Where I Live Contest 2016

6. Overpowered

Title: Overpowered
Author: @memorytales aka nikaeleen
Country: Portugal
Entry:

The ocean possessed solid presence, its wild waves overpowering any other sound with their endless crashing and colliding. The latter originated from beyond horizon, their excessive movement evident from the unevenness of the grey expanse, an ireful sea.

Mirroring the faded tones of firmament and marine water, the fishermen's houses, which seem to erupt out of the cliffs as if carved from them, lost their lustrously fresh quality, a perhaps blue framing a once white.

Nevertheless, it was still an August day, heat and humidity causing her brown locks to frizz into an unruly mess of a lion's mane. As she walked beside the wall framing the cliff's end, sudden gusts of wind determined to take her hair-do to another level of crazy. In any other situation or place, it would have bothered her, but as she took in the curves of the coastline, the asymmetrical edginess of the wave-struck rocks and the cries of a storm-fleeing colony, her appearance paled in importance. In fact, the moment her vision encountered the borderless vastness, not much seemed to matter but the constant water's flow, the endlessness of unreachable mystery and the salt-drenched, humid air's grip around her soul – it was entrancingly liberating.She strolled absent-mindedly, her barely clad feet tripping on the treacherous bumps of this uphill road. As a native, she should be familiarized to the irregular pavement, for it is long known that they never bothered to conquer the land, but took it in its integrity – anomalies included. However, it was a hard task to always mind her step, which earned her a few questioning glances, doubting on her nationality throughout the years. At the day's end, her origins were clear to her, even if her body refused to play along, rejecting getting accustomed to her surroundings. This also included her remarkable talent to never tan; a dull shade of sand between deep copper and warm golden hues.

Reaching one of the towns chapels, around which aged fishermen spent their days, she suspended her midmorning promenade. As per habitude, the sun-loved elders assembled along the western wall, where wooden benches had been put out. Emanating a calm and collected aura of men who had lived remorselessly, they sat and talked, greeting acquaintances with a respectful lift of their hats, as the latter passed by.

Suddenly, a siren rivalled the ocean's thunderous symphony, signalling the coming of noon. The well-known firemen's alarm bared a tradition: its initial use had the intent of informing the once workers at a not more existing factory that lunch time was due. However, the practice never died down and, for most of the town's visitors, it served as a wake-up call. As city folk, rising early during vacation wasn't part of the dictionary, hence the town being the most deserted until around one pm.

She took a seat on the most famous bakery's esplanade, ordering a regional speciality, ouriço, which gave name to the café she was in who had excelled at its production, and an expresso, and noticed the sky's clearance – they might even be graced by a blinding sun that day. It didn't fall into unusualness that a grey day turned blue around two pm, in fact it happened so frequently, the seasonal immigrants seemed to be more in tune with the town's natural rhythm than its born habitants. She endeared the thought with a discrete smile, while nibbling on the traditional pastry. Relishing enthusiastically, her head cleared of any pondering besides the taste of the food; delicious!

If a fulfilling existence could be somehow described, it surely would sound as following: phenomenal gastronomy and a comfortable weather for complete enjoyment of the wonderful surroundings one is in. And time to discard! An infinite amount of it!

Everyone knew they outclassed in that: procrastinating until there was no margin left – and no wonder why; they had so much leisure to attend, it would be very inconsiderate to ignore it. For some, this equalled laziness, but any inborn will counter that the quotidian lasse faire equated to how life was lead in this garden at the ocean's feet – slowly, surely and savourily.