(no subject)
Most days, Nate runs. In the cool of the early morning or late evening he runs, a circuit from Compound to beach and around the quiet shores on the northwest corner of the island, leading him back to where he began. He tries to not see too many metaphors in running in circles, tries to just give himself permission to do it. He tries to give himself permission to not think so much, too, but that's less successful.
This evening he's been running-Long enough that he's lost track of time, long enough that he's all but completely soaked in sweat, damp hair clinging to his forehead, white shirt made pale gray. When he finally slows, making that final stretch to the Compound and the showers inside, he pulls the shirt off, mops his face with it and pushes the offending hair from his eyes. He really does need a hair cut.
Maybe he'll swim instead, he thinks, his mind snagging on the idea of cool water and an excuse to be lazy in it, just for a little while. All this time on the island, and he's only ever been swimming in the ocean. It's probably past time to try something new.
This evening he's been running-Long enough that he's lost track of time, long enough that he's all but completely soaked in sweat, damp hair clinging to his forehead, white shirt made pale gray. When he finally slows, making that final stretch to the Compound and the showers inside, he pulls the shirt off, mops his face with it and pushes the offending hair from his eyes. He really does need a hair cut.
Maybe he'll swim instead, he thinks, his mind snagging on the idea of cool water and an excuse to be lazy in it, just for a little while. All this time on the island, and he's only ever been swimming in the ocean. It's probably past time to try something new.