Runaway Prince -- DNF

Friends?

George and I walk back to our house alone. Hugh was out doing something important, something about a town meeting?

We walk silently, only the sound of our shoes crunching the autumn leaves can be heard. The cold wind nips at our noses making me pull my cloak tighter around myself. People are starting fires in their fireplaces to stave off the cold the night brings, the smell of burning wood rises into the sky. We push open the door to a quiet and dark house. George and I slowly light the candles and together we get the fire going in the fireplace. I stand by the fire silently and watch George take his shoes off by the door. He looks upset.

"George?" I break the silence. His head tilts up to look at me. "Can we... talk about what happened with that man at the bakery?"

He sighs and makes his way over to where I'm standing. We both pull chairs to sit by the fire and George stares at the glowing flames. I watch him, waiting for an answer.

"The man at the bakery today. His name is James. He comes in once a week and gets the same thing. And for some reason, he always flirts with me and tries to get me to go out with him. I hate it. I hate him, but I can't be rude because he is our best costumer. He is a regular, we don't want to lose his business."

I let his words process in my mind. "But you- you told him off today?"

"Yes... because he was saying crazy things. Stuff about you... which isn't true, is it?" His eyes finally turn to mine and stare into my soul.

"I umm..." I quickly look away from his prying eyes. "I guess not. That's crazy talk. I would never do that. Even if I was royalty, which I'm not, than I wouldn't take advantage of anyone." Even though I couldn't be entirely honest, I felt like being as truthful as possible. "I truly do need a place to stay and money to get back on my feet. Honestly."

George's prying eyes soften. "Well, for the record, I'm glad you came here." He pauses before adding. "And I think you would make a horrible prince."

My mouth drops open in fake offence. "Hey!" I shove his arm and he laughs. "I would make a wonderful prince. I would be even better then you, you sour, stuck up-"

He punches my chest. "Oh shut up," he says with a chuckle and a smirk. I shoot him a cheesy grin and he rolls his eyes fondly.

After a few long minutes of staring at the fire, mostly stealing glances at George, we both head upstairs to get ready for bed.

As per new tradition, we pull out one of George's books to read before bed. We started doing this after we both figured out that we enjoy reading novels. Tonight I got to pick something out from his book shelf while he got ready for bed. I found a leather bound book that intrigued me. I pulled it out and all it said on the cover was 'George' in fancy cursive writing.

I took it upstairs and showed it to a patiently waiting George.

"What's this?" I ask, holding it out for him to see.

He looks at the cover and his face drops. "Where did you-?" he quickly pulls it from my hand and gets up from his bed.

"It was just on the book shelf... What is it?" I answer skeptically.

He holds it to his chest protectively. "It's-" he takes a peek at the cover again. "It's my mothers..."

His mothers? The one person I had never met in his family. I didn't want to assume, but it seemed like she wasn't apart of their lives anymore.

"Can I...?" I reach my hand out and gaze softly at him. His expression is guarded, but the longer he looks into my innocent emerald eyes the barrier breaks.

He slowly sits down on the edge of the bed and pats a spot next to him. We sit shoulder to shoulder on his bed. He slowly opens to the first page, the binding crackles.

It reads:
To my son, George

Love, Mother

The two simple lines are placed in the middle of the page, most of the page is left empty. He runs his nimble fingers over the cursive writing. I look over to him.

I feel like I'm intruding a special moment. But I continue to watch, my curiosity getting the best of me.

He flips through the pages slowly, each page is filled with words, words that flow with one another, like a song. This must be poetry. His mothers handwriting is perfect on every page. She obviously put much time and effort to make this book look flawless. Each page holds a new title, formatted like poetry. Every poem is different. There are sonnets, haikus, free form, and more. Some of them are only 4 lines long, some take up the entire page. All of them are beautiful, about nature, about family, about food, baking, life, the sun, rain, happiness.

My eyes are drawn to George as he reads a poem titled 'Memory'. His eyebrows are drawn together, his eyes glistening with tears, his lower lip quivers, his cheeks are red. My heart aches for him. I watch as his hand grips the page tightly. I rest my hand over his gently and he looks up.

My voice is soft, "we don't have to-"

"No," he interrupts. "I want to remember."

"Remember what?"

He sniffles. "My mother."

"What... what happened?" I stare into his watery eyes.

He stares back.

"She umm... she passed away when I was younger." He subconsciously rubs his fingers over the pages full of her handwriting. My hand remains on top of his and I squeeze his palm. "She was really sick and we didn't have enough money to buy her any medicine." He visibly swallows as a stray tear makes its way down his reddened cheek. "It was just really hard because you could tell she was in a lot of pain, but she was always good at hiding it. I was only 14 or 15 at the time, but she really brought life into the house. She made me happy, she had this brightness that radiated off of her, it made everyone around her happy."

He pauses and looks back down at the poetry book. His dark hair slightly falls over his eyes. "When she would get bored she would write her thoughts in her journal and then make them into a poem. I guess while she spent a lot of time in her bed being sick, she made this book for me. It was the last thing she gave me before..." he swallows thickly as another tear runs down his cheek. "Before she left us."

My voice is full of tenderness as I say, "That must've been really hard for you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

His watery eyes turn back to my face and he gives me a weak smile. "Thank you."

My whole perspective shifts. George wasn't bitter. He wasn't a sour kid, he just didn't have the happiness he used to have, so he probably stopped caring. He probably stopped enjoying life. Not that Hugh didn't give him some of that, I didn't know. But losing someone that gave you so much life would bring you down.

"You know," George interrupts my thoughts. "I feel a little lighter after telling you that."

My eyes go wide in surprise. "Well, just so you know, I really appreciate that you opened up to me. That was really brave."

He gives a light laugh. "Yeah. I guess. But, when is it my turn to delve into your past?"

Oh...

Hey hey hey! Thank you for reading. This has been fun to write so far. Tell me what you think. <3

1342 words