I am a Question To The World [[open]]

[Edmund Clement]

He gazed at the steadily eroding rocks solemnly, his bright eyes reflecting what his outward appearance did not. This tombstone did not belong to any of his relatives, but he was feeling somber, and he always came here when he was. Was it a punishment or something? He didn't know. He felt it was no different than listening to depressing music when sad. Sadism was a popular trend, though none realized that's what they were actually doing.

Maybe it was because the gravestones reminded him he could be worse. By all accounts, he had an amazing life. He had nothing really to be sad about. But everyone was allowed to have little bouts of depression, and whenever he did he brought himself here. Being sad was better than being dead.

Terrence Morovich. Edmund wondered who he was. It said on the stone that he was a husband and loving father of three who would be forever missed. But what did he do for a living? And how did he die?

He ran his nimble fingers through his thick wavy locks, shifting his eyes from the stone to the horizon. The sun was setting. Finally. He was always more comfortable at night, even though his vision was still terrible. Flying Foxes weren't the same as bats, but nonetheless he found comfort in nightfall. He would Shift if he was brave enough to do so in the middle of a public place.

He heard the crunching of grass beneath feet but didn't turn to see who it was. He wouldn't know them,seeing as he knew only a few people, and he preferred to stare at the horizon just a bit longer. After a few seconds, however, he didn't want to seem rude, so he turned his head towards the other and nodded slightly, hands in the pockets of his neatly tailored pants.

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[TETRIS]

Dismay and irritation faded out into grudging indignation, as Ceras surveyed the tousled black hair from the cemetery gates. She didn't know his name, but she mentally registered him as a fellow tenant of Origin Apartments. Kicking her shoes through the grass in an effort to muster a more jovial, dynamic atmosphere (if only for the sake of making a passable first impressions), her eyes betrayed her actual mood, fixed as they were on the dry puffs of dust that rose with each step.

The male didn't say anything, which was just as well. In her current mood, she wasn't certain that she could manage a civil response to the first insipid comment that oozed, syrup-like, between another person's great slobbering jaws. It was one of these lows, when she felt as misanthropic and hostile towards all life as she'd ever felt, that Ceras liked to come out here and enjoy the silent indifferent company of the dead.

Except that there was a breathing, living, beacon of vitality here already.

She walked past the dark-haired male, then turned her head half back to glimpse him peripherally. If she had to acknowledge the living, she liked to do it in obliquely, carving her opinion of them from that one glance in stone. Ceras trusted her instincts. All the more so since she started giving her body and mind to the keen-eyed bestial counterpart within herself.

Bright eyes, and dark hair; not a strong impression. Hell, he had bright eyes though. She thought of other bright eyes, completely different, if not for the same inner radiating source. But the pale grey eyes she often felt on her back were mocking, amused, even cruel, set beneath expression eyebrows, above a playful, sensuous mouth.

"I want to be buried here when I die," she said lightly, matter-of-factly, not to the man, certainly, not to herself, but more a promise to the silent crowd assembled here. Actually, her desire wasn't to be buried in this particular cemetery, but with her peers - the great, the stupid, the poor, the fools - all together, one and the same and no more.