Scarlet Eyes and Raven Dies

page three

"I love you too."
Vincent fell back onto Peter's chest and let the wind carry his hums.
The wind, so thin, it almost had whispered in Peter's ears,
"Someday people will see you as a person."

That same night when Peter traveled home, his father was sitting in a chair with a beer. His face cold lit by the fire in front of him.
"Have you something to explain, Peter?" He shouted across the room.
"No." He stood there with no expression. Maybe a little shame crawled up his spine, but other than that, blankness.
His father stood up and stomped over to Peter,
"Peter, I swear! You come home when nights late. I know they are not making you work in those fields until sundown!" He shouted at his face, "What have you been doing?"
Peter's legs trembled and his lips shivered. His eyes dark, but full of fear.
The words stumbled off his tongue, "Nothing."
"Go to bed!" His father demanded.
The force of his dads voice made him quaver, which lead him rushing up to his room to lie on his stomach and cry all the pain out until he fell asleep.

The morning of, Peter put on his work uniform; dirty overalls over a white t-shirt. He then headed straight out the door, passing by his father who was passed out on the couch. He ran over to the garden to start pulling weeds until he was ready to work in the fields, watering vegetables, planting seeds, and pulling more weeds.
Usually Vincent would meet Peter for their daily chores. However, he didn't this time. Which put Peter in fear for most of the day until he finished working. he'd  run down to the middle of the field to lay, and he would take off his shirt to let the cool summer breeze embrace his body.
Sometimes he would like to think the wind, which blew his hair in all different directions, was Vincent's hand snaking throughout his black curls.
It was different though, the wind was more gentle and the breeze would come and go. The summer's heat would fall over Peter's body and then he would think the sun was Vincent's body towering on top of his.
Peter sang songs. He would sing anything, his words, the letters on his book pages, to the wind and the trees. But not the birds.