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Dreams don't turn to dust [sweeter than fiction]

Entry for @ingloria's Sweeter Than Fiction competition, with the prompt of a one-shot about Owl City's song, Dreams Don't Turn to Dust! I don't know if it's past 8PM EST, but anyway, here it is :) 

And hey, Misha. I guess you can figure out who the real Frost and Psalm is ;)

 ~

Splash down in the silver screen

Into a deep dramatic scene

I swim through the theater

Or maybe I'm just a dreamer

One day, a boy called Frost was late for a musical. He had just pushed himself into the theatre in the middle of a deep dramatic scene. His friends had counted on him to come. I’m really sure, he thought, I’m really sure they got here before me. And I’ve no idea where they’re sitting. He stood on tip-toe, squinting in the muffled dark, and tried to guess where they were in the sea of heads.

Somehow, he managed to spot the distinct head of Psalm, and she had styled her hair to be intricate, curling vines at midnight. When he told her he saw it like that, she became impressed. He liked seeing people impressed, so he ruffled her hair, giggling. Psalm blushed. He wasn’t sure if he liked seeing people blush, though, as they made him blush himself.

She was far, far, on the left edge. I guess I have to swim through the crowd then; skin and cotton and fluffy hair.

Like a kite in the bright midday

Wonder stole my breath away.

Shy sonata for Mercury

The stars always sing so pretty! 

When he reached them - squeezed in between outspoken Lester and gentle Angela - the scene was engulfed with stars. And star-people slid out from the backdrop fabric, beginning a silent dance encircling the main characters.

There is no sound in outer space, Frost stated in his mind. But if they did, I would make the heavenly choir, who flame shafts of lemon, cerulean, pearl, scarlet and amethyst, sing lullaby, dream pop, and of worlds ethereal. That kind of wonder would take my breath away. 

This picnic will soon depart.

Real life, I'm sad to see you go;

I'll miss you with all my heart

But I'd rather be alone.

Frost walked to his house two blocks away from the closing-time theatre, laughing along with his friends while they deposited each member home. They got a snack from McDonald’s, and trotted out with tea and gab. Now, he had to bid a goodbye to Psalm and Jasmin, the oldest and with blueberry hair, the only remaining friends with him.

His house was a little far from everyone else’s, but fortunately, Psalm and Jasmin were his neighbours. A little far. I see their smiles, and I think it’s true and their happiness is beneath. To find mine would make you go on a journey too far. Inside his household was another matter from the way he lived his life outside.

He heaved a great sigh, before knocking on the grey screen door. He’d already spotted a figure looking at him through the curtains when he unlatched the gate to get in.

“Ferdinand.” His father met him, acknowledging him by his real name, and clicked the lock open. Frost shivered, detecting a flare of anger in his brown eyes. “You’re late. It’s forty-five minutes beyond your curfew, and all I did was sit here and worry about you.”