Nibble part 23

Nick followed me quietly as I casually walked into the store, as usual, avoiding the eyes of the cash register lady. She looked up, though, and raised her hair at the white-haired boy following me. We stepped out of her view as we walked into an aisle, and I led him to the furniture section, smiling as I saw my couch, waiting for me. I sat down, pulling my small backpack of my shoulders, and unzipped it, reaching in and retrieving my notebook. He sat down next to me and leaned his head back, staring up at the bright lights on the ceiling. I opened to the last page I had written on and scanned the poem I had written, checking to see if I was comfortable sharing it with him.

Fine

Don't say a thing

Fine

Just ignore me

Fine

I'll just leave

Lock me up

Beat me

Shout at me

Anything

But please

Don't ignore me

He screams, she cries

They sing into the night

A cry for help, a desperate plea

Not because they hurt me

Because they don't seem to see me

Fine

Don't say a thing

Fine

Just ignore me

Fine

I'll just leave

I bit my lip, hesitating, and, before I could think about it, handed the pad over to him. He read the words and looked up at me, but I wasn't looking at him, I was just staring out in front of me. He turned the page backwards and read the poem before it

Howl at the moon

Bite into what's there

Crying out in pain

We do it again

Lost from the pack

No wolves come back

Must feed myself

Must keep on

Howl at the moon

Bite into what's there

Crying out in pain

We do it again

The cry of the night

The dark that brings light

To my mind, frees me

Free for the hunt

Howl at the moon

Bite into what's there

Crying out in pain

We do it again

Settle in

Sleep all day

Keep it all in

'Til night comes again

Then we

Howl at the moon

Bite into what's there

Crying out in pain

We've done it again

He looked up at me again, and I glanced over at him for a second before quickly looking away. "These," he said, "are incredible." That surprised me. Depressing, maybe. Dramatic, possibly. Incredible? "I think..." he said, "Well, would you help me write a song?" I blinked at him, gaping. He shrugged, "It seems that your poems fit my music. The mood, I mean. They match up." I blinked at him again before looking away. "Sure."

© 2010