Shades

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Pale lightning, the color of splintered bone, tore jagged streaks in the dark night sky. Thunder pealed, still a little distant, but definitely growing closer.

Lying on his back on top of his sleeping bag near the campfire, Michael Guerin stared up at the swirling storm clouds. Excitement coursed through him, and… surprisingly… the sensation felt good. Usually, given the secrets he held, excitement was a bad thing.

"Hey, Guerin."

"What?" Michael asked, not bothering to look at the speaker and resenting the interruption.

"What are you grinning about?"

"Didn't know I was."

"Well you are, and I think it's about time you stopped. Getting caught by a storm out here isn't exactly something most folks want to do."

"Sure." Michael adjusted his laced fingers behind his head and tried not to look so cheerful. That morning he'd been glum and taciturn. Taciturn had been the word Junior

Doggett had used. The word wasn't one that Michael had ever used, or intended to use. Except maybe on a test in school now that he'd decided to carry on with getting an education.

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