HOWL IN THE WIND

 

He was 17 and could already sense death. It hung on his tongue - deep, crisp, and even. He was near his time, the moon hung low and glisteningly fat, his blood was rich and thick like amber honey, his skin was red and feverish like a forest fire. There was no stopping it, there never had been. Change was coming, his change, and soon he and death would howl in the wild.