Kneeling on my knees in art class, slowly working my hands around the clay as I carved carefully with a tool, a thigh. Sunlight filling the room through the windows, once again bathing everyone in gold.
It's hard to make clay look like stone, I keep having to redo certain parts, my mind going blank after a few minutes as I keep remembering the funeral. I slowly carve closer to member of what is supposed to be a fallen Angel.
"That seems to be a very big project." The headmistress's voice couldn't be confused with anyone else's.
"It's keeping me busy." I say not looking back as I continue my work, sitting back on my legs as I rub my tired hands.
"I came to see how you were doing." She says, her heels clicking closer to me. "Blanton explained there weren't any suspects in the area before, during, or after the funeral. You hadn't said anything,"
"If there was someone else there, I would have known. There were so few left, any stranger could have been pointed out within the group." I say, my voice laced with remorse that I try to hide but can't.
"They're settling well in Alpha Joaquin's pack." The headmistress tries to reassure me.
"That won't replace what they've lost." I finally turn to her, she stares back at me sympathetically. I can't match her gaze, I've never seen that look before. I look back towards my sculpture, moving off the floor and walking over to the art supply closet for another block of clay.
"What does your hat mean?" She asks, the question completely unprovoked. My hat sitting in the corner with my other belongings. I look around to my peers, most of the other students further away couldn't hear our conversation, the professor sitting in his desk didn't look up once, it seemed as if we were being ignored.
"Why?" I ask her.
"Why is the brim so wide?"
"Now that is a very specific question, Headmistress." My frustration growing, like a lot of water simmering over an open flame.
"It's based on how many souls are due to recompense for there sins, correct?" Her question lighting something up within me that didn't need lighting at all. I let out a slow breath, gently putting the block of clay down. My fingers leaving indents in the clay, and I slowly turn back to look at her.
My eyes locking on hers, and I can see in her eyes the recognition of my gaze. She looks away immediately.
"Elias, I apologize." She says quickly.
"No, that doesn't do it for me." I whisper, something menacing behind my voice.
Stepping closer, the pot going from a simmer to boil, why am I so angry?
Why is she asking about my hat?
"I won't ask you any more personal questions. I just wanted to check in on you, as a teacher to her student." The headmistress cautiously looks back up at me and I try to keep myself from sneering at her.
"You're time would be better spent giving that savior energy to someone that needs saving." I reply, my voice seeming almost robotic as I speak. "By the way, I've been requested. There's been another attack fifty miles north of here."
Most of the students stop what they're doing, looking up the minute that sentence leaves my lips. Even the professor shakily putting his papers down and looking up as well.
"There hasn't been any reports made-" the headmistress almost stutters.
"It was in a civilian zoned area where a lot of rogue wolves run to, of course it's not going to make the news." I growl at her, quickly working on the next part of the sculpture as I mold the clay into place.
YOU ARE READING
Grave Digger
WerewolfElias spent years as a grave digger putting loved ones to rest. It's the only thing she's ever known ever since she was a kid. Over the years she's learned about other people's grief, their pain, how six feet can seem so far away for so many people...
