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SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
There was no one at the beach. It was cold, and quiet. Gwin liked the quiet and the emptiness of the sand. And despite the lack of warmth in the air, Gwin was in her underwear, emerging from the freezing waters. Dripping, shivering, but clearly calm.
She slumped down on the sand, wrapping a towl around her shoulders quaking shoulders. There was a light tune eminating from her phone; Should I Stay Or Should I Go by The Clash. She bobed her head to the beat, hummed along as she lit a joint and placed it to her lips.
had been quite a while since Moonie had gotten out of his apartment for anything other than class or work. This new regime seemed to be working wonders for his mental health, and so there he walked across the beach's sands, each step creating a boot imprint that would soon be washed away by the call of the ocean. It was cold; the type of cold that makes you want to sit inside and watch movies all day. But Moonie embraced the cool air. It was far better than a hot and sticky summer, and that's all there was to it.
Maybe it wasn't exactly a good idea to carry cannabis in public, but it didn't really matter too much. Who'd come to the beach this time of year anyways? For all that it was worth, Moonie wasn't in public. It would be fine, he assured himself, the cannabinoids taking ahold of his brain ensuring that he wouldn't spiral off into an anxiety hurricane. Hurricanes. Those were giant spirals. Extremely destructive, but even those had a calm in the middle. Much better than if it only intensified the closer you got to the center, never actually reaching the middle before it tears you into bits and pieces.
Soon, a woman came into view. She had just been sitting there on the beach, wrapped in a towel. Moonie thought he had been alone on the beach. He had been wrong, it seemed. He analyzed the towel quickly. A towel means she's wet, but why would anyone be trying to swim in this weather. To each their own, he decided to himself. Maybe it would be a good idea to check on her to make sure she didn't need any help or something. It couldn't hurt too much, and she seemed to be upwind, so there wasn't much of a chance of her catching a whiff of the loud that sat permeating inside the pocket of Moonie's leather jacket.
Moonie approached carefully, as to not surprise the stranger. "Hello, there," he said in the friendliest fashion he could muster. "Are you okay out here?" he asked. The smell pointed him to the joint in her hands very quickly. Oh. It was okay. She gets it. Without asking for permission, Moonie lowered himself into a sitting position a couple feet from where the woman sat. The Clash was playing softly, causing Moonie to mouth a couple of the words. "Ain't nothing wrong with The Clash," he declared, his reddened eyes sizing up the stranger.
Quickly, Moonie reached into his jacket pocket, and turned a hemp blunt over in his hands. "Hope you don't mind if I join you, I just like nature sessions sometimes," he gushed, before placing the sweet tasting hemp wrap to his lips and igniting the end. Moonie leaned his head back and drew the smoke into his lungs before puffing it into the air, a massive cloud permeating between the mixture of the smoke and the warm moisture in the cold Oregon air.
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
Did she have a beacon light or something glowing out of her head? Or did people just naturally drift towards her. Naturally (more through instinct that embarrasment) she tugged the thread bare towl a little tighter around her, hand lowering to try and hide the joint. Who knows maybe this guy was a kiss ass of the law.
"Im fine..." She said slowly, trying to control the exit of slate smoke from her lips. "Cold." She had been shivering for a while now, but it was so quiet and solitary out here.
The stranger sat n the corse sand a small distance from her, and Gwin subdued a groan. "I s'pose the Clash are ok..." She mumbled, clearly feeling just a little awkward.
That was until he pulled out his own joint. PHEW! Gwin let out a sigh of relief, and brought her own to her pale lips. The smoke she exhaled jolted in the air with the shiver of her lips. Her muscles dropped their guard, and she leaned back a little, releasing her tight grip on the towel.
"Whatever, I dont care much." If he wanst annoying, she would deal with his presence. And despite how adamant she was on the matter, Gwin did actually enjoy the company of others.
seemed pretty dismissive. That's fair, Moonie thought, they didn't really know each other. To be honest, Moonie probably wouldn't have even approached her if he hadn't been high already. That type of interaction would have been too much for him to even attempt. But cannabis was an effective medicine for his needs, and there he sat.
Of course she was cold. How could she not be? A towel doesn't do much in the way of warmth. Moonie placed the blunt between his lips, and began to remove his jacket, taking a drag here and there out of one side of his mouth, while letting the smoke out through the other side. He was wearing a sweater underneath, so it didn't make much of a difference to him either way. Moonie took his jacket and placed it into the woman's lap. "You're welcome to borrow this. My sweater is fine enough to break the chill," he explained.
Moonie's attention turned back to the blunt, as he took a few more drags, enjoying the nice even burn. There was something about smoking that relaxed him, other than the drug itself. It was such a wonderful medicine, and he was very happy he decided to make the change in medication when he was given the opportunity. "I just got this Cookie OG strain. I hadn't tried it before now, but I quite like it," Moonie said, his arms lifting above his head for a stretch. They didn't stop where normal arms would, however. They stretched much further, nearly quadrupling in length, and Moonie sighed in relief from his stretch. His arms slowly shrunk back town to their original length, as he reached for the blunt sitting between his lips, almost halfway smoked already.
"I'm Moonie, by the way. It's nice to meet you...?" Moonie said, his sentence forming a question at the end, curious of his stoney beach companion.
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
The green eyes framed by dark lashes watched him as he placed the joint between his lips and began to tug off his jacket. There was a shocked glint within her optics when he offered the article to her, but after a moment she moved to slide her arms in and pull it onto her shoulders. She didn't try to hide the bareness of her skin, or the black bra, or the thong. What ever right? They were both high. It didn't matter.
"Thank..." Came her voice, a little confused, but also a little thankful.
The sing on her phone changed, and the rough vocals of Stevie Nicks with 'The edge of seventeen' began to fill the air. Gwin moved to turn up the volume, fingers drumming the grainy sand to the beat.
The stranger started to waffle about what she could only guess was weed lingo. Gwin got hers illegally, it wasn't fancy, or expensive. Cheap, simple stuff that was all she could afford, but it did its job.
Her irises disappeared behind lids fir just a second as she took a deep drag, and when she opened then, the boy next to her had his fucking arms stretched out way longer then they should have been. Either this batch of cannabis was spiked, or this dude was a... Mutant.
Fuck sake.
And things were going so well.
"Of course youre a fucking mutant..." She muttered lowly, raking her fingers through her damp, salt roughened hair.
"Gwin" Was all the answer he was going to get as she took several long inhales
turned away very quickly at the sight of her bare skin, blushing. He was glad that she accepted the jacket, but he hadn't anticipated seeing her so exposed. He looked off into the horizon, trying to brush off the fact that his face was beat red. It wasn't like he had never seen anything like that, or anything, just a bit of a surprise.
Moonie sat in her company for a while, listening as she changed the music. It was nice to be out of the apartment. He couldn't remember the last time he went somewhere that he didn't have to go to. Doing things for the sake of doing them. Life is hard. That's one thing that's undisputable.
Gwin's reaction to seeing Moonie's powers wasn't much of a big deal. Of course some people aren't going to like mutants. Hell, people start wars over skin tone and religion, so this wasn't much different. Still, Moonie felt like he had to clear the air a little.
"Yeah, I'm a 'fucking mutant'. But we don't really get a choice in the matter, you know? One second you're normal, and the next you're being shipped off to some school in Montana because the government says so," Moonie explained, almost like he was recalling a story from long long ago. "I have just as much choice in being a mutant as you do in being a beautiful woman. You just are. You don't get a choice," Moonie stopped for a moment to laugh, before beginning again, "My body being able to stretch is just the same as my hair being a perennial Jew-fro. It's the cards we're dealt. You just kinda make the most of it. It's part of who you are."
Leaning against one arm, Moonie looked back at Gwin, offering his blunt. "You want a hit off of this? It's got a pretty nice flavor. Way different than a tobacco blunt." Moonie smiled warmly at Gwin, waiting for her response. Having a medical card had many benefits, including access to lots of different types of weed. And each strain available had a different smell, taste, and effect, which was more than he'd known before he'd started medicating regularly.
Gwin scoffed a little when he told her he was beautiful. It was her job to question it though, wasn't it! And his little speech, was compelling, but definitely not enough to make her embrace her mutant genes.
"I'm a fucking mutant to.." She said, maybe with a little bit of shame within her tone.
She took the offer up of taking the hit readily, taking his but from his hand and replacing it with he down. She leaned back, sucking in the smoke. A moment passed before she releases the smoke into the air, moaning a little. "Its good shit..." She couldn't afford nice weed like this. All she could afford was back alley weed from gross dealers that was cheap and honestly not that nice.
had become very clear to Moonie by now, that most things that would shoot lightning bolts of anxiety through the core of his being were disarmed by the occupation of THC in his system. Talking to a nearly naked stranger was up there on that list, for sure. Moonie mused these thoughts around in his head, slowly letting himself sink into a lying position in the sand next to his companion.
Gwin seemed to have such disdain towards being a mutant, and in turn herself. It made a lot of sense. You spend all of this time building a sense of who you are, for it to all be ripped out from under you. Moonie closely examined her, his tan eyes matching the sand beneath him. She looked old enough to be starting college. How did she manage to cling onto this type of self hatred for so long? It wasn't any of Moonie's business, but alas, he couldn't help but think about it.
"I used to always get asked what I wanted to be when I grew up," Moonie began, "and I think that's kind of a silly thing to ask a child. Like why would you make this kid figure out a plan for his life before they even know who they are? And then you get people like us, 'fucking mutants'," he chuckles at the phrase, "who are getting close to it, only to be set back again by manifestation. Like I had friends and a girlfriend. And then before I knew it was being dragged off to butt-fuck nowhere Montana, where these people were supposed to teach me how to be a 'regular person' like I wasn't one anymore. I think that's probably why we have counselors and stuff, but not everybody wants to go to talk to a spook because of adjustment issues or whatever's bothering them, ya know." Moonie wasn't asking a question. He wasn't even really aiming anything particular at Gwin, only rambling whatever was going on in his head.
Moonie turned his head in the sand to look over at Gwin, doing his best to ignore the bareness of her skin, and smiled. "Sorry for rambling. If it ain't out loud, it's for sure gonna be in my head," he spouted. He winked at her before turning his head back to look up at the sky. If only he could be like a cloud, unpressured in which direction to go, only drifting along wherever he needed to be.
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
Gwin sympathised with his story greatly. When he had finished his little speech, Gwin took a deep, heavy breath, tracing shallow lines in the grainy sand. There was something a little sad in her eyes as she sucked in a lungful of smoke. There was a silence that hang around her like a veil as she lowered herself into the rough embrace of the sand.
She was about to do something she hadnt done since she had manifested; confess her true feelings about being a mutant. Sure it was no secret that she hated it. But there was more to it then that. Much, much more.
Maybe it was the weed, or the cold air, or how frozen she was... but she wanted to confess. Let out her feelings.
She took a mouthful of cool air, before beginning to mumure quietly.
"Ive only been a mutant for a few months... I wasnt supposed to be one. They told me that the gene I had was dormant. It was a drunk driver hitting me that turned me into a mutant."
She took another puff.
"I dont remember much... Just a lot of fucked up dreams. I woke up in hospital. There were recruiters there. Then my life ended." She sucked in a sharp breath. "They hurt... The visions..." Gwin turned to look at him. "I can see the future... But the visions make me fit and make me pass out. And sometimes I dont know what the date is, or whats going on." She looked back up to the sky.
"Ive lost most of my friends. My family doesnt speak to me. I cant afford my own place so I stuck in a shit school. They want me to be 'happy with who I am.'? How the fuck can I be happy when Ive lost everything for some shit powers I never asked for."
A pale, shaking hand went to brush a salty tear form her cheek
Moonie's elasticity had manifested, it was a lot to control and get a handle on. It was nearly like growing a new arm and having to find out how to control it. It was painful. It was exhausting. And it was frustrating. So Moonie empathized with Gwin very much.
"I know it sounds cliche, but it really does get better. The more you work at it, the less it gets in the way, and the less you feel out of control. It took me a long ass time to reign in control of my elasticity. It hurt. I didn't even really notice a difference until years later. For some people it comes naturally. They're lucky," Moonie spoke softly, relaxing into the sand.
"Losing everything is absolutely hard. I'm lucky enough to still be in contact with my family. They're too poor to visit very often, so it's still been pretty lonely. I've been here forever but you're the first person I've spoken to purposely in years. But it doesn't have to be that way, ya know. When things are out of your control, you have two choices. Sit in place and be bitter about it, or take your shitty situation and run with it," tufts of curly hair blew into Moonie's mouth and nose causing him to stop for a moment and brush it away, his curly locks blending back into one another, "I don't mean to preach at you at all. You can choose to do whatever you want. I've only just met you, and I have no plans of forcing you to do anything. Not that type of guy. But I've been thinking about it this way: You've lost everything. You have nothing. When cities get hit with massive natural disasters or bombs or whatever, they don't just disappear. They rebuild. And they move on."
Moonie was very aware that it was easier said than done. He was still trying this technique himself. But he couldn't not try and help. That wasn't who he was. "It's ok to be not ok. I don't have everything figured out. And that's ok. We'll get there, ya know?"
Turning on his side, Moonie dug through his jean pockets, quickly finding his wallet. He produced a small piece of cardboard before returning the worn leather wallet back into his jeans. It felt weird having a "business" card at 21, but it was something that his professors insisted on business majors having. Might as well get used to the situation before it comes, they say. The card included his place of employment, his position, and several different ways of contacting him all tucked neatly underneath his full name. Moonie handed his card over to Gwin.
"I'm not a shrink or anything, and I can tell you don't want one. But I'm a person who understands, even just a little. That's my 'business card'. Don't be afraid to hit me up if you need anything. And I mean anything. Just don't call if it's not an emergency. You can text me, or whatevs though, that's chill. Everybody needs somebody in their corner."
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
Gwin wasnt really one for motivational speeches. They were cliche now a days, and almost boring. But she listened; not intently, or with interest, but she still listened. Salty water beads rolled along her cheek as she exhaled another cloud of smoke into the air.
She knew he was right, but it was easier to be bitter; fester on her situation, blame some evil force for her situation. She didnt want to be a mutant, she didnt have any intention of being a mutant, so surpressing the powers was a good route. Thank god for drugs, right?
"You're sweet, but Im not a village, and this power isnt a natural disaster. Its more like a fucking virus that is slowly killing me." Fuck Gwin whe did you get so dark?
Moonie said kind words, and Gwin shuddered a little; maybe from the cold, but maybe from a fear of getting close to anyone. It wasnt ok to not be ok. It was weak, at least in Gwin's eyes - a rather horrid view instilled on her from her mother.
She reached out and took the card, turning it in her fingers, reading the words. She was touched by his words; not many had offered her solidarity and comfort so readily in her life. The sensation was odd, and Gwin wasnt sure if she liked it. Standing, she let his jacket slide of her arms, and she wanders to her crumpled clothes. The card went in a pocket, and she slowly pulled on her jeans and shirt over her salt slicked skin.
seemed pretty clear to Moonie that he should change the subject. It was hard. And everyone had to work through things in their own way. Gwin hadn't asked for any help, although it seemed clear that she needed it. It wasn't hard for Moonie to back away from Gwin, he'd only just met her. The last thing anyone needs is for a stranger to come up and give you lectures on life. Everyone thinks they've got it all figured out. They have no idea.
As Gwin stood, Moonie's gaze shifted away towards the shore line. The sun was beginning to lower itself towards the beautiful surface of the Oregon beach, and it was getting much colder. Looking over at his jacket, Moonie's arms stretched unnaturally far, grasping the cold black leather, before sliding it around his lanky silhouette. Standing, Moonie looked back at Gwin, now fully dressed.
"It's getting dark and cold as fuck, so I'm gonna walk back. You're welcome to walk with, but do what you want," Moonie told her before turning to walk away. He'd thought he'd come have a nice stoney time on the beach, and that's what he got. Well. Sort of. Any amount of face to face social interaction was good for him, he knew this, but whether or not someone like Gwin could be good for him remained to be seen.
Most people see life as a journey, but that idea seemed silly to Moonie. Journeys always have an end that people are racing towards, and the end of life is death, so it didn't seem to make much sense to run straight towards death. Even if you're having a particularly bad time, there's still something inside that compels you to keep on living, no matter the cost. And once that thing dies, soon shall you. What happens after death means nothing. Death implies life, and like always, the spiral tightens.
SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE; WHO AM I TO DISAGREE?
He was right. It was getting cold. And it was getting dark. She quietly pulled her jacket on, and dragged her damp hair up into a limp, salt crusted pony tail. She was silent as she went to follow after him, her hand going into her pocket as she followed his footsteps in the sand.
