As you've likely guessed from the summary, this would be a collection of short little ficlets surrounding AJ. They're the result of a prompt trade with the lovely Green Amber, from whom I rather shamelessly stole the title of this collection.

Here's hoping these four little pieces manage to either surprise or delight. Perhaps even both.


There was a boy, a very strange enchanted boy, they say he wandered very far, very far.

This moment is crystalline in its clarity. He smells the salt as he wades out deeper, deeper, deeper in to the water, and would even swear that he can taste in the air. It's acrid, it's horrible, but there's something so real and defined about it that he welcomes it in his own way.

Despite the late hour, the water is warm. It's almost pleasant as it soaks through his clothes and in to his flesh and in to his bones, like stepping in to a patch of sunshine. Sunshine, however, doesn't fill your lungs and force you to scream out in futile agony, since no-one can hear you in the first place as you fill with more and more water, which just makes things worse since you feel like you're burning and bursting and dying all at the same time.

He should know. He's done this whole drowning thing before.

His pensive solitude is interrupted by the sound of gulls screeching, piercing the night as they cry out their refrain of leave this place, leave this place

I'm working on it, he wants to tell them. He remains silent with the knowledge that they wouldn't listen anyways.

He's up to his waist now. In a rather cavalier gesture, he dons the jacket he's had slung over his shoulder this whole time – a strange action that reflects normalcy in a twisted sort of way. Human habit dictates that we put a coat on before we leave the house; why not to leave this mortal plane?

It's as he disappears beneath the waves with eyes closed and lungs ready that he swears he can feel someone watching him.