Into Darkness We Walk

Everywhere

There's places I have been

No one should ever go

There's things that I have seen

No one should ever know

There's places I have been

No one should ever go

There's things that I have done

No one should ever know

BlesstheFalls - "Skinwalkers"

" 'Everywhere, everywhere', the mockingbird cried, 'I see them everywhere! Naught pain and terror they seek, for everywhere that be! Do not search for them in towns, no no, they want the lonely and desolate traveller: a challenge, you see; for they can truly smell your fear'."

The brown spiked-up haired boy lowered his paper with the poem written on it and walked back to his desk. Sitting, he waited for his teacher's reply.

It came a short time later, a surprised expression with it: "Wow, Evan; that was... very good. An A+, for the use of 'naught' in the correct terminology. Well done." She clapped, and the rest of the class minus Evan along with her. Once done, she called on the next student. "Gavin, you're up."

The student she called on hurriedly scribbled down the last of his poem, nervously looking up to his English teacher, and then back down to his paper. As soon as he was finished, he stood and shuffled up to the front of the room, tonguing his retainer and flattening his crumpled paper. With a reassuring nod from the teacher, he began to read. " 'Never not look down,' the moon said to the boy in the window. 'Never not look up. Always there are things to see, never are there not. For down is th e sea, the grass, the hills! People asleep, trees awake and alive, blowing in the midnight breeze. Up there is the stars, the planets, the comets! Otherworldy figures staring back, nebulas without eyes but aware of the crowded yet empty vaccuum of space around them. So, dear child, never forget, to never not look down'."

Gavin cringed as he hurriedly walked back to his seat, dying to know his score, but at the same time not wanting to. His anxiety came to an end when his teacher clapped and smiled. "Very good, Gavin; finally cutting loose, eh? Great. A+ for a fantastic use of imagination about space. Alright, next kid!"

Sighing in relief, Gavin slumped down in his chair, again tonguing his retainer on the roof of his mouth. He turned his attention from the current speaker to Evan- the best poet in class, although you'd never guess by the way he dressed and acted; sort of like a poor kid mixed with drug issues and a pinch of smirky womanizer.

How he was the class poet Gavin would never know, but he was, which was why he was going to ask him if he could come over to his house and help him bring out his inner Edgar Allen Poe, or at the very least drag it kicking and screaming. Whichever one helped him pass this class.

"Evan," he whispered. The one being called didn't seem to hear him; he was too busy writing, or something along those lines. Rolling his eyes, Gavin tried again. "Evan. Bro. Duuuude."

No dice. Grumbling to himself, he wrote a note, folded it into a miniature football, and flicked it at him. It hit the side of his face, and then fell to his desk. Evan lifted his head and looked around the classroom for whoever flicked it. When his eyes landed on Gavin, Gavin nodded and pointed at himself, mouthing, "Yah, it was me, open it."

Evan made the motion to open the football, which made Gavin nod again.

So, Evan carefully opened the paper and read the note. It ran: "Can I come over to your place so you can help me with my poetry skills?"

Evan rolled his eyes and scribbled down his reply before folding it back up and throwing it back.

Being sure not to make too much noise, Gavin unfolded the football, and when he read Evan's reply he fistpumped silently in his seat. The reply was: "Yeah, sure, why not. I live by AM PM. Be at my house by three."