'Moon Shapes'

Chapter 21: Heads Up! (Dannity)

Running like the not-so-star-track runner that I'd never been, I heaped over down logs, and at one point lost one of the perfectly new-ish shoes to a suckling bog of muddy water.

It's how I've always dreamt my death scene would play out: in fantastically over-bearing mature woods; at the dead of night; one foot attributively fitted with an intact shoe, while the other foot soggy – and splattered of muddy sludge – all along racing within a mixture of lined blue-furs, and quaking aspen trees.

I was completely bombarded by the continuous fallen branches from several storms that had passed just this week.

I was choking for air, when my bare foot flattened on top of a symmetrical square piece of concrete – I had ended the trail and found myself back onto official campus grounds. I was off the school's torturously long nature trail – damn those conservationists needing to keep awareness alive but – of course who am I kidding – I'm a total tree-hugger.

The courtyard was a haze, as I practically ricocheted off one of the pillars of my apartment building – which I will now reluctantly refer to as: the sanctuary.

**

Believe me... with all the holy water; daggers; and the 'blah-blah's' of the secluded area of 'hah-hahs' hidden in every section of the apartment – it was impossible not to imagine the rooms being incorporated for Buddha-type mantras of great sacramental importance; and my bed joined as the unofficial alter for a temporary stand-in, holy temple.

Even when you are surrounded by these protective tactics and plus one strong chick – there still lingers cautionary lullabies in the back of your mind, singing to still be completely thorough, because she's not always going to be around; like she hasn't been lately. The only one truly to safe yourself – is ultimately yourself.

**

Hacking out even more air from the running that I've ever done in possibly weeks, I dry-heaved a bit with a few steps away from the front door. Thankfully not much came up from the fire screeching up my esophagus.

Composing myself, patting my face of the sweaty moisture while covering up the adorned orifice with my sleeve and removing – if any – remnants trailing off my lips. How I'd ever managed to never be snacked on, so far, based on this performance dumbfounded me with incredible fashion. The oogie-boogies must have been drenched of any highly capable skills to slap me around.

Of course, I do give myself less credit than I deserve, I did run like a hellion.

I looked up to have my freedom from impending doom erased as I had the unpleasant misfortune of bad timing.

The front face of the building was being re-bricked; painted – how typical and unnecessary timing to fix anything insures to happen.

The scaffolding was exceedingly huge hovering over the threshold entryway.

I suddenly recalled being told all about this, and how we were informed that it was safe enough to go under when entering the building during the day though not during the night, as there isn't any workers to oversee that it never falls.

I don't have time to run around the building to the 'safer' door!

I've gotta get inside now!

I was a tad bit more intimidated to go walking nonchalant underneath something this incredibly ambiguous, and not to mention housing all the bricks still crowding the plank.

Postpone-a-sec! isn't there a superstition that forebodes one to do such an act; ha, there is.... with my luck, I shouldn't play with the implausible chance of engorging some gods' vengeance on me. I mean, I am already thick within the night crawlers world of despair and vindictive nature.

I'm not in any kind of fast paced scenario to have eyes derided in flames upon the extensive possibilities that 'heaven' has descended to earth to help or to invoke the dreary promise of decimating all mankind.

If that happens, please – of all pleases, to be ever spoken – bring an end to the hellicious puppet politicians who never once has claimed to know the existence of any supernatural; unidentifiable creature, or paranormal phenomenon.

Yet, thinking of what dark fantasies are true, and are no doubly incisive of devouring my scrawny arse; I could surely deal with a bit of head-bobbing at this precise moment – brain concussions be damned.