His Name Was LouisHe is twenty now. I see him in my dreams all the time, he talks to me. He talks to me about living where he is, and how confusing it is that I'm where I am and unhappy, but he is there and he spends all of his time learning new things, touching animals and swimming in this huge lake.
It was near a lake that he died. Mother did too. I don't think its the same lake, mind, but I thought I'd mention it. Here the lake where he died is a beauty spot but there aren't the animals he mentions near it. No way. His lake must be in Africa or somewhere much warmer than it can be here. That's the lake on the military camp. I still don't know why they were there.
Anyway Louis is always dressed in blue. A beauitful blue as well, like the blue they have down south in Provence. I must go back there and see. I haven't been there since we were all little. I have some of the photos somewhere, up in Dad's room where I keep all the stuff from that life. He is so handsome. Tall and straight, and with a peaceful yet determined nature.
Just as we talk and relate and feel so happy together the Vikings come, wielding their battleaxes and their swords and seeking to capture us! They are ferocious and the wind wisps Louis away from me, and I wake up.
bitchefille 22-25, F 0 Aug 10, 2013