A/N: story in here is by Stephen Cosgrove...
After a while I managed to get Spencer and myself into the small tent just outside the graveyard. It was extremely tiny, just big enough for maybe one in a half people and on the side a teeny bit more room for a pile of clothes and a bag of food. I laid Spencer flat on the sleeping bag, lying half on top of the blond. She was still crying and clinging hard to my shirt. I had never heard someone cry for so long, it had been easily and hour since the other girl started. In the City you don't cry it's just how it is. Once when I was little a boy in my class fell and broke his leg and was sobbing, a grown up came over and injected him with a shot, soon he was smiling again but after his leg healed he was reprimanded for crying, it's a sign of weakness and no one in the City is weak.
I held her with out saying anything; I wasn't sure what to say because I honestly had no clue why she was crying so hard and long for. With thunder and lightning echoing and flashing outside the tent while rain loudly fell all around them. It reminded me of a time long ago when I was little, maybe five years old and my mom came in knowing how the thunderstorm scared me. She pulled a book out from behind her back and told me a that it was a forbidden fantasy book, a children's book which was to be burned but was hidden from the government. Those stories made me feel good inside, gave me the idea of happy endings and love conquering anything.
Soon Spencer's sobs quieted down to sniffles, her head buried in my neck; hot tears soaked my shirt even more than the rain. Leaning up a bit I stared down at her while her red rimmed blue eyes stared back. God even after all the crying she was still the most beautiful creature I had laid my sights on, "You okay?" At the sound of my voice her sniffles turned violent again until soon she was shaking in my arms, "Spencer shhhh...everything is okay," but it did nothing to help. Sighing I thought back to my mom and the thunderstorm again, her sweet voice echoing in my mind with the words of my favorite story. Grabbing a blanket I wrapped us both in it while stroking her hair whispering the words my mother used to read...
"As you lay on a summer's day in a warm and sunny place, don't look up into the skies; instead look down and squint your eyes. Squint them both so very tight that if you look with all your might you'll find a land of Morethansmall. And in this land are buggs, that's all.
The wind whistled through the leaves of grass and among all the buildings of Buggville. Even the hammers rang like musical bells, every nail they pounded. Not far from Buggville, in a sheltered glen of clover trees, all the buggs came to sing or hum a tune, when work was done in the late afternoon. The music soared above the night and you could see a wondrous sight: A bugg on piano. A bugg on drum. Your feet started tapping and you had to hum."
Spencer yawned beneath me as her eyes concentrated on my hand which she had started playing with, a smile on my lips as I stared down at her as I continued with my favorite story, "Not far from the glen, sitting all alone in a mushroom grove, was a sad and lonely cricket named Crick-Ette. She sat on her stump and tried not to listen, but the music, the music was all she could hear. Than Crick-Ette's tears, with a rhythm all their own, dripped and dropped from her eyes, to her fingers, to her toes.
For earlier that evening she had joined the other bugg as they sat around listening to a rousing good song. As everybugg joined in and sang the chorus, Crick-Ette, too, began to sing along. But the note she sang was so sour that mirrors cracked and giant dogs bayed at the moon. She had rushed to the mushroom grove and sat all alone, too cold to stay, too embarrassed to leave. Finally, because there was no way she could stay out all night, she slowly headed for home."
"No she can't go back home," Spencer whined quietly from under her, the words bouncing off the quietness of the walls around them, "She should leave..."
"Where would she go?" I asked, figuring this was no longer about the girl from the story.
"Anywhere in the world," she smiled lazily but her eyes never met mine, never left my hand which was in closed with in her warm fingers, "They don't deserve her...what happened where'd she go?" Spencer asked bringing the conversation away from her and back to the story.
Smiling I continued but in a softer tone, right in her ear, "Poor Crick-Ette! Her eyes brimmed with tears and all of the trail was nothing more than a blur. She stubbed her toe on a twig, tripped on a stone and stumbled over a sleeping caterpillar. 'Excuse me,' said the caterpillar, perplexed and amused, 'who's tripping over me while I snooze'"
Spencer giggled at the last line, god she's like a small child forced to grow up so soon, the thought putting a frown on my face, " 'it was me,' said Crick-Ette, quite confused. 'I didn't see you, lying there while you snoozed.'"
"Why'd she apologize I would have kicked his ass," her tone taking a tougher tune.
"What did he do to you?" I giggled as she frowned up at me finally meeting my brown eyes.
"Nothing but Crick-Ette is showing weakness if she apologizes she should make him apologize for being in her way."
"Spencer it's okay to say sorry, its not a weakness." I said brushing hair off her face, making sure never to look away, "It's a strength..."
"I'm tired," Spencer shifted away from me.
"Spencer..."
"I said I'm tired so shut it Ash and sleep," she growled and I knew my tough exterior from earlier had dissipated back into my soul and I was once again the follower the slave of emotions and a submissive to all of her commands. Sighing I laid next to her in the cold tent my back turned away from her. Minutes later an arm snaked around my waist and pulled me in to the body behind me, "You'll finish the story sometime..."
"Sure Spence...sure," I whispered out and than it was silent except the rain outside and we both fell asleep.
TBC.