Chasing Clouds

Bunnies

He eyes followed the bunny cloud that flouted above her head, he was staring at her. Even as children he could see that she was different, her blue eyes that reminded him of the small river, that cut trough their hill. She was ten, two years younger than him but she was mature, not in the sense that she knew how the world worked, but when he was her age he couldn't just lye down and stare endlessly at the sky. He would run and climb, and play games as children do. He still wanted to run, and jump, and climb and play games. But he knew his time with her may only last one summer, so he accepted that if she wanted to find bunnies in the sky, he would.

Though she loved to stare at clouds, she could still run, and jump, and climb and play games. She was a wonderfully fun child who enjoyed adventures, and games. Especially games that involved Wayward. She and him would spent the summers playing games. She treat life as a game. Wayward always admired her innocent and adventurous spirt; it was something he desired.

He became restless his leg was starting to tingle from laying down too long. He sat on the nearest seat, the swing. Built by them two summers ago, the swing was a rope and plank of wood. But when he saw the swing he saw her. Sitting on the swing, waiting for him to play. Without the swing they wouldn't be bonded in the way they were. At the start of every summer, Wayward would lookout of his kitchen window for the first few days of the holiday. In the hopes she would be staying for the Summer; she was a boarding school girl, much to her hatred of elitism. When he saw her on the swing her knew summer had began.

"What do you want to be? You know when you're older?" her question puzzled Wayward, they always had. One minute she was talking about the clouds in the sky, the next she was questioning him. He saw this as her taking an interest in him. God knows he took an interest in her. He didn't know what to say, his answer was bound to be laughed at, but he didn't ever want to stop their conversations.

"I want to be a writer", usually when he told people this they would tell him to be more realistic, even his parents failed to see him writing as a career. At just twelve he had wrote only the start of stories, he was far caught up in the stories to finish them. If you asked him why the stories never ended. He would say "Because the end is just the start".

She didn't laugh at his answer, nor did she tell him to be more realistic. She did what a few people do, she asked to be a character in a story of his. "If you make me a character don't alter me or make me good just to avoid hurting my feelings. Make me, me. And send it to me. I love a good piece of literature." Aged only ten, Billie had a wise head on her shoulders.

He asked her what she wanted to be, but she was always one to avoid questions.