'Moon Shapes'

Chapter 27: Shall We Bury? (Talek)

The rouge of color splashing across the sky gave the illusion that the slit of moon was in some form of rage... moon rage; as it shared a pitiful spray of light on the rows of cascading cement.

How I ended up stepping onto this type of grounds, sent shivers all over. I hated being this near to death. That's all I could think of every time I even looked upon these places. This place was the largest I'd ever seen.

Suppose I'd neglected to notice just how many stones had been erected in this town – I quickly wondered the ratio of alive to the dead – not even close to the numbers in my head.

"That should be Good." Jensen confirmed, spilling the last inches of softened soil. He covered in spotted blotches of earth, himself. I suppose we both were.

It was to our fortune that a plot had already been dug out; it was in good awareness, that one should always be ready to go, with the count of funerals that can take place during the given time of month; particularly the amount of 'accidents' accounting for those by students at Witcland University.

Though, lately there had been less deaths...err... accidents in the past month than usual. It's great to regain some of the school's reputation but for here, a bit strange.

I wonder if that has to do with 'the one?'

Ah, that single thought caught twitched all senses and specific extremities. Stay focused – you're in a cemetery for friggin' sake.

"You think he'll be found there?" I asked to readjust attention.

Jensen tilted his head a bit in confusion or apprehension as he studied the fresh hole. "I think we'll be ok..."

"You think?" I retorted.

"Look, let's say they do 'find him' or a piece of him rather... who are they going to pin it on?" He countered.

He made a good argument and made sense with all the creepy crawlers that will devour him (mostly) up; don't think I've even seen a bone eating insect before – suppose everything is possible.

"We need to go...' he said lightly patting my shoulder blade. We picked up the shovels and placed it back into the wheel barrel; when I say the hole was 'fresh' it was.

I caught back up to him, passing by all the weathered statues and mausoleums littering the hollow grounds, the thought of her yet continued to linger even with the death; the feelings were insatiable and unrelenting.

"Dude, you need to get a grip on that... you smell exceptionally mouthwatering." He unexpectedly blurted while ducking under an old oaks tree limb.

"Excuse me..." I jabbed back.

He chuckled. "You're libidinous... or for a lack of ten-dollar words – lusting for someone or something... it's pouring off of you." He jabbed. "Not to mention, the canine odor teasing the air."

I stopped dead in my tracks; breathing fiery huffs. "You can... tell... that?" I stuttered.

Had I in some way turned into a version of the hound... had it really been dead after all?

He turned to face me. His hand forming a stop sign signal on my chest. "Not tell... I can smell it." He corrected. "Jesus, you are burning up!"

I couldn't say I was exactly embarrassed or drowning in humiliation – it did throw me off guard though. I became stifled; willing partial salutes to decease. The rush of heat trickled on me as if my skin was soaking in raining flames.

His eyes scorched to my atmospheric explosions; I could tell (or smell) he was fighting it off. "How are you even attempting to turn now..." He gasped. "... the moon isn't even in full swoon for another week... or... so!" He babbled in rattled gulps. His hand pushing down onto his own lusting.

"We've gotta get to a shower – now!" He urged. His usually blunted nails dug deep and quickly into my forearm. Whipping me along behind me him towards the gymnasium.

His locks in the back usually trimmed and short were rapidly shooting outwards, his hair had grown two or three inches in the few seconds we had begun running. What was going on? Was it me? Was I doing this?

If in fact, I was one of them as Jensen had suggested... wouldn't I have been turning myself?

I was expressively hot, is all.

His exhales had become more urgent; deeper; menacing as he broke off the metal door handle. Whisking the basketball court with little to no contact; his nails now diving deeper; the pings paralleled that of the libidinous – it either soothed the osculating lust or I enjoyed the discomfort just the same.

Mazing our way through the locker room into the moist conditioning of the showers; Jensen spattered my back against one of the brick walls; slicing my shirt down the middle and off in one swoop; the water rushed out the faucet in a gush – instantly shushing the heat in flicks and hisses of steamed backtalk.

Jensen himself, had less clothing on (with the cotton materials being ripped off or stretched off) as he stared guardedly. The same shower head cleansing us both; the palms of his hands playing patty cake on either side of my torso as the harsh cold had appeared to have severed down the mold forming alterations to his whiskery appearance. His hair (both facially and crown) had slowly regressed as well. His eyes, though, were still vibrating variant amber – caramel; bronze; mocha; wheat. It was beautiful to watch the kaleidoscope of his pupils.

The heat from myself had dove to nothing and subsided. I had no idea if it had been from the cold shower or the fearfulness escaping Jensen's contorting face. I was triggering more harm than good; I was the source, and I didn't understand how or why.

He hummed low once; his head raising as his chocolate eyes met mine. His face softening as the saddening expression teasing to burst spread upon mine.

"I'm so sorry." I croaked.

"What are you?" he whispered.

My mouth hesitant to the correct or if any response to give. My lips finally parting without shaking.

"I wish I knew." I whispered back.