A/N: See profile for explanation of version numbers.
Current Version: v. 0.1
Previous Versions: none
This is a first draft.
It's beautiful out here, on this farm. I can sit on the back porch and stare at the endless field. It goes on for miles. I do that sometimes, actually. It feels really epic. The wind blowing chills up my spine, and still, it's summer vacation and the air is still sort of warm, and calm. A contradiction, the air is still and yet blowing at the same time. I'm wearing a white v-neck t-shirt. The wind is fierce enough that its almost blowing off me. My hair, curly and dark brown, blows in the breeze as well. It gives almost a movie like effect. I don't know for sure, but I suppose the crops that span for miles are wheat and peas. Actually, I definitely know those are peas. Tom started farming them not too far back. Two or three years ago, I think. It doesn't matter, really.
Gypsy gallops like a clydesdale, straight from the gargantuan shop, which towers at the opposite end of the house. She barks, loudly, over and over, at nothing. She reaches two pieces of rotting oak, made at a ninety degree angle. They were meant as a place for cars to park, because there's no pavement or asphalt on the farm. Rarely are cars parked at the angle. Instead, what isn't peas or wheat is either the dirt road or miscellaneous weeds, which paint the area between the shop, and the grounded trailer where I currently reside.
I huff, arms folded, "Stupid dane."
She looks to me and gives a small grunt. Her coat wet, she shakes from the tip of her spine down to her bottom, droplets fly everywhere, and I gaurd myself from the wet smell of dog with the perfect defense: throwing up my arms, and taking a few steps back. She sits still, staring forth for a second, before she barks a few more times.
I chuckle, "Why the hell are you soake-"
I'm drowned out, first by two ships that pay us no mind, leaving behind a dust trail, gone as qucik as they came, and then by the three ships that float overhead, as if out they were clouds. The engines are loud, deafening in fact. They're each about as big as, oh, I don't even know. Something big. Maybe a lake. They're bright as hell. They would hurt my eyes if I hadn't been outside for a little while. Silver lined with a type of neon blue. That's what the military decided on for their inland colors. Three gunmen on either side of any ship, and the cockpit planted to the bottom. You can see them looking carefully for rebel plantations, scanning. That's why they're so close to the ground. There aren't any out here, we've already swept, multiple times. They all think there's one somewhere near Shell, because that's where the prison is.
They must be headed towards Gran Center, I think to myself. Soon as I'm off of Parole I'll probably head there...
There, or Gran West. Where flyboys go to "retire".
I wipe such thoughts from my mind. "C'mon, Gypers." I wave a hand from her, and she comes running, across the rickety boarded porch, ahead of me and to the back door. The second one, that is, not the sliding glass door. I reach the door, she rushes in, straight to the living room, where she lays down on her bed, best she can, though it's plenty too small for her. Lu greets her with a brightly spoken, "Heya, Gypsy!" though the greeting falls upon deaf ears. I compensate, however, with a dandy ,"Morning," back to her.
"Well, look who's up!" She checks the clock on the wall, "And at a decent hour, too!" I'm already not paying attention. I'm thinking about the clock, which does tick. I noticed that during the nights. It ticks, and if you mute the television, it's all there is to hear. Tick, tick, tick.
My thoughts are brought back to ground, pulled to my cranium, and I resume consciousness, "I decided to start jogging a few miles during the mornings. So there's a reason for me to get up now."
"Would you like me to make you something to eat? I know you don't like breakfast foods. I could make you some grilled cheese, or-"
"I'm fine. Not hungry. I think I'll watch some t.v. then get my stuff together." I plop down on the reclinable chair.
"Electric City is always a blast. You don't see a lot of stuff like the mods up in the air. So, yeah, Saturday couldn't come quicker."
The door had a slight creak; it was made a few decades ago, and was definitely on its way out. The paint on the walls, a glossy pink, were tearing, and some spots were completely white. Next to the door was the messy contrusion that could be called a closet, if ever it was observed long enough. It was full of coats, jackets, sweaters, a keyboard, a little girl's dress, piles amongst piles of shoes, and other miscellaneous objects.
In front of the closet there was a small dresser, which supported a VHS machine and a television above it. The dresser itself was empty, old, and rotting. The oakwood was peeling and there were splinters all over it. Though, following further down the wall there was another dresser, this one big, pine painted white, also peeling, full of clothes, belonging to adolescent boy and mature girl alike, amongst others. On top of this treasure were childrens books, one coloring book, nine journals full of poems, a copy of "The Toad and the Frog", and an acoustic guitar lay aside it.
Teddy bears, very big ones, had been stockpiled in between this second dresser and the bed, which had a rose pattern comfort on a comforting white; the whole bed seemed like heaven, with matching sheets and pillow cases, though the blanket was alien, a sky blue worn blanket that obviously did not belong. The bed itself had small alcoves holding small dolls and another childs book, a copy of "Winnie the Pooh".
There was a painting of Jesus as he ascended the heavens above the bed, and on the wall following that one there was a sun hat made of a green woven string, with a rose in its crevice. Above that an unfolded fan with the same rose pattern as the comforter. Under the hat, some ice skating shoes with the iceblades torn off. Unlike the rest of the house, this room strayed from the signature brown carpet, and stuck to something between red and neon pink. Under the bed you could find car parts, empty boxes from UPS, and more extra parts, this time for cameras.
This room was definitely a treasure trove. It used to be my mother's. And after that it was mine for a time. At the moment it's just empty. Usually the door is closed, so the dog doesn't go sniffing around, and so it's always chilly. Though it looks undesirable; a place anyone would rather not be, more or less, I find nostalgic pleasure in there, and even better, I find a way to pass the time. I play with the keyboard and the acoustic, read old poems, some mine, some my mother's, some from people I don't know, and even find a few short stories hidden away in the spiral's. I take out my old mp3 player, and put on Juvanni, a new band I've really gotten into. Nodding my head to the music, reading about a pooh bear and his adventures, I slowly, without my own knowledge, drift off, falling asleep on heaven's very own bed.