Red Sky In the Morning (boyxboy)

One

They lie not in that empty grave

Beneath the foreign sod.

They do not lie forgotten

In that cold, and desolate Land of Nod.

Soldier Boy ... Solider Boy,

The trumpets blast, and blare;

And wreaths are laid at the Cenotaph,

To show ... that we still care.

                                -Earl Doucette

                The strong, bright sunlight of early summer beat down heavily on the bustling docks of Boston Harbor.  Several men and a few women bustled around until there was little to no open space on the street.  Many of the men wore the red uniforms of the British army, earning them furtive, disapproving glances and more open, grateful looks.

                Two gangly teenage boys hid behind a nearby building, peering around the corner.  The taller of them, who looked to be a year or two older, scowled at the amount of Redcoats.  His hazel eyes flickered back and forth across the crowd.  Anyone who looked at him would think he looked as if he was analyzing the situation before going into battle, and anyone who knew him--the boy with him, for example--could tell that person that he was right.  His eyes narrowed on a group of men who had just come off a ship, brushing his shaggy brown hair out of the way as it threatened to obscure his view.

                "Look, Mattie," he scoffed, "new guys.  I bet the men will drive them out pretty quick."

                The younger boy, who looked about fifteen, followed the tanned finger to the group.  His bright green eyes found them quickly, and he studied them silently for a moment.

                There was an older man, probably the leader of the group, scanning the crowd as his men oriented themselves.  He wore a typical white wig, and Matthew could see paler spots against the crimson of his uniform where the powder had fallen onto his shoulders.  His face was angular and pale, and his nose was vaguely hawk-like.  His eyes were dark and hooded, making Matthew extremely uncomfortable.

                The man next to him was much younger.  His skin was pale with only a little sun damage.  He didn't have a wig; instead, his head was topped with messy red hair.  His high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic look, but the impression of nobility was ruined by his lecherous expression.  Like the man next to him, he scanned the crowd, but his eyes were clearly picking out the pretty girls.

                Only a few of the other men stood out among the platoon of redcoats.  Two of them might have been brothers, judging by the way they interacted.  They pushed and shoved at each other, occasionally bumping into the people around them and snickering wildly.  One of them had sleek, slightly mussed blond hair and a light tan, while the other had dark hair and fair skin.

                Matthew's breath caught as his eyes landed on the next man.  A simple, pure-white wig hid his hair, but his thick eyebrows looked brown from where he stood.  His face was soft, but an alert expression firmed it.  His uniform hugged his slim frame, fanning out around his knees.  His fair skin was unblemished, and Matthew couldn't keep his eyes from roaming over it.  He didn't recognize the man, but something about him seemed undeniably familiar.

                That train of thought was cut off when the man's eyes met Matthew's.  In fact, every thought was cut off, even the unconscious impulse to breathe.  His eyes were cool and grey, and, looking at him, Matthew was reminded of the sea.  The crowd seemed to fade from Matthew's senses.  The man looked sort of puzzled, but he didn't look away.