Insanity ☆ II

nine.

" and that is how
change happens;
one gesture.
one person.
one moment at a time. "

☆.·:*¨nine¨*:·. ☆

WINTER WAS OFFICIALLY IN THE air, on the streets, and in the atmosphere. The leaves had frozen, leaving a crisp crunch as Noah trudged through the woods, shielded from snowfall. The sun rays that did manage to permeate the clouds were pale and cold, yet reflected beautifully off the melting ice. Within minutes, shade turned into exposure, and wood turned into sand. Closing his eyes, Noah inhaled the fresh, salty scent of the beach - a pre-Christmas tradition.

When he was younger, he would bounce in anticipation as he waited for his father to finish work. His mother would laugh from the kitchen, where she would be preparing fresh sandwiches and sliced fruit for their picnic.

"Noah, if you bounce any faster, you're going to fall through the floor." She laughed, shaking her head at the young boy. "Why don't you come here and help me-"

"He's here! He's here!" Young Noah screamed, running upstairs to collect his already-prepared bag (not even containing sunscreen, to his mother's dismay), managing to avoid tripping along the way.

"Moira! Noah! I'm home!" George walked in, dropping off his bag on the way to kiss his beautiful wife. "Is Noah here?"

"I'm here!" He screamed, lagging his bag down the stairs, taking them two-at-a-time. After George would get changed (not fast enough for Noah's liking), the three would drive down to Brighton Beach and have the absolute best evening. Noah would play in the freezing water whilst Moira and George would snuggle on the sand, eventually getting dragged into the water by their persistent son. After drying off, Moira would wrap each of them in a fuzzy blanket and serve the hot chocolate, pre-prepared in a flask. They would tell jokes, stories, and watch the stars if the night was clear. If it wasn't, they would wish for snow.

They had continued this tradition until even last year, and Noah wished he had known it would have been their last. Regardless of whether he knew or not, their final memory was irrevocably special, with light snow falling onto their hair and eyelashes as they told each other their wishes for the new year. His father had wished for a promotion, his mother had wished for them all to be happy, and Noah had wished for things to stay the same.

The fine rocks of the La Push beach didn't evoke the same feelings of escapism as the thick sand he was used to, but those feelings would probably never be felt again - feelings of warmth, security, family. Instead, he was met with his own coldness, emotionless, and pained self. He hated himself for feeling this way - he wished to return to his previous state of happiness, especially with Christmas right around the corner, but the darkness was inescapable, as one couldn't escape their own mind.

He sat on a large rock, facing the grey, crashing waves. He pulled his dark blue parka tight around him, trying to keep the warmth that the surrounding snowfall yearned to take away from him. He let his mind wander over past memories and future expectations as each wave continued to crash against the rocky shore in an endless, inevitable cycle. The isolation, cold, and hopelessness of the situation were enough to draw a tear into Noah Taylor's eyes, only for it to be immediately wiped away when the sound of crunching reached his ears. He turned, surprised to see Denver Black walking towards him, hands in pockets with a white beanie pulled over her ears.

"I thought I sensed a disturbance in the force." She smirked, pretending not to notice the redness of Noah's clouded eyes.

"Funny, I'm listening to one right now." He rolled his eyes, his sour mood unintentionally leaking through his voice.

"Woah, slow down there Darth Vader. What's got you down?" She took a seat beside her friend, not letting his foul mood get to her. After all, she had enough experience of moody teenage boys from her twin brother and the others on the reservation.