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THE DAWN SUN PEEKED THROUGH A HAZY SCREEN OF CLOUDS, painting the sky an elaborate mix of bloodied reds intertwined with smoky grey hues. Clouds dominate the morning sky, leaving transitory patches of blue. Though they are mostly white there is a hint of greyness, crinkles of rain dancing down to earth.
You woke to the gentle patter of rain on the roof of your tent and thunder rumbling from far away. You pushed the blankets off, immediately feeling the warmth of sleep begin to slip away; rubbing the crust from your e/c eyes. You stood up— bare feet pressing softly against the earth beneath you as you stretched the tender muscles in your body.
You stepped out of the tent, irises immediately darting to Arthur sleeping on the floor, rain drops kissing his weathered face. You smiled softly, grabbing a nearby blanket and shielding his face from the rain. that silly man insisted you had taken the tent and not the sleeping bag.
The dying flames of the campfire took its last breaths as you sat down beside it, grasping what very little heat it gave off.
There are other ways to clear the brain, to let the bad memories pass as a song on the radio one dislikes, to wait until there is enough space for the good stuff to grow. You wish you had taken that route, steadied yourself before the booze poisoned everything that was so very wonderful about you. But the liquor took everything, buried your soul in a coma.
The nearby flask spoke to you, calling your name as if to drown yourself once again in its devious ways, casually without hesitation you brought it to your lips
The whisky turns down the volume on your thoughts. Somehow it steadies you, gives you the resolve to go on.
Upon waking, Arthur burrowed himself into the warm, soft sheets that were suddenly placed over his face to where you could only see his oceanic eyes through the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. The cold was piercing, the rain being no help to it—The black fabrics on him being as damp as a flower in the dew. He rubbed the remainders of sleep from his eyes and gazed out at the cloudy, eerie atmosphere.
Safe to say the couple of you found it best to keep a distance; the tension between you two growing thicker than the soupy air of the small camp he had made. Yet all you did was think, think about him. If it wasn't talking about him it was thinking. And you hated it.
Arthur thought of you, though. It's all that was flooding his mind. He felt utter guilt for last night alone in the woods. He never showed it. Never talked about it. Never apologized.
