Before The Bell
Before The Bell Frantically I start to dig. I can hear scratches surface from beneath.The moon is settled high, glowing in a pearl essence of blue. The air is thick with the sultry of pine, the fog dense, wolves cling to the outer rims of the woods. My heart is petrified at the situation at hand. I do not know what has me caused for such concern nor the itch to have taken such a route home. A full moon always seems to create a curious angst within me. Sleep is never my fellow company on such a night. As I dig, I begin feel a dampness cling to my skin. It is like a cool sweat, my hands are becoming exhausted. But what ever lies beneath this earth seems to have something to say. The sound of scratches become more methodically frantic; as does my digging. The howls of the wolves fill the crisp air with an ominous mood. The hairs on my neck stand, goosebumps crowd my flesh. I begin to talk to what ever it is that is buried beneath these abandoned grounds. "I'm going ...