Wheeling Gull Isle Oceans Breath

The boy was drawn to the ocean each and every day, the lands beyond calling to his soul with songs of colour unknown to those he lived with. He felt... different from them. He didn't much fit in, and perhaps he'd never find that feeling of belonging. Still, his fascinations lay beyond their borders - beyond the greenish blue crashing of the waves, the tan howling of the wind. The island was noisy.

He stood on the beach, trying to get another attack of anxiety out of his brain by trying to tune everything but his thoughts out. The noise hurt in a way he couldn't express - he hadn't told anyone about his struggles, afraid of judgement, but it was clear the boy was often anxious and not very social. Perhaps it was cause for concern, though he was unable to even think that far ahead.