Transparent\\ dreamnotfound

Transparent; chapter 8

George was awoken by the sound of a kettle whistling from the kitchen, a ray of sun shone onto the thick grey quilt, dust floating within it. George nuzzled his face into the comfortable pillow, pulled the blanket over his shoulder, not wanting to get out of his comfortable position. A tired whine escaped his mouth as he snuggled into the soft fabrics. He noticed a hint of aroma floating in the air as he woke up more, his eyes fluttered open only to find a small cup of tea sitting on the bed side table. A warm smile tugged at his lips, the boy slowly sat up in his bed, still drowning in the thick quilts, reaching a hand over to the small white cup. He took a sip, the tea fairly fresh, steam still rising from the sweet substance.

He placed the cup back down, replacing it with his phone in his hand, he immediately thought of tomorrow. He would meet Dream tomorrow. Is was so freakish, so surreal, so bizarre, almost like it was all a dream, all in George's head, made up. But it wasn't, he would meet Dream at three o'clock tomorrow. The alluring fragrance or aroma convinced him to take another sip of the tea, placing it back on the small plate. A ding was heard from his phone, the loud sound slightly disturbing him. He raised his phone to his face and clicked on the notification at the top of his screen.

____________________________

Dream:]

Dream:]
Wow, I'm gonna meet you tomorrow, this is all so crazy wtf
sent at 7:11am

Me
I know, I can't wait :)
sent at 7:11am

Dream:]
Me either
sent 7:11am

____________________________

George took another swig from his tea before placing it back down, the glass cup clattering against the plate. He flicked the quilt off of his lower half, swinging his feet to the edge of the bed, sitting for a moment before standing and stretching. He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his thick hair, he tiredly strolled over to the door, twisting the cold knob and swinging it open. He scratched the back of his neck as he walked down the dimly lit hallway, greeted with a warm smile and "good morning sweetheart" from his mother.

"Morning" George returned, he shot her a smile and sat down at the dining table, his head resting on the palm of his hand.

His mother took a bite of her peanut butter toast, looking over to him and asking "would you like anything for breakfast?"

George looked over to his mother, shaking his head after a moment "no thanks im, not that hungry yet" he looked back down to the table, his head still resting on his palm.

George was hungry, but he'd lost his appetite, nervousness pestered his brain to the point where it pestered his heart, now his stomach, he wasn't in the mood to eat.

"Okay, let me know if you would like anything darling" his mother shot him another warm smile from the kitchen.

George nodded, placing his arms on the table, resting his head on top of his forearms. He sits there, absentmindedly for a moment, before his mind back tracks to the events of last night. Speeding down the straight, dark road, coral street lights flashing past him, freedom shooting through his heart, being on a high of adrenaline. Everything about it was so free, so... perfect, like nothing else mattered, which during the moment, nothing did. Just George, the empty road, and the sound of an engine, filling the silent night with revs, forming into vrooms as it speeds past houses. He longed to go back to that moment, maybe he'd do it again sometime, to get that rush of adrenaline he'd quite literally risk his life for. But that's what was exciting about it, he could die any moment, but that didn't matter, all that mattered was the free feeling of it. George never really experienced that kind of freedom before. But he fell in love with it almost instantly.