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He put his thoughts together in the same way he buttoned his shirt in the mornings before school, slowly from bottom to top. He knew the resistance existed. He knew people in the resistance went out at night. He knew Ingrid went out at night. He knew people in the resistance stole things and didn't like soldiers. He knew Ingrid stole books and called the green coats “bad guys.” He knew people in the resistance carried weapons. He knew Ingrid had a knife in her boot. He knew people in the resistance died.

And so he sat in the closet.

Drabble 43: Greenbird

"I want to set things on fire," he said. The tree shook in front of him from the force of his foot. He kicked it again. “I want to watch them burn!”

A small, iridescent bird flew out of the leaves. It zipped around his feet and like a spider, it left webbing behind. Black inky string kept his legs tied together.

He twisted and flung his arms up angrily as he attempted to separate his legs, but the movement just sent him to the ground. “Fucking greenbird!” His shout hung in the air as the greenbird twittered.

Drabble interruption 5-ish: Ole.

Flipped cars, seizures, and rising temperatures--
wrecked sleep, she tosses and turns and the covers
lose their colors and bleed into her skin.

She breathes tapioca breathes that taste like
everything except vanilla. Perhaps its cheesecake
rich with bittersweet chocolate dreams.

Her eyelids are umbrellas caught into violent
winds and her whole body goes with the stripping
of fabric and the tremble of lightning.

Drabble 41: Fiction.

"You've got time." She repeated it like a mantra, like a drumbeat, like a rhythm for him to follow. “You've got time.”

Her tears were stepping stones leading down a mountainside. I'm not okay, she thought. It's not okay. Dammit! It's not okay!

“Do you hear me? You've got time.” Her hands fisted in fabric. Her nails dug into skin. Her lips mouthed words. “You've got time. You've got time, dammit!”

Don't go. Don't go. Don't go. Her don't go's turned into come back's like color fading from lips.

“Come back,” she whispered. “Come back.”

Notes: Fictional scene. Otherwise it would be illegal to write it. 

Drabble 40: Empty.

Starfish leaves would be perfect, he thought. Like a hurricane swept on land. They could float in the breeze outside the wind with the ribbons. The ribbons could be seaweed! The plan was perfect. A perfect plan for a perfect wind chime for his perfect birthday gift.

Ingrid would love it.

Maybe he needed some shells too? Or maybe just the coral from that path by the starfish leaves... Ingrid told him not to go there, but he was sure if she knew what it was for, she wouldn't mind.

Liam set off. Ingrid came home to an empty apartment.

Drabble 39: Speak.

“You will speak when spoken to!” His teacher reprimanded. She wanted him to read a passage out loud in class. He'd counted the words and there were 16 of them that began with S, an impossible letter.

He shook his head. He would not. They could kick him out of school first!

“Boy!” His teacher threatened, but it did not sway him to speak.

Send me away, Liam thought. I dare you.

But then he thought of Ingrid. He remembered her telling him it was important to not make a fuss...

So he opened his mouth and stumbled.

Drabble 38: Away.

“Leave me alone.” She said. He didn't even want to follow her. Okay, he wanted to follow her a little, but mostly he was being ordered to.

“I can't do that.” He replied, falling into step with her. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere,” she replied. “I am going nowhere and somewhere, but you are going to neither of those places.”

“If I'm not going nowhere or somewhere, where am I going?” He asked. She had a habit of always saying things like that. They made absolutely no sense.

“Away.” She said and sprinted.