Fences.

The couple leaned against the farm fence. Daniel was watching the sunset intently when he heard Briana’s audible sigh.

“What?” He asked, afraid he’d done something wrong in the last ten minutes they’d been together.

“Nothing… well, I was just thinking about Kennedy” Briana said heavily and stuck the long stem of a convenient weed into her mouth.

“She’ll be fine… we both know she’s way to smart to do any good here anyway” he switched to leaning his elbows on the fence with his back to the horizon.

“It’s getting dark… we should go in.”

“Sure, are you gonna be staying?” Briana asked as they slowly walked toward the lit house, and spitting out the weed simultaneously.

“I dunno… Dad said he wanted some help moving his rusty old tractor out of the barn tomorrow.”

Briana raised her eyebrows, shocked.

“You mean your old man’s going back to farming? Is it that tough?” She stopped Daniel with a hand on his arm. He thrust his hands into his pockets to avoid her eyes. But when her grey gaze met his hazel one, all she could see there were guards, guards that weren’t letting her in to see how bad the Kirkley farm was.

“Nah… he just wants to sell the old heap of junk… he says he’ll-”

“He’ll never, ever, go back to farming?” Briana finished for him and looped her arm through his.

“Yeah…” Daniel replied dumbly. They walked all the way to the porch in silence and then, under the dim light of the bare light bulb that hung there, Briana said,

“Hope things get better. For both of us” and with that she held his head in her hands and kissed his forehead.

“Good night” she said quietly and left him standing in the night, the echo of the screen door slamming ringing in his head. 

Hope you liked!

DH

Angels.

DISCLAIMER:

This is not a violation of lyric/ word stealing, this is a 'song story' inspired by a song written by a really great artist, some of the lyrics are incorporated straight into the story, but the overall feel was inspired by the music of Angels, by Owl City. 

Jeremy slept soundly until a subtle rustle awakened him with a jolt of fear. Good; the nightlight was lying unplugged on the desk.

Then a wave of restless anticipation tingled through him, and he sat up, swinging his long, skinny legs off his planet covered blankets. He strode to his only window’s sill and placed his spindly fingers on it, peering into the dark below, and curiosity vaguely plaguing his mind. He blinked hard and then shook his head, maybe tomorrow, he thought, disappointed. Suddenly, an idea struck him and he hurriedly dashed off a few words on a piece of torn note book paper. He left it on the empty chair in the corner, nearest the window.  “I’m dreaming of the life I once loved. So wake me if you’re out there…”  It said in a hand that was unsure. Crawling silently back to his warm blankets, Jeremy let himself fall away into the peaceful nothingness of dreamless slumber.

The sun woke the boy the next morning, pouring gloriously through the still parted curtains. Jeremy sat up and checked the chair. The note was on the floor now and his small kitten, Babby, was looking blithely up at his master with his slitted yellow eyes.  Jeremy frowned and scooped the little ball of fluff into his arms and after glancing one last time a the window, he left to go eat breakfast. As he finished and dumped his dishes into the old, yellowing sink, he ran to the hall to get his woolen sweatshirt he wore under a coat.  He passed the living room and double took with surprise and the same feeling of fear that had engulfed him the night before. He peered harder at the fake fireplace (the great chimney had been sealed up long ago) and then shook his head. There was no flame there anymore, not even a tell-tale ash was to be had on the ancient stone hearth.

He hurried on and stepped out into the blustering, bright fall day. The leaves all around the house fluttered and quivered from the sturdy trunks and limbs of the surrounding Beeches and Oaks. Jeremy wound his scarf around him and shrugged into his coat, a basket in gloved hand and a trowel in the other.  The gloves on the boy’s fingers were worn to the point of nonexistent tips and there were several growing holes on the palms. But Jeremy didn’t mind, in fact he really loved his old gloves and wouldn’t part with them until they were in-wearable. He trotted down the leaf strewn path and turned down a skinny, dirt and dust covered foot path that led straight to the base of the giant Oak he loved to sit in.

He spent hours a day just sitting in the forks of the great beamed tree, studying the names carved in the trunk and picking the acorns off of the last harvest. He listened to the wind patterns and watched the leaves below him rustle and tumbled in the chilly breeze’s wake. Suddenly, he could’ve sworn he saw two feet shaped holes in the blanket of russet and gold leaves below him, as if someone was waiting for him to descend, to pick him up in their arms and carry him home to a cup of hot chocolate and biscuits. But no, not today, he thought. He squared his thin shoulders and resolutely decided he’d wait until he was old and grey for the footsteps of parents to fill the space beneath the tree…

Hope you liked!

DH

Hello.

Welcome to my blog, Ink and Imagination!
This is my latest endeavor to publish and invite constructive (and instructive) criticism on one of my favorite pastimes: writing!  
I'm not committing to any strict agenda for posting, but I will try and put something up once a week or at least two times a month. 
I hope the readers of this blog will respect my rights as an author and make sure not to plagiarize or copy any of the works posted here for your literary enjoyment. 
Will post soon!
DH