Writing The Tides

Novaturient (adj.)

First, there was water.

The deja vu came rushing in after.

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It's funny what the human mind chooses to remember. We are so completely unaware of our subconscious. How it chooses our memories, or how it follows hypothetical criteria we don't understand. Lance couldn't remember what he had for breakfast that morning, but he could remember his father's stories from Cuba, and the first time he tried garlic knots.

Lance also couldn't make out what led him outside in the first place, whether he left alone or followed the crowd.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget the sound of Keith's body hitting the ocean.

Or how quickly he followed.

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Lance had never swum so hard in his life. He could feel the weight of his lungs against his chest as they strained to fly out of his mouth. He could already feel his muscles tense up, but he couldn't stop moving.

He had to get to him.

...Or die trying.

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Hospitals smell really weird.

It's the mix of death and life and jello cups and tears and nurses and big machines all wrapped up in a white room filled with flowers and get well soon cards.

Or for Keith, crying older brothers and concerned parents.

By the time he woke up, his parents had fully prepared a thirty-minute lecture about safety and drinking, and Shiro came through with an entire visual presentation on new rules that Keith would be required to follow unless he wanted to move back in with their parents.

He couldn't stop apologizing. 

He swore he would never put his family through this again. The looks on their faces when he woke up was too much, being in the hospital was too much, this was too much.

He couldn't stop his mind from recalling the accident.

The first one.

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Keith was ten when his parents decided that a trip would be good for them.

A cruise was recommended to them by their family counselor- and Keith had been so excited to leave his hometown for the first time. It only took him twenty minutes to pack everything he needed- some essentials, like his red power ranger action figure, his black and purple glow-in-the-dark hoodie, and of course: Kitty, his favorite pink hippo his mother gave him when he was three.

All of which sunk in the wreckage.

They were on the ship for only about two days when the storm hit. Keith recalls those two days being the most carefree he could remember himself, it was the first time his parents weren't dangling on the brink of a divorce, the first time his mother wasn't thinking solely about work, the first time they felt, in a long time, like a family.

It lasted forty-seven hours, three minutes, and twenty seconds.

They were all under an emergency protocol, they were supposed to evacuate as fast as possible.

The ship wasn't supposed to tip over.

Keith wasn't supposed to make it out alive.

His father died in the hospital. His mother's body was never found.

And Keith spent the next two years jumping from therapy sessions to foster homes, to finally finding a stable family, to even more therapy sessions...

...Back into a hospital bed.

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When his parents finally left, after final hugs and kisses and emotional breakdowns, and when Shiro finally fell asleep on a nearby chair, Keith sunk back into his pillow and tried to keep his eyes open.

The thought of sleeping was simply too tiring. The thought of nightmares was contaminating his brain and all he really wanted was to be back in his own bed, away from himself.

Instead, he was here.

He watched the moonlight peer into the room, almost like a mother checking on her child to make sure they were sleeping.

Keith pretended, for the moon's sake.

He closed his eyes hesitantly and recalled the lullaby Shiro used to sing him, trying to ignore the sound of the waves crashing in his head. Somewhere between being awake and not, Keith felt himself give away to the weight of his eye bags, to the tug of exhaustion. He found himself tearing up at the memory of his parents being in this room hours prior, and the smile on Shiro's face when he knew his little brother would be okay.

Keith wasn't sure if it was his heart or the internal bleeding, but his entire soul felt opened up. It wasn't easy for him to admit he needed help, but if he didn't want to do it for himself, he would do it for Shiro, do it for his parents (adopted and otherwise). It took a little push (literally) to realize that he didn't want to be the type of person to look over cliffs anymore, the type of person to keep the ones he loved constantly on edge of what edge he might try to fly off of next. Keith had come to terms with the fact that he could not fly. But what he could do, was try. Try to be more than just a locked case in a dark room, try to be more than just what he was thinking, try to live like a protagonist.

He had to learn the hard way, but Keith was slowly realizing that it was the only way he learned. And now, he knew: life does not get a sequel.

Keith wanted to be more than just a story.

He wanted to get better. He wanted to stop living like a walking apocalypse. He wanted to use words, not to escape life, but to paint it a bright red. He wanted to let himself fall in love with someone, and maybe that someone was himself. He wanted to save the world, but he could start with his brother.

Shiro could use some rest.

And as he fell into the deep sleep, Keith counted sheep that looked awful like tears racing down his mother's face.

He had seen this dream many times before.

But tonight was the first time he wiped them away. 

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WE HIT 17K ON MY BIRTHDAY MORNING I CRIED THANK YOU SO MUCH

The comments I receive from y'all are genuinely some of the best compliments I have received in my lifetime. You guys always have me laughing and getting sentimental. Thank you so much for your kind words and for pushing me to be a better writer- I'm still working on that second part ;)

As always, keep breathing~

Tan♡