After Fire - Dreamnotfound

Twelve|green and blue

November 6th
I've never kissed anyone before, nor did I ever want to. I don't usually look at someone and think "Man, I'd really love to kiss him right now". Except last night I somehow found myself face to face with Clay, and my stomach did a nervous flutter and I remember the urge I had to... actually, I don't want to write about this.
We fixed the flat tire and I don't remember how long we drove as I fell asleep before we arrived at Culpeper.

Clay slept soundly. He didn't let the fact he was tall stop him from curling into a ball to where his legs were higher up than his head. His position was similar to that of a tangled yarn ball. It didn't look remotely comfortable. One of his feet was up against the windshield of the car while the other was awkwardly tangled in the steering wheel. His blanket covered most of his body aside from his legs. And yet he barely moved. His head stayed on his pillow, and he didn't snore. Occasionally, he'd softly whistle and cover his head with his thinly blanket.

It was a sight to see, and George couldn't look away. He looked the most at peace. No stress, no worries, no problems. He wondered if the younger boy was dreaming. Clicking his pen, he sparked an idea. Carelessly, he tossed his notebook aside and leaned over the center console between them. He gingerly lifted up Clay's blanket to find his arm resting on his chest. He pulled it out and turned it palm-up to reveal his bold flame marking. He squinted, noticing faint lined around and overlapping the mark.

There weren't many ways to add on to a fire. It took a moment before an idea sparked in his mind, and he sketched on the sleeping boy's arm. He tilted his head to the side as he lightly filled the background with flames. He drew stick figures and and sparks of burning crops. Burning buildings shaped the background until the head of the boy attached to the arm popped out from the blanket. His hair fell over his squinted eyes again as he brushed it away with his open hand.

"Mornin', Clayton," George said as he continued drawing.

"What are you doing?" Clay mumbled. He pulled his arm away and looking at George's quick doodle. "You drew on my arm?"

"Both my arms are taken," George replied, showing his wrists. His right wrist had the clout goggles and body from the night before while his left wrist had the blob Clay had drawn that George retraced every so often.

"What is this?" Clay asked. His voice were multiple intervals deeper than it usually was. He fluffed up his hair. "You drew a city on fire? That's kind of dark, Shorty."

"No, it's that March thing," George replied. "March to the Sea or whatever it's called."

Clay untangled himself from the car and sat up, observing the drawing closer and laughing. "No way, it is. That's Sherman right there, right?"

George nodded. "And there's the soldiers back there. I don't remember how many there were."

"62,000," Clay replied. "This is cool. There's the cotton right there, I think."

"Yeah, it is."

"I should get this tattooed." He rubbed his eyes and looked to George with a sleepy smile. "Mornin' Shorty."

"Sleep well?"

"Hell yeah. That was the best sleep I've ever had," Clay said as he pushed open the door and stretched out the rest of his body. He reached his arms up to the sky. "I had a dream we were on our way to feed swans and it was raining maple leaves."

"We didn't crash into the swans, right?" Asked George, peering through the open car door before joining Clay outside.

He shook his head with a smile as George slammed his car door shut. "Nope. Not a car in sight. It was a good dream."