Scarlet Eyes and Raven Dies

page eleven

Vincent waited in the very field that was forbidden. Nobody was awake accept for himself and Peter, who soon would be there next to him.
The middle of June; everything was alive. The howls of Peter carried throughout the town and back to Vincent. The mummers of birds and the water that ran throughout the river. Vincent knew to appreciate nature in a delicate way, he'd always want to be made of bark and perhaps the sap wood where trees stand high and seem to touch the layers of clouds in the sky.

Peter eyed Vincent standing alone in the field admiring everything no one notices. Vincent looked back at Peter. A smile that cured the despondency that was stemming inside of Peter was all he needed. Peter ran to Vincent and clung onto him as if that was the world ending.
Vincent kept Peter tight in his grasp and didn't let go until he was sure everything was well again.
The time and distance between them seemed insurmountable, but proving once again, the things that pull apart only grow stronger.
"We aren't staying here." Said Vincent, his hands rested on Peter's shoulders.
"No we aren't." Peter looked into his eyes,
"Where will we go?"
Vincent turned his head to the right, "The city," and pointed towards the trees that looked like angles hovering over something so distraught.
Peter eyed Vincent with a look of vacillation.
Stay here, in a small town, you're used to everything. Or, move to a city where you don't know anyone.
In the back of his mind, maybe a dénouement to this town and its hypocrisy would be the best thing. His father; a lonely widower, facing shadows of his own self-discrepancy. His town friends were what he made of the people. His loneliness, something lost within Vincent's warmth.
"I will go wherever you lead." Said Peter, his words equivocal.
"We can be in exile fighting with swords leading a life beyond our shattered glass, believing in our fall of grace. Trust me, trust thy second sight." Vincent's eyes turned back to Peter's.
Grabbing his hand, Vincent guided Peter along with him.
Both boys didn't run; they walked, and each footstep added a flower to their grave.
How did a deportee become of themselves.