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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 14: Wind

Find Sticks and Feathers in Meadow.
Grab String from Kite Shop.
Dumpster Dive for Cans.
Steal Hair Ribbons from Ing.
Assemble.
Hang from window in apartment.

Ah! I can't write this. It's just so cute that it has to be included in the novel, darn it!

Scene/Side plot: Liam makes a wind chime.

Notes: I'm sorry, no drabble, but I swear one's been written in my head. I can't write it because illegal! Blah Blah I hate this rule. Blah Blah. Come on, November!

Things that have to do with wind for future reference: Paper airplanes. Breezy curtains. Whirl wind of leaves. Kites. Waves. Flowing hair. Open windows. Running into the wind. Blowing dresses. Ribbons. Blankets. Book pages. Bending flowers/grass. Breath. Goosebumps. Mittens. Scarves. Umbrellas. Slanted rain. Tornadoes. Shingles. Sail boats. Branches against windows. Howls. Clouds. Feathers. Flight. Birds. Wings. Stop pushing on me! Slammed doors. Wind Chimes.

Drabble 2: Accusation.

He was quiet for days, and when he finally decided to speak, the words no longer wanted to come.

"Liam?" Her eyes lingered on him. He saw them as they drifted up from his feet and checked the line of his shoulders and the planes of his face.

He had become a geometry problem. How did her brother exist in such severe angles?

He titled his head in reply. Ingrid? He thought. Ingrid, we've lost everything. But he couldn't bring himself to voice it. His lips parted and his eyes captured hers, but only his breath whispered out and then in.

He was allowed to miss school, even monsters knew to grieve. So he sat, knees folded up to his chest, in the rocking chair by the window. For days, he watched the sun come up, arc across the sky, and then fade behind the horizon. Up, across, down. Up, across, down.

Until one day, it rained. The heavy gray clouds filled the sky, closing his window to the sun. Liam stood up from the chair and tried to find his yellow companion. He strained his neck one way and then the other. He brought his knee up to the window ledge and fought to stand taller, but the sun could not be found.

A change in the weather ruins a great many things.

Liam tugged at Ingrid's sleeve, pointed at the window. The sun. He thought. Ingrid, even the sun is gone. But Ingrid smiled, "Oh, it's raining!"

No. He pulled her up by her sleeve and dragged her to the window with him. He gestured to the clouds. The sun!

"Those are some thick clouds. You're right." Ingrid was still smiling.

He shook his head and threw a hand up toward the gray blanket sky again.

Ingrid frowned at him. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

The Sun! Ingrid, the sun! His palm hit the window, over and over again. The sun! The sun!

She caught his hand. "Liam, you're going to have to tell me. What's bothering you?"

He shook his head, miserably.

"Lion, please?" Her voice softened on his nickname. "I want to understand."

His lips didn't move. He stood frozen for several soundless moments. He gave a brief nod.

"S-s-sun," Liam frowned, stopped, and started over. "S-s-s." The s stuck to his tongue. He formed the word silently with exaggerated movements. The shape of his mouth felt right. The slight clench of his teeth felt normal. The touch of his tongue to the back of his teeth felt true.

Ingrid was still. She watched wordlessly as he tried again. 

"S-s-sun." Liam stared at Ingrid in horror.Where were his words? Why did they not pass through his lips as his mind told them to?

Ingrid brought him pen and paper. Her eyes searched his face wildly. Liam, her eyes asked. Liam, are you there?

He poked holes in the paper as he wrote: They've stolen my words.


Notes: I feel like Liam seems too old here, but I can't tell. My lack of discerning such things might have something to do with the fact that it's 2:30 in the morning...