Post by BROOKE JUDE CARTER on Apr 19, 2010 16:51:19 GMT -5
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** Brooke was running. But this was nothing new, was it? This was what she had done; what she had lived, breathed, worshipped with passion since the age of twelve, when the track coach from middle school had first recruited her in favor of the long legs and determined blue eyes. Things had not changed, not in that manner at least, for now at twenty one the sensation of tendons pulling beneath her smooth flesh was as familiar as an old friend. The sweat breaking against her forehead, the heated blast of warm, Spring sunshine as it lapped at her exposed shoulders and legs, the bronzed kiss of a pre-summer tan already beginning to show over the winter pallor. There was a silent count in her head; one, two, three, inhale, exhale, one, two, three. An endless tirade of pacing and breathing, aware of every excitable thump of her heart against her ribs, of every roll of smooth muscle, everything falling exactly into pace. This was something she knew, that time could not erase the memory of. Yes, life had changed, altering in ways that were unspeakable, some of them good but the most obvious events so very bad. But this, running, jogging, this was just the same.
Lightly did she slow her pace, nothing but the squish of nike sneakers against the gravel to fill her ears, a consistant rhythm that was comforting somehow. She could never run with an ipod, much preferring the sounds of the city -- and in this case, nature -- around her, for they were so entirely genuine. It somehow kept her grounded, moving so quickly that it seemed that her thoughts could not quite catch up. They came in blurbs, small clouds, before flitting away with this imagining or that, never staying long enough to dwell on to the point of distress or frustration. People asked why she loved running so much, and she always shrugged her shoulders, saying there was just something about 'it'. But this, this never being able to focus on one thing -- for once -- that was it, was why she ran so hard, so powerfully, so obesssively. It held the world at constant bay, kept her wrapped in safety and security for at last forty five minutes before being forced once more to confront reality. Now, that sweet little last resort began to fade as her killer steps slowed to a more managable trot, breathing deeply to unwind the tightening in her chest, knowing it was time to cool down -- at least for a few moments, for she could only stand walking for so long before feeling the tug to burst full speed once more. As always, brain began to settle, and with it the barrage of thoughts that had caused her to kick up dust in the first place.
There was, of course, that ache that immediately took residence somewhere between her ribcage, stabbing forcefully to her heart. That bitter reminder of what had happened, nearly four years ago. There was no 'getting over' death, especially when it came to parents; there was only getting through, and Brooke was still struggling with the journey. You would think it would help to have a twin at this point, someone who had not only shared your childhood, but the womb as well. But Raze was little to no help in that area, seeming caught in some moody depression that had not lifted for a solid few months. Though they hadn't truly confided in one another since childhood, the closeness between them had been steadily growing since they had moved into together, the snail pace hardly making it acceptable for her to go to him now, to talk about the stress of school and work and running and missing their mom and dad in a way that made her want to sob like a toddler.
Drawing in a sharp breath as she grew accustomed to the none-so-subtle stab of sadness to the center of her torso, dark head shook forcefully, ponytail wagging to and fro as she did so, as if somehow the movement would shake her thoughts as well. Knees lifted as she picked up her gait once again, as if somehow throwing herself forward would help her escape the unpleasantries of life. Little did she know at that moment it would only increase them.
She hadn't glanced down in quite a time, now not noticing the unraveling of her dingy shoe lace, and a second later toes squashed it against the pavement, sending her violently crashing forward. With a startled shriek, Brooke toppled forward, throwing her hands out before her just quick enough to keep from fully faceplanting, causing cuts of rock to splinter across her open palms, able to feel the shock richoet up arms as they bloodied. For a minute, she simply laid there, a heap of tiny slender body in black shorts and white sportsbra, now covered in the rising dust particles. "Fuck!" The expletive escaped a moment later when at last, she rolled over, sitting up and draping slender elbows across exposed and scraped knees, which had now pulled defensively to her chest. Taking a long, thoughtful look at her palms, now cut and bruised and embedded with gravel, a deep breath was drawn into chest as frustration overtook and a crystal of salty tears rose into vibrant blue eyes. Shoulders quivered along with torso, choking back the imminent sob that was raising, unfavored, in her throat. She was not prone to crying, but the limit of stress that could be handled was now at capacity, and falling on her ass was just enough to push her over the edge.
* -count 934.
* -notes dawww brooke isn't so tough, afterall.[/size][/ul]
