Drabble # 3
200 Words - Sarge, Fillmore - dandelion, fog, chance
Untitled
Stones and shale came lose under tires, and would roll down the hillside, clattering into places unseen, obscured by the thick fog. The only other sound was a slight breeze. As for what could be seen - not much. The low lying cloud obscured everything that wasn't within fifteen feet of the observer. Two voices could be heard, the fog stifling any echoes and making them sound close and confined.
"You've gotten us lost, hippie."
"No way. We came out here to hike and that's what we're doing. And anyway - whoa!"
Fillmore, for it was obviously he who had spoken, suddenly vanished in a noisy clatter of falling stones and dirt giving way. Without a second thought, his companion dove after him, never mind the chance that there may be a sheer drop or something equally life-endangering through the thick mist.
But there was a ledge mere feet down to save both of them. Sarge opened his eyes and saw yellow, then green. Dandelions in the dozens sprouted here despite the harsh conditions, and the bus lay among them, beaming at the Jeep. He kissed him.
"Look out, Sarge, your affection is showing."
"Shut up, hippie."
