The Perfect Sinner (cake boyxboy)

(X) Into The Wild

Maybe the income was too low. Maybe the people were too keen. Maybe the location was off and the banks were way too far from the main tides. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

In his travels; this always seemed important to him. The suffering. He always seemed to notice the suffering above other virtues in humanity. Suffering reduced us to our simplest human terms. It summarized what was real and what was foul.

He couldn't quite recall the first time he noticed they way tourist attractions shunned humanity. He recalled going to some tropical country in the Americas once; maybe Costa Rica or Cuba, maybe both. And he noted the way people hanged themselves out on the street to sell their silks, their fruits and their souvenirs; people that through any means found a way to survive. Seeing such a country, it made him aware of true humanity. It made him aware of the poverty some live in and it kindled something inside of him. His parents noted this. But aside from the free market individuals who wanted to put food on the table off tourism, here come the big guns who are delighted at the sight of profit alone. These people in power exploit and ravage the attraction through individuals, but are so unconcerned with what doesn't outcome in profit. That's what the world has become in 2014, a profit machine--atleast in the north. What this machine failed to note was that humanity and nature weren't ever supposed to factor into such profit calculations. He himself witnessed one of these guns going off right at his kitchen table, and they too never cared much for the real affairs of humanity. They were more interested in the idea of humanity. Location is how people value humanity. Calum wrote this down on the back of his book.

He walked down the wooden stacks and towards the sails. As he started walking down the first boardwalk maze, he noted the ships grew down the path and rightly so. There was everything from a canoe to maybe a midsize boat. It wasn't like the downtown harbour where yachts  and water tanks were displayed for personal ego. Here it was more of a way of life. Here it was people who grew up with the sea in the veins and did their part to preserve culture. And the seemed so proud. These sailors were craftsmen. They knew every corner of the sea like the back of their hands. They knew the depth of the sea and it's current flows. They understood the moods and the signs of the water and didn't see the sea like a reef, but saw it all at once. Their sea is whole, and they're happy, Calum chuckled. Happiness was important, although he couldn't figure out why. Calum hadn't the same luck with his sea. He wasn't aware of his currents or his depths, he never realized anything was wrong with him. But then again; no addict ever diagnoses themselves as such. Yet funny enough, those who feel the pain of the sea most are the ones who are always trying to find it. It isn't so simple. Cheers to those who can neglect it's pain, call it life and see the mahogany finish line.

He didn't really walk with any moral compass. He kept strolling on the boardwalk until he reached a little bench carved out of a tree. It looked up the horizon. It was little before noon and the sun was at its climax. The skies were as blue as they got and maybe that's how Calum's mood felt. But even in that state, there was something awfully pragmatic about him.

He didn't look up when a stranger sat beside him, knowing he should. From a side-eye, he noticed shaggy pants, shaggy hair and shaggier clothes. He was pierced, inked and wrinkly, with white hair that had lost it's whiteness. Calum, surprisingly  wasn't even scared when the dagger came for him, just below the rib. It didn't even scare him but did rather demand an explanation.

"Hello there," he greeted the blade. Then he crossed eyes with the icy gloom of his eyes. His eyes were so blue and still exemplified so much pain and despair. His skin was red and bothered, and he himself was rather foul. But he was tight and quick with a knife.