Twin Moon
I could hear the seriousness in his voice, I could feel the anger radiating off him.
“I don’t know what you want me to say” I answered him.
I couldn’t tell him about the pictures, the stories, the bodies, not without explaining how and why I saw them. I can’t tell him about the time I was dragged through a burnt-out town, forced to stare at the bodies that littered the streets. I can’t tell him that I know it was werewolves that killed all those people, without explaining that I knew it because the hunters caught three of them. I can’t explain how those wolves were tortured and beaten, begging and pleading for their lives. Right up until the point that they confessed and were then decapitate