Desiring a romantic, moonlit stroll, (See how unchangeable I am? -Xen) I solicited M's company. We decided to visit the local graveyard. Let it be known that at no time did I tell M any information about the cemetery nor did I look at this as anything more than a walk.
Upon arriving, we chose to take a short path through the woods that would bring us directly to the more secluded and older cemetery. As we reached the other side of the path, I beheld a truck sitting next to the water tower [that rests on the property]. After a few tense moments, I spied that it was visibly empty. Wishing to remain safe, we backed out to the street entrance.
Before sitting [on the curb on the street side of the path], I noticed a dying lightning bug shuffling off its luminescent mortal carapace on the path. Likely one of us unknowingly stepped upon it in our haste to exit. I gently lifted the dying insect, cradling it in the space between my curled fore- and middle finger[s]. It lay one on its back, glowing weakly whenever I concentrated my energy on it. M held the tops of my fingers and wept softly. Over the course of at least five patient minutes, the insect glowed slower and dimmer. Finally, it began to curl up, the arthropodic version of rigor mortis. I readied myself to reassure M of the place of death in existence, when our Mr. Samsa flipps flips onto its legs, crawls to my ring finger tip, and take[s] a calm flight. Somehow it returned to life in my hand. It should be noted that it was likely far too cool that night for lightning bugs and I did not have the pleasure of witnessing any others.
We sat on the curb for moments afterward, until we heard the door of the truck open and shut. We probed the truck and its occupant gently with our minds, deriving that the occupant was depressed and was drinking heavily to ease suicidal thoughts. Combined M & my psychic abilities seem stronger; more than the fosum of their parts. We decided, as the truck's owner may well have had a gun, it was not prudent to approach. To our relief, the truck pulled away several minutes later.
We entered and headed toward the top grave to take in the view. I felt a palpable energy coursing through the air, but made no mention of it as it seemed of little significance. After taking in the scenery for a bit, we descended from the top grave toward four flourishing trees. I wished to show M the tree under which I was initiated when I was but fifteen. M paused next to a gravestone, staring at it. She shook her head, rubbed the date, looked again and finally seemed satisfied. She would later reveal that the year of this person's birth seemed to proclaim they had died nearly a century before they were born. Even after rubbing and looking again, the stone boasted the wrong date. Slowly, she stated, the "9" transitioned back to an "8." I witnessed only her reaction to this. In addition we, independently, spied what we believed to be a statue in the center turning to look at us.