Disclaimer: Playing in Joss Whedon's nifty sandbox, nothing more.
Authour's Note: Written in fifteen minutes for a challenge on the livejournal community 15minuteficlets.
Harvest Dreams
Mal shuffled his feet in the dirt.
"...but why do I hafta be here for harvest, ma?" His voice was high and petulent as only an eight year old's could be.
The woman he was addressing brushed dirt off on her apron. "Malcom, my lad, what have I told you about whining?" Her voice was smooth, and calm. If Mal hadn't been intent on his own misery just then he might have caught the note of amusement in it.
Mal looked at his mother sullenly. "That it never did anybody any good?" he answered finally, annoyed at not being able to think of a "smart remark" that his father probably would have hit him for, but his mother would simply glare away.
She nodded. "That's right."
Mal sighed, and poked at the ground with a stick again as he trailed after his mother. He muttered to himself as he let her outpace him as much as he dared. "Someday, I'm gonna be a captain on a ship, and I'll never have to be anywhere I don't wanna be, and I'll have brave heroes on my crew, and we'll fight pirates and..."
He cut himself off when he heard his mother sigh.
"Day dreaming never does anybody no good either, Mal..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He hadn't thought she'd heared him.
Years later, the vision of his mother, looking out over the prairie with an undifinable look of loss in her eyes would come back to haunt him again and again in the middle of the night as he lay alone on his bunk on Serenity.