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Hi. My name is Gabriela. I use to be here. Umm, This is already in my journal, but I have nothing else worth posting for now. An introduction to a "small" project, book type thing that I am working on, heh. Anyways. Hello and enjoy.

Afloat ; Dormant to the ocean's slow pace, she laid backside against the boats wood flooring, admiring the celestial spine. Unaware of direction, unaware of time, unaware of the current that embraced the boats drowning backbone - she continued to sail, thrusting through the voluminously growing waves. Idolizing the ghastly taunt of the sea, and the whispers from the sudden uproar of the wind. Oh how I wish, How I wish the black sea would devour me, her lips barely parting as she sang in her sorrows. Desolate in the middle of that liquid, ink infestation. she was a shapely girl - no younger than sixteen - showing no signs of a famine diseased nor obesity plagued teenager. Her skin was a pale hue under the moonlight, and her eyes, a stark blue. Ebon locks were cut boyishly short, giving credit to her bare neck and shoulders. Five single digits laid idly atop her chest and bosom, rising and falling just as the tide that surrounded her had been doing.

Tiny droplets from the uprising tide fell onto her face, gracing sprawled legs and cascading from one side of the quivering boat to the other. With her other hand she gently brushed the dozens of droplets from her face then retired the palm of her hand against her forehead. A continued page, an unfinished song, abandoned buildings and sunken ships: she felt the deadweight of each newly introduced and remaining droplet. Brutality reigned the sea in the form of a tide, threatening by the side of the mythological reptilian. Oh how I wish, How I wish the black sea would devour you and I, she continued to sing, with her voice cracked and buried beneath her tongue.

She felt fefiant, her sprawled corpse still laid backside the wooden floor, sailing along the battle of the tide. And what a battle she declared, an eloquent battle it was: Jolie and her fisherprice boat versus the monstrosities of the sea ... but the thought of turning her beloved black sea into a deep crimson became a sour taste on the tip of her tongue. A futile declaration that wrapped around her neck and squeezed until her eyebrows arched and her cheeks puffed like a blowfish. So she gasped for the salty air and grimaced, turning her head so her cheek pressed against the frigid flooring. Curled, cold and tiresome, her arms reach around her legs, bringing them closer to her chest. A pitiful sight onboard, as if she were a sickly dog or stray cat nestling fireside. Flaxen, astral stars hung from the night like cutouts dangled from thinning strands of string: her company until daylight decided to arise from it's grave..