I know it's short but I think it's sweet. It's about his dreams that flashback to a certain memory when he was two. It acts like a dream so there are random jumps through the small piece. I hope you like it.
He didn't dream of good things often, through all he'd gone. His Mom's death, his father's fake death, real betrayal, Mozzie and Peter and morals and all this complicated shit he'd never think he'd have to deal with. Not him. he had just been a little boy, taken the wrong path in the woods at the wrong time, after all he'd already been visited by the wolf. What was he supposed to be afraid of, but chance?
But once upon a blessed blue moon Neal would dream of something happy. He'd feel the snow on his face, hear his blades cutting deep into the ice. He breathed in fresh pine air. Snow lit his cheeks on fire, his lips blue and eyelashes wet. He'd dream of the circles, the figure eights. He'd dream of his family, together. He was two, a wobbling mess on ice, chubby feet slipping and sliding. He dreamt of falling backwards, scared of getting hurt only to be lifted in strong arms. He flew through the air, his plaid scarf flapping in the wind of the movement. Looking back, he could see his Father's face. This was the only good memory he had of Dad. Pure innocence and love, before all that had happened. Before all that had tarnished the idea of a father in his mind. of his Father.
The dream would jump forward, warm cocoa in his stomach, he was laying in a lap, watching the flames in the pit. He remembered thinking it was beautiful, reaching out his fingers to touch the magnificent, flickering thing.
He was crying, hurried footsteps stomping on the stairs. Harsh water splashed his hand, it throbbed. The water helped, followed by a cream and a bandage. Once again he looked up and his father's face was staring back. Worry and compassion filling the same blue eyes Neal had.
Warm bed, warm noises, he yawned. Flipping onto his back, two year old Neal watched his Father and Mother kiss in the doorway. Love, that was the last time Neal remembered his Mom happy.
Bittersweet, Neal would wake up. Sadness twinging his heart with waves of nostalgia and warmth. In those stolen moments, Neal loved his Father. He just wished in life he'd stolen more. Wished his family had been together longer. That he'd lived with his Dad longer, respecting him before the only image in his head was ruined. But that was for another day and all Neal wanted was a cup of his Mother's cocoa.
Hot water, steam puffing out, Neal sipped his mug with the last remnants of his dream lapping at the corner of his mind.
Maybe that day wasn't a reflection of his life, but blue would always be the simplest of days on the earliest of his memories.
Blue part 1 done. Hope you liked it. Review?