandcastles,” Amy smiles, “And become the King that you have always been destined to be.”
Location: Bournemouth Beach, Dorset, England
Though the skies remain blackened by the fading night, the waves have not stopped to slumber as they lap against the British coastline. Even where the night needs its rest, swapping its shift with day, the transitional period produces a navy blue sky. First light is about to break. Somehow, Mother Nature knows this. It is an alarm clock for her children. The gulls squawk ravenously, darting across the sky like shooting stars. The residential squirrels that inhabit the nearby parks finish their scavenging along the seafront in order to return to their homes. The air somehow tastes of sea salt, perhaps exonerated somewhat over the course of the night.
Even at this twilight hour, there are more early birds than just the gulls. Along with a select few running along the beach as part of their pre-work fitness regime and those forced to walk their canine friends at such a time, there is one particular female walking along the promenade with a black buggy. Dressed in a red duffel coat, Amy Metallinos-Trenton stops in front of a closed ice cream stand. She takes a look at a watch over her wrist, letting out a series of short, sharp, yet raspy coughs. This is followed by one that is much longer, heaving as though her lungs are about to collapse.
From behind the very makeshift parlour in which she had stopped, the towering figure of Dominic James Atkinson steps towards her in three great strides. Despite the low temperatures, he appears to be dressed in the same attire that he would normally be seen wearing in a competitive capacity, as if he were heading straight to his next contest once his business is finished here. He immediately notices the sags in Amy’s eyes. She looks tired. Sickly, almost.
She had been subjected to the endless barrage of Horacio’s warped virtues for the past fortnight, the same length of time from which she had been estranged from her husband. Yet during this time, she had not left her daughter’s side. Even as newborn an infant as Dawn was, Amy had watched her child’s earliest stages of development; from the increased roundedness in her cheeks to the volume of her gurgles, though small changes they may seem, they fill Amy with motherly pride. The baby can be heard whimpering beneath a small mound of soft blankets, her forehead covered by a pink hat that looks as delicate as Dawn herself. Amy instinctively leans over to check on her. She does not appear to be in any great distress in spite of the cool breeze blowing across the seafront.
“You came,” Amy smiles gratefully, having composed herself after her coughing fit. His eyes are transfixed to the pram, or rather its contents. He does not answer. He breaks his silence only after gauging his wristwatch. “I know that its early,” she says, sorrow consuming her voice at this realisation. That was the understatement of the day, even though it was only six hours deep, “Dawn has been awake most of the night. I thought that getting her out of the house might help.” Dominic stands rigidly, not one flicker of emotion flares on his robotic face, not even tiredness. Instead, he resorts to his trademark gesture of looking into his watch once again.
“Is this your way of asking me to share the load?” Dominic mutters monotonously, folding his arms.
“No,” she lied convincingly. “Although it is a struggle raising a newborn all on your own. I mean, my parents have helped me no end, but it just isn’t the same as I thought it was going to be.” Dominic knew full well what was implied.
“It was your decision to leave Shawn,” Dominic states assertively, attempting to defuse any emotional time-bombs that may have been triggered as a result of answering her plea to meet in person. “When you remarried, you committed not only your own devotion to him, but also promised to have him as a part of Dawn’s life.”
“It was in the spur of the moment,” Amy explains, slightly insulted by the lack of empathy displayed by a man who she once considered her very closest friend. “Your friend Horacio spoke with such conviction and confidence. How could I turn down such an opportunity to look at life in a whole new way when I am living in silent suffering?” She ends the sentence with a wheeze, letting out another cough but stops herself before they become as uncontrollable as they had been before.
“Maybe you should consider talking to someone rather than suffer in silence?” Dominic suggests half heartedly. Amy frowns at him, unsurprisingly.
“What do you think I call you here at the crack of dawn for?” Amy scowls. “It wasn’t just Dawn who couldn’t sleep, you know?”
“So talk!” an exasperated Dominic retorts, speaking firmly yet not at the volume of an aggressive shout. Amy shushes Dominic instantly, quickly glancing towards her daughter, who wriggles in the pram only in an effort to reach a greater level of comfort. Monitoring her for just a second with only the sound of the crashing waves in the background, Amy turns back to confront Dominic.
“As much as I want to learn more about The Chronological Order,” Amy begins, staring venomously at Dominic, “I feel that there is a side to the group that I am not being told. Such as the ramifications of its teachings.”
“Ramifications?” Dominic grunts, puzzled by this statement.
“You’re a completely different person, Dominic!” Amy sighs. “Remember when I found out I was pregnant? I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t talk to Shawn about it, but you were so understanding. And kind. And considerate. While we both came to the same mutual agreement, there was a part of me that didn’t feel right about it. Could I really go through with such a sham as my own daughter having no connection to her biological father?” Dominic is solemnly quiet, yet he does not show any facial expressions associated with guilt or sorrow. Instead, he merely gazes out towards the open ocean that is slowly being unveiled by the rising sun, the first sparkles of the day begin to shimmer across the ripples in the water. With a smile, Dominic lifts one foot off the ground, curling his leg so that he is able to wrap his fingers around his shoe, slipping it off after some vigorous twisting around the heel. He removes his black sock and stuffs it into the vacant shoe. He repeats the process with the other foot as Amy watches on slowly. He takes a step off the concrete that stretches along the promenade and onto the beach. Tens of thousands of tiny grains of sand are disturbed beneath his weight.
“It isn’t a sin to feel that way,” Dominic decrees, his back turned to Amy as he reaches down to pick up a handful of sand. “In all honesty, I know how you feel. Some people feel like they are wallowing in quicksand with no means of escape.” He allows tiny crevasses to form between his fingers. Sand trickles through the narrowest of openings and drop to the ground as delicately as feathers. “Others will just let time pass them by, living in their very own state of limbo.” With that, he spreads his fingers. A torrent of sand falls back onto the beach, no single grain is more distinguishable than the others. “And then, there are those who build castles…”
“Sandcastles?” Amy scoffs.
“To an extent,” Dominic turns and smirks. “We build castles out of the Sands of Time. We create our own paths, our own destiny.” He scoops some sand with his foot into a small pile. Given the sheer size of his feet, it only takes a few strokes of his feet beneath the sand to create a sizable mound. Amy has now wheeled Dawn’s buggy down a small ramp leading to the beach to join Dominic on the sand.
“So you would honestly spend more time chasing an unachievable dream than have anything to do with me and your daughter?” Amy grimaces. Dominator immediately pivots, clearly her words have struck a nerve. Whether it is a result of her lack of understanding or her own emotions clouding her judgment, such disrespect is something that The Suzerain of Time does not tolerate.
“Understanding this,” Dominator says with the utmost of fervour, “What I am chasing is not an unachievable dream. There are so many people whose bodies succumb to time that they are unable to accomplish things in their lives due to the restrictions that come with older age. We both know this. Shoot, even someone on the wavelength as High Tide knows this. Do you know how many time in my career I’ve been labelled as a ‘Has Been?’ This is in spite of my relatively short tenure at PCW. But what people fail to realise is that I am, in fact, a seasoned veteran. But it is with the sincerest of gratitude that I have been offered a second chance thanks to The Chronological Order. I feel… reinvigorated. Refreshed. Reborn.”
“I understand your passion,” Amy acknowledges, still dismayed that Dominic is not seeing what she perceives to be sense, “but do you really think that The Chronological Order can usurp religion itself? It is like bringing back Blockbuster Video from the dead to try and compete with Netflix. It just isn’t possible. It isn’t even feasible.”
“Anything is possible when your mind is set on it,” come the words of wisdom from The Zenith.
“Until life kicks you in the balls and send you crashing back down to Earth,” Amy replies snidely. This causes Dominator to frown, void of amusement. He recalled all too well how the contest on the last Trauma ended. He had lived up to his name, decimating the competition with relative ease. All that had been thwarted by what was not even a well-placed boot between the legs.
Never before had he come up short through such inanity.
“But you’re right,” she concedes. “If you really put everything into what you believe in, there is no limits to what you can achieve. Which is why I still have hope that you will be a part of your daughter’s life some day, before it’s too…”
She immediately stops herself with a loud gasp, almost shocked by how she was about to conclude that sentence. She lets out another coughing fit into her hand. Dominic tilts his head, staring right into Amy’s eyes. They say that the eyes are the windows into the soul. Yet Amy’s window’s are masked by a teary film. What once were the whites of her eyes have turned a distressed shade of pink, reflective of the deeper shade of colour that has now appeared on her face. She quickly turns back to the pram, but Dominic appears to have taken notice. He hauls himself out of the sand and back onto the concrete. He tries to look over Amy’s shoulder, but she turns away coldly.
“Before it’s too late?” Dominic asks with a slight splutter. For the first time, genuine concern makes its presence within his voice.
A tear trickled down the side of Amy’s face before being plucked away by the breeze.
Slowly, she runs her fingers through her hair hesitantly.
And that was the moment when she took off the wig.
Those beautiful locks of golden hair now rested in a tangled clump in her fist. She shivers as the sea breeze rushes across her scalp. With eyes full of sadness, remorse and tears, she looks at Dominic beseechingly, imploring him for a greater level of attention and understanding.
His jaw loosens.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Dominic,” she weeps. “Dawn needs a father.”
“Her father.”
“Ahem!”
From ten feet or more behind them along the promenade, the feigned clearing of Mortimer’s throat is enough of an indication on its own. Combined with the tapping motion he makes as he points to his wristwatch is nothing short of patronising. His timing could not be worse… or better, depending on how you look at things. Dominic glares at Mortimer, yet he knows full well that he cannot spend any more time in Amy’s company in spite of this heart wrenching revelation, not with the flight back to America in sight. The prospect of Hurricanes Irma and Jose causing a delay was also a possibility. He tries to find the right words that might be able to provide some sort of final reassurance before his departure. But they do not come. Not out of callousness, but more from the exposure of Amy’s distress. Knowingly, Amy shakes her head.
“Go,” Amy nods, wiping her eyes. “I‘ll be alright. But before you do, I have something for you.” Motionless, Dominic stands in dismay at the situation. Amy reaches into the back of the pram beneath the baby’s seat and withdraws a small paper bag with two string-like handles. She hands it Dominic, who slowly takes it from her, almost unwillingly. She urges him to take a look. He does so. The sadness immediately dissipates from his face and is instead replaced by amusement.
“Really? A groin cup?”
“That should make you nigh on invincible, right?” Amy jokes lackadaisically. Regardless, the two exchange a small grin. They stare at each other for a moment, only for Amy to dive into Dominic’s solid chest and embrace him with all her might, as feeble as it may be. Dominic is caught completely by surprise by the hold. Hesitantly, Dominic places one hand against the back of her neck soothingly for just a brief second before Amy is summoned away by the cries of their daughter. She looks back to Dawn’s buggy before looking back to Dominic one last time, smiling. Dominator himself stares out towards the open sea once again. He looks at his watch.
06.28am
The sun has risen over the horizon, lighting up the sky with an orange, blue and purple hue. The tide has started to go out.
“Go and build those sandcastles,” Amy smiles, “And become the King that you have always been destined to be.”
