The Poet's Dreams

"Do you think everybody is like us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... do you think everybody grows paper flowers?"

"I dunno why not. What other kind of flowers are there, anyway?"

"I don't know."

"If you didn't know, why'd you say anything?"

"I was just wondering, is all."

"Well, maybe they have flowers made of cloth."

"Napkins."

"Metal."

"... Metal flowers? I think that's awful."

"Aw, that's just 'cause you're a girl."

"But--"

"Girls are full of fluff. Rainbows and rabbits and flowers."

"Boys are gross."

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"No way."

"Yes way. All you ever do is roll around in the mud and play with toads. You're going to get warts, you know."

Pale hands shifted up, then to the right. The girl gave a little cry as she tumbled down the hill, grass springing up as she fell, little paper flowers blooming in bursts of yellow and red. She fell into a large puddle of light blue ink, splashes jumping up and staining her hair.

Rosy cheeks flushed red as she pulled herself out, hands and feet and once-upon-a-time yellow dress colored in various shades of blue and green.

"You jerk!" She cried, rubbing her hands on the grass and giving a dismayed huff when she found green streaks over her fingers. "You big, mean, jerk."

"I didn't know there was anything like that down there," he protested, standing up and finding himself on a dirt-brown path. He reached out a hand and jumped a little when it landed on smooth bark. Looking up, he saw that purple leaves had grown on the tree, and he stepped into its shade.

"What if there was a cliff?"

"There wasn't," he declared. "And anyway, He wouldn't do that to you." Big blue eyes were as wide as they were earnest.

The girl frowned up at him as the right colors began to replace her dye, starting with grey, pale grey, nearly white, and ending with what she had before.

Behind her, a dock began to materialize, and she smiled in pleasure. "See that? Something new for us!"

The boy ran down the hill, stumbling and tripping, and stopped just short of the wood. The posts hadn't been finished yet. "I wonder if we can go fishing!" He exclaimed, bouncing on his heels. The girl clapped her hands in excitement.

"Go check your attic for poles!"

A petulant little frown tugged his lips down. "Why do I gotta?"

"Because you pushed me down a hill," reminded the girl, putting her hands on her hips, leaning forward, and sticking her tongue out. "Now go!"

Grumbling and scuffing his shoes, he climbed back up the brown path and headed in the direction of home. Yesterday it had been to the left, but today it was probably to the right. So he wandered that way and hoped he was right.

The girl watched him leave, watched him disappear as he found the next page, and turned back to the dock. It was all sketched out. It would get color soon, probably, and then they could fish.

Little ruby shoes tapped. She rocked back and forth on her heels, tucking a yellow tendril of hair behind one... ear. Ear. She had one of those? Of course, she'd always assumed so, but she could never be sure. Sometimes she didn't have a nose, and that was always bothersome.

She peeked at the dock again, and wilted a little as she realized it wasn't being colored or anything.

Well, the day had been more productive than usual, at least.

Green eyes turned to the round, yellow ball in the sky. It had been there for years.

One day, it would set. Everything would be red and gold and purple and orange. And maybe the boy would stop arguing with her, and they could walk together into the sunset.

Probably not.

"I've got the poles!" Came an excited shout. "Is it done yet?" The boy skidded to a stop at the top of the hill and, much like the girl, seemed to wilt as he saw the dock. He dropped the poles and meandered down next to his companion. They both stared at the sketch.

"Maybe... maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Definitely tomorrow."