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dreamer - P6 - (Oneshot)

Title: Traumtänzer
Author: unspoiled
characters: Bill, Tom
Rating: greet Midnight Productions can
Summary: P6
Warnings / Genre Everywhere it is better than here.
Disclaimer: K. The men are themselves
Comment: Written for the Summer Challenge 09 120_minuten on

Fast Car - Tracy Chapman

Bill leans his head against the cool glass and closed her eyes. Outside it's so dark, that the car's interior reflected in the panes. He sit in any car he is in a warm leathery capsule, which rushes through a baseless blackness. When it stops the air, he can hear Tom breathe, quiet, peaceful and in perfect harmony with the rhythm in which he operates the gear lever and the steering wheel slide through his hands can. Every time Tom embraces that champagne feeling in Bill's stomach jump up in his lungs and keep him breathing hungry.

His legs tingle when they stopped at a deserted intersection in front of a dead traffic light. Tom apparently impatient drumming on the steering wheel, peering with frowning in the mirror, finally puts hastily to first gear and drives on.

Bill enjoys every hill that you climb, each meandering river between invisible trees. He avoids to see through the windshield into the spotlight when he turns his head to his brother, is forced into the hollow between the seat and door and watching him while driving. Tom performs a carefully rehearsed choreography. Every movement is fluid in the next, no corners, no edges. Everything is soft, almost velvety, and to his own reflection in the window behind Tom's head. Where he is, is Tom. Where is Tom, he is.
In his mind he hears himself talk, wildly gesticulating vomit a whole rant. Rate by word paragraph to escape it as Isopods, if you're a rotten board turns around and he smiled at the helpless mute boy in his head, trying to flesh out the warm leather mirror peace so hopeless.

you stop and stay a long time sitting motionless before Tom finally first opens the door and get out into the darkness. The asphalt has cooled down yet, the warm night air. To the dim street lights surprisingly few mosquitoes buzzing and clicks the central dry.
Bill goes round in circles, recognizes the box shape of the supermarket and the stunted box hedges that separate the parking from the adjacent gas station. He does not know why, but feels closed petrol stations He always as something particularly hopeless.
Tom comes to him and again they gather a few deep breaths. This time Bill makes the first move and they walk down the parking lot, past the petrol station and towards the main square. You see to the left and right, before crossing the empty streets, and watch that they collide with anyone. At the fountain, they sit on the back of a bench and watch the black business, the chained basket chairs in front of their old Lieblingseisdiele.

Bill stares at the pavement as they go on trying not to step on the cracks. He jumps, dances and Tom grins, rolls his eyes and acts as if he belongs he not him.

stroll past the pool and weave your fingers into the chain-link fence surrounding the playground at school. Tom shakes the metal mesh and Bill met him on the shoulder. They listen to the hollow rattle rattle, which runs in the fence, shake listen, listen, shoulder to shoulder. As they continue on their way, they kick a stone in front of them, losing at the bus stop, the interest in and sit in the fully lubricated cubbyhole. They scribble incoherent nonsense giggle at the phone number of Mike and the first place.

Back on the main square balanced on the edge of the well Tom and Bill keeps as close as possible next to him. Close enough to be able to drag him down to her last moment, if he stumbles, gone far enough to give him out of the way and to make him stumble.

"Do you remember?" He whispers, as they sit side by side on the damp granite wall. Tom nods and smiles. The heart has always beaten them to the neck when her nightly excursions the figure was something new. On the one hand, because it had been during light sleep their mother more than risky to long after the curfew again to attract and to slink out of the house. On the other hand, because the roads had been superb all night as far and as wide. And she alone had heard them. Bill was the median strip strutting along, his head raised, eyes fixed straight ahead. "This is the red carpet," he proclaimed.

"Do you remember how we look at the photographers and the fans behind the barriers presented?" Whispers continued Bill. "As they were screaming?"
Tom nods and draws in the emptiness of the place such as oxygen.