—1—
George woke himself comfortably, but it felt weird cause he didn't feel himself on his mattress. The glint of vintage sunshine passes to the glass pane. He opened his eyes and the yellow and orange painted walls welcome him, instead of the gray dull ones. The white blanket he kept since childhood was a change to a thick quilt with cupids and cherubins printed in it.
"Seems like a dream" he caressed his head and rubbed his eyes.
But it felt weirder. He rubbed his eyes again, yet nothing changed. Dust is visible from the gleam passing through the open window.
He slapped himself, regretting his decisions cause it hurts so bad. George's drowsiness vanished, and he continued to look at the newfound room.
A wooden door serves as the walkway on the room. The bed, made with the same material, was placed in the corner of the room. A dark wood nightstand was leaned to the wall in his side, with wicks of three candles. Beside it is a study table, where thick stacks of creased paper placed on the edge. Then a lantern, full of melted wax inside, was beside a metal can with chicken's feather and a bottle of black ink.
A painting of a floral vase was hanged on the wall where the bed is facing. It was placed on a cloth, with thick layers of blended paint with unknown ingredients.
George removed the sheets covering him and sat at the edge of the bed. He brushed his barefoot on the carpet's bristle. Designed with a mosaic of mocha and maroon making a circular pattern. He touched the warm brick walls, feeling its rough texture and watching the tiny cracking faults.
He remained calm and blank while sitting on the bed. Still believing his thoughts that this is one hella dream.
But it isn't.
A door creaked open, and an image of a young man with the age of twenty-one entered the door. He is genuine, a little bit taller than George. He wears a dark green fuzzy coat, with long brown pants and a leather cap.
His hair, which is dirty blonde is spiky and standing. His lime green eyes glisten as some light shines on them. The two both stared for seconds, not until one shrieked out of realization.
"Tu chi sei" The young man pointed to George, threatening him with a piece of long cane in his hand.
George, who is confused and panicked, stand up and leaned against the wall. "I'm so sorry, wait, wait"
"Esci o chiamo le autorità" he prepared to attack George with his cane.
George seems familiar with what the man is speaking. He remembers these in one of his language classes. It's Italian, based on the tone and accent of his voice.
"Stop, stop" George pleaded. "This is just a misunderstanding, I don't know how to speak Italian."
"Non parli italiano?" The man's tone changed for a bit.
George just stared at the man, while his two hands are hiding behind his back. With worries and tension imprinted on his face. He still can't understand what the man is saying.
"Perdonatemi on my actions, man" he dropped the cane on the floor.
"Sorry to scare you, You can call me Dream,"
-I/N-
Illustrator's note, we are not Italian so if the Italian words doesn't fit the context or if may trigger some Italians. Please tell us.
Italian words in the chapter:
Tu chi sei- Who are you?
Esci o chiamo le autoritá- Go out or I will call the authorities
Non parli Italiano?- You don't speak Italian?
Perdinatemi- Forgive me
YOU ARE READING
Sunsets, Whenever.
Fanfiction---------------------- "Do you believe in superstitions?" That question made George think a bit. "Why?" "It's just," Clay sighed in annoyance. "Forget it," "Say it Dream," George encouraged. "They say that if a painter dies, God let them paint the s...
