Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes

9. Dreams

Characters: Arthur and Charles

Word count: 1064

9

"When I get older," he began the homework he had gotten from his teacher, who had to force him to take home the paper, since he did not want to talk about his small dreams, petite dreams that would just go out of the window anyways.

He was sitting, properly, in the kitchen chair, biting his bottom lip in concentration, before sighing loudly, wanting to throw the paper in the wall. He had to write something, just something. It was not that simply as the teacher's made it, making it seem like every kid had big dreams about the future, like becoming a fire fighter or a police officer, but Arthur had problems. He just simply could not find anything to write about.

"When I get older I wish to be," he felt so hopeless and dumb because he could not think of anything. It just simply confused him, actually, since he was like; "No, not that and not this – and yuck, no thank you on that!" He simply could not see any form for dreams getting through any time soon.

"What are you doing?" His father entered the room with, his eyes eyeing the paper in front of Arthur, which had just "when I get older I wish to be," scrawled on it. Arthur looked up at his father, shrugging and pushed the paper away.

"Trying to do homework," He grumped out. His father laughed, strong and sounding like a thunder. Arthur liked his father's laugh, it was calming.

"You need help with it, boy?" He asked, and Arthur watched his father making coffee. The man had put the kettle on, found the box with coffee in and just simply worked quietly as he fixed the cup.

"It would be nice, dad, but what do you know of dreams?" Arthur said, tilting his head, almost feeling so bored.

"Well – not so much, but I have had a few dreams about the future," his father stated, looking up in the ceiling as he thought, "And Arthur, I am sure you will find something to write down. You have always talked about your dreams when you were little, you know." The smile that was on the man's lips was gentle, but not really helpful.

"But I can't write that I want to be a prince and save a princess! That just impossible, you know!" He let out a frustrated sound and sunk down in his chair, looking at the horrid paper that begged to be written on.

"You may be eight years old, Arthur, but you should stop being always so serious." His father said, looking at him from the oven, "Have you thought about maybe writing police or fire fighter?" He suggested.

"Too predictable," it just did not matter anymore. This homework is damned, he thought, almost sinking even more in his chair, feeling like he just simply wanted to flop over and die just over the situation.

"Arthur..." His father held a disappointed tone in his voice, and sighed. "Why is it 'too predictable'? You're eight – these dreams are normal, aren't they?"

"Yes, but..." Arthur fidgeted in his seat, almost toppling over and falling onto the floor. "I try to think like that, but I am not so good at that, you see..."

"You know what Francis wants to then, or perhaps Bella? I have seen you and Bella a lot of times together." He smiled at his son, who quickly became red in his cheek.

"It's not like that..." he mumbled and his father laughed heartily as the kettle whistled and he fixed his cup done. "I would never feel like that for Bella, you would have to be dumb to do so, you know." He was a mess in words, and he knew his father would happily change his words in his head.

"Why would one be dumb if one felt like that for Bella? Bella is a quite handsome girl, yes?" His father simply would not let it go, and Arthur was screaming in his head that his father simply did not understand that she could have been the spawn of the devil, if she wanted.

"Dad, just drop it please, I feel so uncomfortable thinking of my best friend like that..." He propped himself upright in the chair, stared at the paper that laid there in front of him like it was some kind of an evil thing that would leap at him any time and eat his face.

There was no mistake that his father was evil – because his reminder of him and Bella together, was like an old thing he would always do when he was angry at Arthur, or simply wanted to be a jerk at all.

"Well, if not Bella – what about Francis? Have you two talked about what he wants to do?" His father suggested, drinking his drink casually, looking at Arthur like he could read his mind hundred and ten percent sure. Arthur wanted to look away.

"We don't talk too much any longer." Arthur whispered, and his father stared at him like he had just dropped dead and could no longer live.

"What did you just say?" His father was growling, like a tiger, ready to attack at any time – his eyes glaring at him like he had said the foulest thing.

"I am sure he's just busy..." Arthur tried to defend, but his father just did not want any of that, at all. It was like Arthur had added some kind of extra strong fuel to get his father to burn like that.

"Busy, busy – you all say that! Frenchmen are the most-!" His father let out a frustrated sound and stomped out of the kitchen like a four year old. Arthur knew his father did this simply to try and cool himself down and not let Arthur have foul words thrown at him.

Arthur simply looked after him before sighing deeply, and he then knew exactly what he wanted to write. He scribbled it down, his handwriting almost unreadable, but the thing was – whatever the handwriting "may" say, it was more like it was going to have a better outcome than the most.

The day after, his teacher was reading it and said slowly to herself; "That child..."

When I get older, I want to be a professor, like mum – and I want to live with Francis and Bella.