#sonsoflycaon

Doooooo it

OH MY GOD BURN IT WITH FIRE!

Heels clicked on the ground. She hated them. They were the cause her feet were pulsing now. But work required them. She couldn’t be a respectable teacher in flats. Allison rolled her eyes at the thought, removing the shoes as she reached the door of her new apartment. Their new apartment. A smile crept over her delicate features. Moving with him had taken a long time. It had been an arduous process, but they finally made it. Late night visits and lies had turned into painful truths. Sleepless nights came for both after they told their friends that she was alive, and that he knew. They hated her, them, for a while. But that was over now. The pack was back together and things were finally in the right gear. Everything was going according to plan. Perfect was a big words but she could venture to say it was. She was going to sleep in his strong arms and wake up in them, head resting on his chest. With the first ray of sun she would look into his eyes and smile. He made her unhappy. No matter what he did it always ended with her and a smile.

Searching in her purse, she reached for the keys and opened the door. Allison was greeted by darkness and her eyebrows furrowed. He was supposed to be home by then. “Scott?” her voice echoed between the semi-empty walls. Unpacking was still on hold until the weekend. Slender fingers slid over the wall and pressed the light switch but nothing happened. Her heart started to thump faster. “Scott? Is there a problem with the lights?” No answer. Damn it. “Scott…I don’t like this.” She was scared now. Could it be that perfection wouldn’t last?

It was a school day, but Brett did not feel like school. He could smell the rain waiting to fall at the moment he stepped out of his door. Even his parents reminded him to bring an umbrella. He was always a good son. He picked a black one.

Unlike him, his parents were petite people. A petite old couple with somewhat more wealth than others in town, and thus they were able to send Brett into Devenford, the private prep school of Beacon Hills. Brett was thankful. Being adoptive parents, they didn't necessarily have to send him to private school.

Brett called in sick with the help of some friends. He didn't need to explain, his friends took his words like a believer would a preacher's words. He didn't care enough to explain. None of them actually did care anyways.

When you realise how small the world is, you learn to keep things to yourself. You figure that the things you had said to your third grade best friend would come back to bite you in your freshman year, and by then you would learn that not everyone who talked to you were friends. The distinction would slowly be clear, especially when you were different.

Brett wore a plain set of clothes, pantone black and white colours that would make the designer world nod in agreement. It was not a suit, but it was grand in its own sense.

Brett drove to the graveyard and the sky was still dim. He hoped that it wouldn't rain.

As he arrived, he saw some more cars parked along the sidewalk by the entrance. He wondered who was dead. He wondered if all their friends and relatives had come to say goodbye.

He would have headed straight to his parents grave if he hadn't caught that scent in the air. In fact, the aggregate of scents. Werewolves, he was sure, there were werewolves. He subtly covered up his own scent as small, scarce raindrops started to land on his shoulder. He hoped that the rain would stop, he thought as he proceeded, following the scent rather than his memory.

A group of people were attending a funeral. Nicely dressed and sad, this time genuine. Sometimes there would be such awkward services that you even would share their embarrassment, but this one was not one of those. It was one of those which reeked of sorrow and pain. It was one with its own black cloud looming over the casket.