Kaila with an i

I wrote this as a poem for Y!A

2011-08-23T15:16:00.001-04:00

Earthquake, earthquake
Why won't you let me bake my cake?
All you do is ruin my life
All you do is bang my wife
Earthquake, earthquake
Your parents think you're a mistake

...but the question got deleted (damn trolls) before I could charm the world with my wit and terrible rhyming skills.

An Empty House

2011-01-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

I wait in hesitation, listening to the classical music play around me. I adjust my clothing and grip the item in my hands tighter. Only a few more moments, now, and it will begin. The double doors are opening into the bright lighting. I step out, hearing my heels click against the tiled floors, and inhale the scene around me. The hallway's fluorescent lighting gives off a dull glow. The elevator's doors shut with a metallic clunk. This is home, sweet home.
The dim smile on my face begins to grow smaller and smaller as I near my door. The key is the same as it has been for the past fifteen years, as has the doorknob and the creaking sound the floorboards makes as I sink into my apartment.
The same lonely feeling rushes upon me as my eyes dart around the interior. It feels foreign and familiar at the same time. I'm used to the hustle and bustle of the precinct, but here, noise is nonexistent. Some would revel in the thick silence. I am not one of these people.
Quickly, I escape over to the window and throw it open, allowing the city's smells to invade the privacy of my apartment. I close my eyes and imagine myself walking along the streets, being with other people, talking and laughing and sipping late-night coffee. Knowing I shouldn't fantasize about having a life outside of work, I shut the window as quickly as I opened it and back away slowly.
Time is standing still inside my apartment. I look around and all I can think of is the town of Pripyat, forever wallowing in desolation, the buildings and roads rotting away, allowing the contaminated soil to claim its rightful throne against humanity. Behind the clean surfaces and vacuumed carpets, my apartment resembles the same wasteland. It is psychological, though, instead of physical. The loneliness is the toxic waste, destroying the place I once called home. My fingers flick on the lights- all of them- to try and bring some of this life back. I click the television on and find a channel that will take my attention off my surroundings.
The refrigerator is empty, as always, aside from a few beers and a carry-out container of Chinese. I crack open a bottle and drain it at the counter, tipping my head back to suck out every last drop I can.
Loneliness heeds no warning. Unlike a hurricane, you can't see it coming on the horizon. You can't feel the air change; you can't hear the gale-force winds rushing at you. Loneliness is a silent killer, seeping into the fibers and grains of the carpet and walls, until it consumes the owner. It drags me to the couch and I lifelessly collapse onto the cushions.
Outside, the cars and citizens are flying and buzzing at such a late hour. I sit on my couch and drink myself until my eyelids start to block my sight of the television screen. Not that I'm paying attention to Leno, anyway, but they are becoming a nuisance.
I contemplate for a good three minutes about whether I should actually rise and go to bed or just spend another uncomfortable night on the couch. Three minutes later, I reach past a stack of old magazines to cover myself with a warm blanket. My cold hands snuggle deeper into the folds of fleece, my body molds itself against the cushions, desperate for warmth.
As Leno cracks another lame joke, I desperately wish there was someone I could call. Just to hear another person's voice that isn't coming through my television's speakers. A real human being with real thoughts and feelings and a true urge to speak to me. It is times like this I would take another swig, to shut the voices up that ramble on inside of my head.
Your life isn't that bad, I usually try to stress at this time of night, when the loneliness is winning the battle. You have a paying job; you're not out on the street. You have friends. Co-workers, I correct myself. Friends began to slowly disappear once I delved into my career. It's hard to bond with a fifth grade teacher or a veterinarian when all you can talk about is child molesters and first-degree murder cases. Acquaintances begin to drift off as the weekday calls turn into a once per month ordeal. Dates with available men simmer down as they realize that women do not age like fine wine, especially women in the police force.
I whimper, wanting to reach for the bottle so I can shut myself up, and give in. The skeletons rise out of the condensation that's been building around the glass. I release them one by one, sip by sip, and as I do so, they mold with the loneliness. Light slowly begins to filter in through the closed curtains, illuminating the room I've been wasting away in.
Light means another day outside. Light means people, things to do, things to be busy with until I have to come home to Pripyat.
The Captain calls me as I'm stepping out of the shower, saying that he's sorry, but it will probably be a late night tonight. He can't smell the last flavors of alcohol on my breath and he can't see the puffiness of my red eyes, a clear signal of all I've been doing until the early hours of the morning. He tells me I shouldn't plan on going home. Tonight, I will be safe.

I wait in hesitation, listening to the classical music play around me. I adjust my clothing and grip the item in my hands tighter. Only a few more moments, now, and it will begin. The double doors are opening into the bright lighting. I step out, hearing my heels click against the tiled floors, and inhale the scene around me. The hallway's fluorescent lighting gives off a dull glow. The elevator's doors shut with a metallic clunk. This is home, sweet home.
A smile spreads across my face. This is civilization, not an empty house.

Senior Project is a Joke

2010-09-12T00:08:00.003-04:00

Or, that's what the graduating class of 2010 told us back in May, when they assured us that you didn't have to do anything to take the class. Unfortunately, the admin got a hold of this news, and decided to punish us instead of them. Rightfully so.
Now, I am staring at a blank Word document, trying to figure out how to write a paper on how my "community service" helped the area of Powell.
The truth: I sat behind Coach Green's desk, watched freshmen stab each other with broken pencils, answered the phone a couple of times, and threw away his trash from lunch he'd left behind on his desk.
Am I supposed to write that down or should I just go ahead and lie? Lying sounds like a good option, because I'm sure they wouldn't want to hear the entire truth- that I didn't go out and perform a service at another location because I didn't want to waste my gas money. What? It's going for $2.44 down on Emory and I don't have a job yet to supply my tank.
Obviously, we're all going to lie on these essays. And unfortunately, we have to write one each time we turn in our hours, which is four times a semester. With my Shakespeare class cut because of some pre-8th grade English class, that means my fourth period next semester is also going to be senior project.
And thus, more lying ensues.

Elevator Music

2010-06-05T14:17:00.006-04:00

A work-in-progress TT AU fic.
Pairing: Starfire/Nightwing

Kori Anders was painfully aware of the danger she was placing herself in, being mere seconds away from facing her enemy. Pushing away the feeling of dread and swallowing her insecurities, the button pressed and the thick metal doors pulled apart. However, they revealed nothing more than an empty elevator.
Kori stepped into the enclosure, pressing the level seventeen button and leaning back against the dark cherry-wood paneling. Safe and secure now, she closed her eyes and wished to be somewhere, anywhere else besides Wayne Enterprises headquarters. Her deepest, darkest desire was to punch her boss in the face, hard and repetitively. Although there were plenty of interns, it seemed Kori was the only one available to meet Bruce Wayne’s assistant for an advertising discussion. After working for the Prince modeling agency for three years, Kori figured that Diana could cut her some slack and let her not spend the day fearing for her sanity and increasing blood pressure. Apparently, today was not one of those days.
A sudden lurch during the elevator’s assent caused Kori’s stomach to lurch, as well. Her emerald eyes snapped open to view the double doors sliding apart.
“Kori?” The voice she hadn’t spoken to in the last four months and hadn’t seen in the last six barricaded her to the far corner of the elevator. He stood there, standing in all of his gorgeous glory: clean-cut dark hair, muscular frame, and stunning sea-glass eyes.
“Hello, Dick,” Kori replied icily, gripping her purse tightly as he stepped inside and pressed his desired floor before taking a stance beside her rigid form. She tried not to inhale the masculine scent of his cologne, for fear she might visibly swoon in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” She turned to her ex-boyfriend, not surprised in the least at his lack of manners and straight-forward question. Same old Dick.
“I’m here for work. You?”
“It just so happens that I work here,” He smirked, “But of course, you already knew that.” Kori said nothing back and continued visualizing herself anywhere but in a confined location with Dick Grayson. “I tried calling you.”
“I am aware of this, yes.” He scowled lightly at her aloof tone but said nothing further. For the first time, Kori was aware of the light jazz music playing in the background. She focused her attention on the tunes, the soft swells of the piano and saxophone. Another lurch of the elevator slammed both riders hard against the wall.
“What in the hell is-” Without any warning, the machine let out a deafening grinding sound as Kori and Richard shared a worried glance. Suddenly, the floor seemed to disappear from underneath them as the elevator dropped several feet, before the grinding noise returned. Kori grabbed onto the handrails, struggling to stay erect. Richard turned to her, already dialing the lobby’s front desk, and opened his mouth to tell her it was going to be all right, when the elevator careened again.
Kori unfortunately didn’t experience any monumental flashbacks of her life as television and books talked about often, so she was entirely conscious of all that was happening. After begging all of the holy deities she knew of, she laughed at the fact she would probably die with the man she’d wanted to murder the past few months. Karma was a bitch, she decided. Richard watched his ex-girlfriend in confusion as the lights flickered above them and finally, the machine came to a screeching halt. By then, Richard assumed they had dropped at least sixty feet or more.
“Kori… are you okay?” She didn’t reply and continued her laughter, sinking to the sparkling tiled floors. “Hey, Lindsay, this is Dick. I was wondering if you knew anything about the elevator malfunction,” He finally reached the front desk after gaining control of his fingers again after gripping the rail so tightly, “Well, it feels like we just dropped out of the sky or something. I’m guessing that one of the cables snapped.” Kori’s laughter was fading now as she cleared her mind and listened to Richard’s deep voice. Even with her hatred for him, the knowledge that he was there calmed her nerves slightly. However, the knowledge that the elevator could plummet again without any warning weighed heavily on her mind, as well. “All right, then. Have Bruce call the engineer and the fire department and see what they can do.” He ended his call and brought his attention back to the girl beside him, who was now staring at the floor, a blank expression on her face. “Kor? Kori?”
“Yes?” Her voice croaked, eyes still glazed in shock. Richard carefully slid down to the floor next to her and placed a hand on the soft skin of her shoulder.
“Look at me.” She made no move to obey. “Korine, please. I need to know you’re all right.” The deep green irises of her eyes pierced his when she lifted her face up to his.
“I’m fine, Dick. I’m stuck in a broken elevator with Richard Grayson, heir to the Wayne throne, and I might die at any second either from my nerves being shot or from said broken elevator blowing to smithereens,” She narrowed her eyes until they resembled tiny green slits, “Other than that, I’m perfect. How about you?” He brushed off her attitude as if she’d simply complimented him on his attire. After dating her for over a year, he knew her every emotion like the back of his hand.
“I called it in so the police should be here shortly to fix the problem.”
“And if it’s a broken cable, then what? They’re going to magically fix it?” He shrugged nonchalantly- Kori guessed his playboy father had taught him that, too- and settled down, his jacketed-shoulder brushing her bare one. He noticed that she was wearing a completely different outfit than he’d seen her in before- an ivory chiffon-style tank top with a black belted pencil skirt and, surprisingly enough, black four-inch heels which he didn’t even know she owned. He supposed they were extra perks from her job as a model and hoped she hadn’t bought them to go out on a date, as selfish as it was.
“I don’t know, Kor. I’m sorry, but I have no idea what they’re going to do.” Honesty is always the best policy, he knew, even though most of his life he hadn’t followed this golden rule. Right now, though, she deserved nothing but honesty from him, he presumed.

The First Hour

“Bruce wants me to take over the company.” He spoke aloud after some time of silence between himself and her. Finally, she acknowledged his presence and smirked.
“Why are you surprised? He’s always been assuming you would.”
“I’m not and I’ve always known, but now that he’s preparing me for it, I realize that I don’t want anything to do with Wayne Enterprises,” His tone softened as he admitted what he hadn’t to anyone else. Kori always had the power to seek out what he never dared to tell anyone else. “I mean, I love Bruce and I will always be thankful for everything he’s done for me, but I don’t believe I am capable of being CEO.”
“Why don’t you tell him that, then?” He snorted and shook his shaggy ebony locks.
“And sign my own death warrant? No thank you.” The jazz music returned to Kori’s ears again and she closed her eyes, letting her mind drift away. She was on the tropical island of Tamaran, swimming beneath a waterfall. Diving down into the rushing water, she could feel the current slide through her body. Her eyes darted down below her, where she could see a pair of dark eyes gazing up at her. Even among the swift current of the water, the elevator music played on.

The Second Hour (anger)

Unfortunately, the smooth current in Kori’s dream became extremely rough. The silence now was not merely quiet, it was stone silent, much like an abandoned graveyard of angered spirits. This silence spread to the interior of the elevator, where they'd been trapped for over two and a half hours. Being this close to Richard Grayson in this allotted time was beginning to chip away all of her defenses, Kori realized as the question she'd been begging to have an answer to spilled out of her mouth.
"Why did you break up with me?" Normally, she would begin back-tracking and making excuses for being so forth-coming, but this wasn't by any means normal circumstances. This was just her and him; one pissed-off girl and one confusing boy.
"I don't know," He replied and his tone didn't go unnoticed by Kori. She could have cooled a hot drink down with his icy tone. She scoffed and he shrugged. She turned towards him and he turned away from her.
"I'm so fucking sick of doing this little dance with you, Dick," Kori hissed, crossing her slender arms across her chest, "All I want is one straight answer. Give me a reason."
"Which one?" Richard growled and pulled out his Blackberry to avoid conversing with her any longer. Just as he dialed the front desk, a tanned hand came down and swept the phone away. Utter shock plastered itself on his normally serene face as he watched Kori drop the phone down into her top. "What the hell are you doing?"
She narrowed her eyes, moving so she sat directly in front of him, even as the elevator shifted uncertainly, arguing against this change. "I want answers, Dick. You never gave me one good reason. That's all I ask of you and I'm not sure what is so hard about coming up with something. I have plenty for you." He debated on whether or not pulling open the doors and climbing out of the compartment. Sure, he might die, but then he would be able to escape from those harsh daggers she was sending him through her wide, expressive eyes. Damn, he'd told himself not to get caught up in those orbs. Now his emergency brake was on, bringing him to a full stand-still.
A shrill ringing caused both of them to leap back from each other. After gazing curiously around the elevator, Kori embarrassingly realized that it was Richard's cell phone. That currently resided in the padding of her bra. Her eyes swept down to her chest, to his face, back down to her chest, and then once more to his face, which was now revealing an impish smirk.
"Come on, Kor, it's not like I haven't seen 'em before." She rolled her eyes unconsciously and dipped a hand down, unearthing the phone from its hold. Before the owner swiped the phone away, though, she caught the caller I.D.- kitten

The Third Hour (depression)

The Fourth Hour (acceptance)

“He already knows.” Her voice broke the quiet as Richard turned, curiosity evident on his amused face.
“Huh?” She grinned at him, glad she could still emit such blunt remarks from Bruce Wayne’s prodigy.
“Bruce, he knows that you don’t want to take over the business.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Dick,” She rolled her eyes heaven-ward, “He’s Bruce Wayne for fuck’s sake. You really think he’s in the dark about your intentions?”
“I think you have too much faith in him.”
“He’s not the one I have faith in.” With that comment, Kori began brushing her hair over her shoulder, trying to block the blush that covered her cheeks.
“Thanks.” Richard coughed out, refraining himself from taking her hand, which was mere inches away from his.
“You’re welcome.”

Wet Pennies

2010-04-03T02:56:00.002-04:00

You've already counted the ceiling tiles. The thick, pungent scent of hospitals and death is strong in your nostrils, lingering like a bad case of the flu. You're halfway through counting how many people are wearing sneakers when the door opens. You don't meet the doctor's eyes because you have the feeling he's not looking for you.
"Ms. Hashburn?" You keep your eyes on her shoes, scuffing hurriedly across the tiled floor, until her flip-flops disappear around the corner. You bet that's the other Sad Room, where the doctor takes family members in to privately tell them their loved one has perished. Why not just announce it to the entire room? People are going to know eventually, when the victim comes back in, sniffling and sobbing, trying to recall the last things they ever spoke to their dearly beloved.
You're already counted the shoes. You've moved on to acting interested in CNN on the television. The TV is muted, so you're simply reading white words scrolling across the bottom, and they're worried about the health care bill. You're worried about having to spend another hour here.
They don't call your name, but instead, call your father and take him into the room. Why can't you come along? Just because you're young doesn't mean you're completely stupid. Soon enough, though, your father comes out and his face is stoic. You shake his arm gently and he shifts uncomfortably.
"Did she have too much to drink this time? Is she dead? In a coma? Come on, Dad, you can tell me. We both knew it would happen eventually."
"I can't believe she's gone."
"So she's really dead?" You let out a huge breath and don't expect it to catch on the way out of your throat, but it does, and you can feel the water pricking at your eyes. You shut them tightly and your fists clench around the arms of the chair. When you open, the hospital smell is stronger, and so is the scent of blood. It reminds you of a copper penny and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. When you go to unclench your fists, you find that you cannot. Confusion rakes through you roughly. The lights on the ceiling are dazzling and bright and pulsing down onto your wet forehead. Wet? When did you last take a shower?
Your tongue darts across your upper lip and the copper penny emerges again. You're bleeding. Okay, you're bleeding. You can't tell if you're lying down or sitting up, but you try to move your head, to look for anyone to complain about the wet copper pennies. You see the flash of a white coat, doctors bustling like bees with doctorates, but nothing more. The lights above begin pulsing again, this time with a light feather design. Feathers?
You're a bird. You flap your wings, but you go no where, and you are saddened. You want to be a bird. Squeeze your eyes tighter and more feathers appear. Eyelashes. Momentary lapse of attention. More bees pass by in their long coats and turn to gaze at you with large, round glasses and all the eyes are staring at you. You smile and flap your wings for them.
"I can fly, too." Where is the Sad Room? Are you in it? If so, can you leave, so you can fly away?
"I can fly, too." The bees do not reply. They cover your face with a white shroud, but it's dark to you, and the pulsing lights are gone. The feathers are gone. You try to beat your wings, but to no avail, and the wet pennies are creating a thick film over your eyes.
"I want to fly!" You scream and wrestle against the hand that pulls you into a sitting position. The shroud drops down and the pulsing lights are back and the feathers are back and now your wings are working. You pull away from the bees as they look on with their thousand eyes and pass the Sad Room, where your father is sitting alone.
You count the ceiling tiles as you burst through them.

Oreo's Big Adventure

2010-03-28T13:35:00.004-04:00

This is a story I typed out on my grandmother's computer when I was seven. I'm going to leave the spelling mistakes in just to add to the nostalgia.
"Once upon a time there was a little bunny named, Oreo. One day she was looking at herself, and thinking of what she would look like in the future. So she went to see the Great Magical Bunny. So she got up, packed the things she needed where were, food, water, clothing, and a tent, a flashlight, and a map to see where it was. When she was all ready, she set off on her adventure.
As she walked, she went through the freezing cold, the blazzing hot, and rain, and sun. One day she came upon another bunny who was lost and was very cold. Well, Oreo thought that if the rabbit had made it this far that she should deserve to go where she was trying to reach. So Oreo helped the bunny up, and told her that she would be okay, and she would help her. Then Oreo asked what was her name. The other bunny told Oreo what her name was, and what she was doing there. When Lilly- the other bunny told Oreo her story Oreo looked dumbfounded. Lilly told her that her family was to big so her parents kicked her out. When Lilly finished, she asked Oreo what she was doing there, and what her name was. Then Oreo told Lilly what she was doing there and what her name was. After that, Oreo asked Lilly why she was going to see the Great Magical Bunny, Lilly told Oreo why which was she wanted a big bunny sister. But Oreo said that they could be sisters. After that they went on there way.
After several days of weird weather, they made it to the palace. When they reached the castle doors there were 2 guards at the door, both rabbits asked the guards if they could go in, the guards said yes. But 1 of the guards told them there there was a giant hole somewhere, and a dragon lived at the bottom, and if anyone ran across the bridge would get eaten, because the sound is triple times that loud in the hole. When the guard told the rabbits this they said that they would be quiet. Crossing over the dragon's lare. So the guards let them through the gates and they were on there way. An hour later they saw a giant hole, but they did no see anything, so they said first that Lilly would go fist. But there theory was that it probaly wern't sure if it went all the way to China, or if it had a dragon at the bottom, but they went anyway.
So Lilly went first, she said it was okay, so Oreo crossed the bridge. But when Oreo was in the middle of the bridge she thought she heard something, but she thought she was just to nervous, and she was just hearing things. But the second time the whole bridge shook, and a dragon came out. The dragon had scales all over it's body, it had gills sharp enough to stab a rock inhalf, flaming orange eye's that were as bright as those of the sun's, and steam that looked like you were in a thick fog. Oreo was still as a rock on the bridge from being so terrified.
Lilly finally found her voice after trying to be like a Blood Hound to find it. Spoke up. Lilly said, 'Hi my name is Lilly, and my friend's name is Oreo. Oreo had just gotten off the bridge. Then the dragon cleared her throat and said, 'Hello my name is Carla, and I was wondering what all the comosion was about. Then they all asked questions. After 5 minutes, another dragon came out of the hole. Then he asked Carla who the rabbits were and why she was talking to them. Then Carla told the other dragon why she was talking to them and what their names were. When Carla told the other dragon about Lilly's story the other looked just as Oreo had looked when Lilly told her story.
After that the boy dragon introduced himself, he said his name was Justin. Then Justin told Oreo and Lilly that he was Carla's boyfriend. Justin also said that supper was ready. But before he went down Oreo and Lilly told Justin about what the guard said at the gate. After they finished telling him he just said, 'They just don't like people coming in and out of the gates, so they try to scare people.' Then he said Goodnight to both of them then went down into the hole.
After that Oreo started to set up the tent, while Lilly gathered firewood. Lilly also gathered up the sandwiches and the water.
After everything was set up, the fire was going, they were ready to eat. After they ate, Oreo put out the fire while Lilly set up the sleeping bags. Then it was time to go to bed. The next morning the rabbits put down the tent, put everything back into the backpacks, and they had to clean up the place. When they were done Lilly checked her watch, she said it was ten o'clock they had started a six o'clock. Just then the dragons popped out of the hole. Then they asked the rabbits if they were leaving. Oreo said yes and that they would try to make it there by three. Both the dragons wished them goodluck on there journey. The rabbits said thank you, then they said good luck to you in the future.
Then Oreo and Lilly were on there way, it was three o'clock before they made it to the king's long hallway which led to him. So they started down the long hallway. As they walked they saw pottery, shelves with books, and then pictures from the first king to the last. It had been an hour before they reached the end. Then Oreo and Lilly went up to him and then Oreo said, 'My name is Oreo Nabisco, and I came here to ask you what I would look like in the future, then the king looked her up and announced she would be a beautiful bunny- and is what she grew up to be. Then both of them walked back to the dragons hole, They decided to build a house right next to the dragon's hole, that way they could be near them. After a few months Carla and Justin had 5 baby dragons, and when they went out or to go to work, Oreo and Lilly watch them. In return the dragons pay for the new car that the rabbits have and other bills. Everyone is happy. And that's what Oreo and Lilly wanted all along."

I can't tell you what a kick I got out of this. Why do the dragons have jobs? Why do they still live in a hole? Why do the rabbits want to live near people with five kids? Why do the rabbits have a car? Why does Lilly have a watch? Why is one dragon clearly Spanish and the other sounds like a frat boy? Why did Oreo never speak in quotes?

And In Time

2010-02-25T20:53:00.000-05:00

And in time, things change, people change, you change, I change. Trees splinter from one lightning strike and we split apart from one walk across a stage. The waves explode against the rocky shorelines, eroding them, changing them.
For this one moment, though, we are defiant against the strings of time, we are the puppets who are real boys. It is in this moment we are timeless, like photographs of days long past or a really great song you hear or remember. And maybe it's just a few notes or a line or a split second of a melody and you don't know exactly where you heard it or what big event caused you to think about it so many years later, but you enjoy the moment, just as you're enjoying this one.
It is unique and promising and different and even the butterflies in your stomach are excited, waiting to see, watching the curtain lift to figure out what all the hustle and bustle has been about.
It is almost time to let go. It is almost time to change. It is almost time to become something else, to shed the skin you've been wearing for so long. It is almost time to become something or anything, really. It's almost time. Are you ready?

"I'm keeping up with the time lapse lifeline
And they can run they can run from the farm to the last ride
And we can hear we can hear the first beat to the flat line
Oh, we dreamed a life
It was just like that
And just like that and just like that it's done..."
-Kaila Nicole

Pieces

2010-02-09T20:03:00.003-05:00

“It’s surreal, you know?” Booth’s voice calls from above me as I lean over another body.

“Male, age thirty-five to forty.”

“You never expect things like this to happen. It reminds you how precious life is, huh?”

“That’s an illogical assumption, Booth. Disasters like this have happened for millions of years. It’s not exactly something anyone expects. It just happens.”

“Still, Bones,” I glance up at him as he speaks, cradling the body’s severed arm, “You can’t say this isn’t tragic.”

“Tragic, by definition, would mean that-”

“Never mind.”

“Fine, yes, this is tragic.” I rise, dropping the arm, and brush the dirt off of my jeans. I bring my hand up to shade my eyes from the bright sunshine- ironically situational, considering the fact that we are surrounded by death and destruction and the sun is still shining brightly as it was last week. The same soundtrack has been replaying for the several days I’ve been here: cries of the dying and cries of the living. I’ve witnessed many survivors being pulled out of the rubble, but I’ve witnessed hundreds of corpses being pulled out, too. These are the only people I deal with: the dead.

Pieces of them lay scattered around, a shattered femur there, a severed and bloody rib cage here. While Booth bites back his food, I merely move through, hoping to identify as many people as I can. The distinct scent of death is thick in the air, hovering over the survivors a constant reminder that although they have survived, many did not. Parents did not. Children did not.

“How about we take a break?”

“Are you getting sick from the smell?”

“Just…” He pauses, looks around, and then his gaze fixes on mine again, “just reminds me of September 11th.”

“Why? Clearly, this was not on purpose, unless you believe God was taking out His wrath on these people.”

“What? No! God doesn’t work like that, Bones.”

“Then I would be pleased to know how He does work.”

“Another place, another time. Right now, I need chow stat.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He grins and I find myself lost as to why. “You told me to never look happy at a crime scene.”

“This isn’t a crime scene.”

“Whatever, Booth. Yes, we’ll go and… and get cows stat,” I take the hand he’s offered and make my way up the massive grave that the townspeople have dug out for the bodies.

“It’s chow, Bones, chow.”

“That’s what I said. Besides, you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching me all of these-” His palm over my mouth stops me from finishing my sentence. I look over to him, trying to gauge his reaction, and to what he is reacting to.

“Bwoof?”

“Shh. Listen.” I do and hear the sound of whimpering, light sobs drifting through the air. Booth removes his hand from my mouth.

“Hello? Anybody there?”

“Booth, these people speak Haitian Creole.”

“Gesundheit?”

“It’s a mixture of French, Spanish, Portuguese, English and-”

“Just do your thing, Bones.”

“Souple, ban mwen, un son à nous faire savoir où vous êtes?” After several moments of silence, I shrug my shoulders, and try again. “I asked him if he could make another noise for us to let us know where-”

“Anmwe!” A scraggly voice calls out from the rubble and I fall to my knees, grabbing and ripping at the debris. The flashback hits me, suddenly, like a barreling train would a frozen automobile.

“Bones? What did he say? Bones?”

The light of my Mickey Mouse watch floods the interior of the trunk and I can smell the last remnants of the groceries they brought home earlier. I begin plucking the invisible dirt out from underneath my fingernails. I recite the noble gases, the metals and metalloids, and I’m halfway through the nonmetals before the sound of pounding footsteps stops me.

“Hello?” The footsteps are coming closer, closer, but they’re still muffled due to the matter between us. Which means my cries are muffled, also. “Hello!” The footsteps continue on, oblivious, and I crawl back towards the corner of the trunk, away from the cold air seeping in from the cracks.

I’ve heard that many times, in such situation, the victim should pray to their God or deity. I reject this idea, knowing that if there were such a being and he controlled everything, he wouldn’t have allowed this to happen, would he? No, I believe not. So I finish the list of nonmetals and move on to each of Newton’s laws.

I glance down at my watch a few hours later and find out that I’ve been locked up for seventeen hours. I must have fallen asleep. I realize my predicament- that Brent could have the power to torch the car and send it careening into a gorge. I also realize that I am alone in this world, truly alone, and when I call out, no one can hear me.

The feeling of utter loneliness seeps in like the damp air and constricts my lungs- impossible, since I’ve never heard of grief causing respiratory problems, but it happens. I reminisce about the times when my mother would gather me into her arms on the loveseat on the back patio and hum classical tunes into my ears.

My arms wrap around myself almost unconsciously and I begin humming, because that’s the only thing I can do now. No one is going to come for me. No one will remember me. That’s just the way life is, it’s not fair and it’s not a common storyline of a troubled teen who finds the love of her life and a great home. It fucking sucks and that’s a fact I’m comfortable with accepting. But, due to my lack of oxygen intake, I still try one more time to make a connection with the world before I disappear from it.

“Please save me.”

My fingers and palms are raw from scraping and tearing out tin roofs and shoddy remnants of brick buildings. Booth squats beside me, one hand steadying himself on the jagged edge of a hen house and another one dipping into the ebony darkness where the voice is calling from, where that fifteen year-old voice is pleading for the world to hear her. I answer it gladly and push the irony out of my mind, instead reaching out and skimming my arm lightly across Booth’s bare arm as I dip into the darkness, too.

“Ou byen?”

“Anmwe!” The voice calls anxiously again.

“Nous allons vous tirer.” I answer, telling him that we’re going to pull him out and hoping to calm some of his fears, and I finally connect with human skin, phalanges, tugging and gripping against my own. My eyes catch Booth’s and he nods. Together, we pull and heave out a scraggly teenage girl, her dark skin covered in soot and grime.

“Mesi, mesi, mesi, mesi,” She thanks me, leaning into my chest, and I notice that the only clothing she’s wearing is a torn dress. I shed the light shawl I’ve been wearing and wrap it around her as she continues that same mantra of thanking me.

Booth catches my eye and he grins before rising to signal a paramedic. As they rush over to load the girl onto a stretcher, she squeezes my hand again, and for the first time I am able to look into her large brown eyes.

“Fanm nou you tan, manman pou tout tan.”

“Mesi,” I respond as she is pushed into the ambulance and driven towards the medic shelter, a few miles away.

“What did she say?”

“She thanked me for saving her.” He nods, accepting what I tell him, because it’s partly true. I lean against him, breathing heavy from the blistering sun and the strenuous work we’ve been doing, “Also, she thinks we’re married.” I gauge his reaction and find it humorous, much like his other ones, as his eyebrows shoot up and his mouth slides easily into that familiar smirk.

"Really?"

"Really. She told me a common Haitian proverb: ‘Wife for a time, mother for all time.’"

“She called you my wife?”

“It’s a… common way to thank someone, say, for saving them from the fallen debris of a building.” He nods again and I shove him sideways with my elbow, enjoying the sight of Seeley Booth stumbling and off-guard. I head off towards a nearby shelter to rehydrate and listen to the sounds of Booth complaining about a possibly twisted ankle.

“Ou konn kouri, ou pa konn kache, Booth.”

“Okay, whatever that was… it sounded really dirty, Bones.” I shrug in response.

“Then I suggest purchasing a translator when we return to the U.S. to find out for sure.” His eyes widen comically, the tires spinning in his mind, and I keep my laughter inside and leave him standing to contemplate his ordeal.

-Kaila Nicole

Over-Well Eggs and Toast on a Monday Morning

2009-12-28T01:26:00.004-05:00

"Screw love," She preaches to the toilet on a Monday morning, when she's supposed to be getting ready for work. All of those early conference calls and runs to McDonald's for breakfast are ceased. All because of this.
"Bones?" Her husband calls from the bedroom. He knocks on the door. He's clueless. She curses him and his ability to have amazing sex with her. "Bones?" His voice is concerned now and damn right it should be, because here she's kneeling on the cold tile, face-to-face with something she normally puts her ass on. Her husband's ass on. Her face crinkles in disgust.
"I'm fine," Out comes her robotic response.
"You're a terrible liar," She's mouthing the words as he's telling her them. Doesn't he think that she already knows that? Otherwise, they wouldn't be married, because he knew that when she told him they were just partners, she was just scared and blowing him off. Or when every single time she brought up the line- he knew that she was mentioning it so it would stay in his mind, and hopefully, be erased from it.
Her hand reaches out for the door knob as her other flips the lever down. Whoosh. A spray of cold mist dashes across her face. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick?"
"No."
"You're throwing up. Unless you're trying to lose weight- which I doubt because you're stunningly beautiful- there's no other reason for you to be throwing up on a Monday morning. Even you wouldn't let the flu stop you from going to work."
"Shut up."
"I'm right and you know it." She wants to reply to his smug comment- she knows he is right, indeed- but her toast and over-well egg appears before her in a stream of dense colors. "Seriously, Tempe, are you feeling bad? Because I'll call Cam and tell her that-"
"You're an idiot." She can tell by the silence that several scenarios are running through his mind. She didn't marry this man because he was an idiot, though. She married him because he could always see the underlying truth of whatever she was telling him.
"NO WAY!"
"Yes way. The proof is in the toilet, Booth."
"You're- nuh uh!" To prove her point, more breakfast appeared. "BONES! BONES! Do you know what this means?"
"That you're going to be making some late-night runs for yogurt and pickles?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"This means we're going to have a baby! A baby! A little you or a little me."
"Statiscally, a child having only one of the parent's DNA and attributes is impossible."
"I love you," He blurts out, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her shoulder, on her neck, on her stomach. "And I love you," He tells her bare stomach, as he lifts up her shirt and his eyes are locked to the area where another heart beats- his child's heart beats.
Then she's sticking her head back into the commode and he's transforming, evolving. What was it that she heard? Men get married, have a baby, and then fall in love? If there ever were a study for that, she would place Booth up as a theory- no hypothesis needed. He's holding her hair back and cooing soft sounds, calming sounds, and as she catches his eye, seeing the sparkle in them and the grin on his face, she wonders why she ever cursed such a beautiful thing- this love, this affection, this trust- in the first place.

Backwards

2009-12-18T17:32:00.003-05:00

This excerpt is not even close to the beginning. I just need to get it out onto something, even though it will probably change once my mind sets back into motion. Truly, this may not even be part of the story. I'm just typing this to help pass the time while my sister and I watch Wolverine, and since I've already seen it, I figured I would get on here. Enjoy.
The truck ride back from the hospital was a bumpy one and it seemed that every single pot hole in Wilsard County decided to be on the specific road Nathan took. The tires jostled, allowing the truck to shake, rattle, but luckily not roll. Other than the pot holes, the ride was uncomfortably silent. Not even a carving knife could have cut the tension, as cliche as that sounds.
"Well, are you going to say anything?" I scooted closer to the door, my fingers tapping against the old leather.
"There's nothing to say, Nate." He chuckled wryly.
"Nothing to say? That's funny. You know, I'm thinking that you're lying again, like you do all the time, because I definitely know there's something for you to say."
"And what would that be?" I turned sharply towards him, eyes narrowed and my fingernails stabbing into my palm.
"That you're sorry for all the trouble you've caused the past month you've been here, Cale! That you're sorry you've put my baby sister in a hospital because of you and your paparazzi. That-"
"Oh, shut up, Nate," His eyes widened from my outburst, "She's going to be fine, you heard the doctor. You're just disappointed in me- like you always are- because I'm not perfect like your fiance. Just admit it. She was everything you wanted, smart, schooled, and charming. And now she's gone so you're taking your anger for her out on me."
"You are more screwed up in the head than I thought-"
"No, Nate, you are," I gasped for a breath as I felt the anger I had built up for the past four years explode inside of my chest, "You can't let go of her so you decide to blame me for every single one of your problems. Guess what? I AM actually sorry for you, Nate. I'm sorry she cheated on you and left you for a boy-band wanna-be who owns three cribs in Maui. I am sorry. But I am not sorry for the crap you've blamed on me- saying that I almost killed your sister, when in fact, the only one who was in danger was me, but I'm not holding that against you."
"Stop throwing your mushy bull in my face. You at least have to own up to the fact that none of this would have happened if you hadn't left. If you hadn't abandoned your father after your mother-" Another emotion was mixing with my anger, something I didn't want to feel. I had tried my hardest for grief to stay out of my system, but somehow, like it was my addiction, it kept coming back, in waves and waves.
"Don't you dare talk about her, Nate. Don't play that card with me. You have no right."
"Just like you had no right trying to murder my sister and leaving me without a word?"
"I told you exactly what I was doing! You knew how much I hated being here, with everyone telling me how sorry they were. I got fed up with it, so I just had to leave."
"The only reason you left was because your mom wasn't holding you back anymore. You even admitted that to me the night you left." The door handle was warm underneath my touch; surprising, because a guy as cold as Nathan deserved a cold-hearted automobile. The pavement whizzed past on the side of the road, trees, bushes, fences all becoming a blur to me. I was spinning and spinning, like I had that breezy afternoon, the day my mom left me behind, as I swang innocently on the swing set in the backyard. That was before the gun shot. Before the ambulance and my father crying silently on the front porch. "You just need to own up to what you've done. I know I have. I've forgiven Hannah for cheating on me and I've forgiven myself for letting you go." The breath in my lungs went out with a whoosh.
"Letting me go?" The truck jostled again.
"I hated myself for letting you run away. If I had stopped you, maybe we would be in a better place."
"You can't live in the past, Nate," the ground was so close, just right there below me. He probably wouldn't even stop and check on me. I could just disappear on the road, like the white lines and road markers. "You've got to let go." And with that, I tugged on the handle and watched the overgrown grass of a horse pasture scrape at my bare feet.
"Cale, what are you-" The earth beneath me stung- after all, Nate had been going down the road about 45- but I tucked and rolled to a stop against the base of an old hickory tree. Up ahead, I saw the brake lights flash in the drizzling rain. Within ten seconds, my entire body was soaked and I heard my dad's voice, telling me I was going to catch a cold. "Cale! What the hell are you thinking?!" I don't know what I was thinking. Well, maybe I did. Right then, though, it didn't matter.
"I need to get out of here." I told myself and rolled into a sitting position, the rain stinging my face and the wind pushing my hair as it whistled and whipped past.
"Cale!" I sprung up onto my feet and took off down the road, glancing back only once to see Nathan- my best friend, my best bud, my best... whatever he was now- standing in the rain, alone, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his brow furrowed, and his mouth half-open. Perhaps he was going to call me back to him. And perhaps it would have worked. Maybe I would have stopped. But, then, we'll never know, because just like me, no one else can go back and take the words, take the moments back.
He did call after me, he did chase after me, but I was gone- far too gone- for anyone but himself to hear his pleas or see the road swallow me up as I sprinted around the bend and was gone from sight.
If I had heard him, sure, I might have stopped. But it's just one of those things I'll never know.

Like I said, this is just a very, very, very rough draft of my story. If nothing makes sense, good, because you probably won't understand it anyway. By the time I really type this out, this scene and every single word in this passage will probably have changed. but whatever. I just need something to bide my time with.

-Kaila Nicole

Burdens

2009-12-18T17:18:00.006-05:00

A different ending to Bones' "Wannabe in the Weeds."
There's not a feeling in the world that competes with the agony than knowing you couldn't save your partner.
Losing your parent or child, that's hard. But it's still not your fault. Having your partner look you square in the face and tell you that they want you to complete their last wish- that's like lighting your body on fire and figuring out that you're not flammable. You feel the flames licking, but you can't escape from it.
That's the burden. But these burdens, they have more than enough weight to let you know they're there. They feel like bricks, thousands of bricks crushing you until there's nothing left but your five senses: you can see the thick, red liquid pouring out of your best friend, you can smell the stark gun powder, you can hear the ragged breaths, you can taste the copper in your mouth, and you can feel the blood pouring out and it amazes you that a person could hold that much inside of them. You think their body is filled with stupid jokes and useless information, but still, there's the other stuff that keeps them alive. The stuff that's running out. Their time is running out. You preferred the times you couldn't see the blood, but now you can and it's useless trying to get away from it, trying to run away from it, even though that's what your brain is telling you to do.
"Bones, we've got to get help." I tell her, plead to her, but she keeps shaking her head.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." And I don't. Because I'm her partner, because I'd die for her and I'm pretty sure she would throw herself in front of a train to save me- and I would never allow that to happen. Of course, here we were and I am eating my words. They don't taste good, mixed with the taste of her blood, and I want to throw up everything inside of me. Including my heart because it's always been hers and right now, right here, is the only appropriate time we have left for me to hand it over.
"Don't leave. Don't leave." We're both repeating this, now, mine in the same tone as hers. "Damn it, Bones, don't leave me behind. Don't leave me behind."
She never was good at listening to me.

-Kaila Nicole

Members of the Jury

2009-11-17T17:38:00.003-05:00

Before we begin, I must admit this to you, members of the jury: my client is completely innocent. Perhaps you have heard this before, but it is true this time and this time only. No one could be more purer of a man than Mr. Fairbanks, here.
"How can this be?" You ask me, your narrowed eyebrows and squinted crows-feet are questioning me also. Simply put, he is in no way guilty. Anything that the prosecution has put into your mind, rid yourself of it. All of the blame and pointing fingers only belong to the deceased, whom is the only guilty one in this trial, and whom is receiving punishment wherever he went after he stepped off of that ledge.
Mr. Fairbanks, here, clearly, could not have committed this crime for the sake that he is mentally insane. See how his eyes dart every direction and how his fingers tap restlessly against the wooden table?
"What if he is faking it?" Your mind is wondering, pondering and the knitting of your eyebrows and the stroking of your chins reveals this to me. Your eyes widen from their squinted forms to slight astonishment. Yes, I know you better than you know yourself.
But see how Mr. Fairbanks rolls his head from side to side? See how he doesn't register a single thing anyone is saying? Is he physically insane, capable of harming anyone, pushing anyone off a building? No, I say, because he is incapable of even taking himself to the restroom.
Now, you, the jury, must decide if this poor man's fate is to be sentenced to a wrongful death or freedom for what he obviously longs for, what he needs and he deserves.
"Did he really do it?" You question me after you declare the man innocent, verbal this time, and your eyes are widening and tensing, twitching in the corners to finally seek the truth.
"Yes. The innocent man is guilty." I admit and you gasp, you call me names, but I'll be the one headed to Cancun next week and not you. Members of the jury, you are excused.
~

In AP English III, we are to set up a mock trial with Jane Eyre, and I was chosen to defend Mr. Rochester on two counts of fraud. To get into the conniving, sly attorney mood, I decided to write this before starting.

-La la la lie... the spaceman that can't get high
Kaila Nicole

It Takes Time Turning Crazy

2009-10-21T13:42:00.006-04:00

Thieves. Traitors. But shh, be silent. They don't like talk. The white man knocks twice on my door and I wish he wouldn't hurt Timothy so much with his knuckles.
"Wakey, wakey, Alice." The white man grins, reminding me of the Cheshire Cat.
"Call him Pussy-Cat, then." Timothy tells me, his mouth fluttering open and shut from the draft in the hallway.
"Hello, Pussy-Cat." Slap, slap. Slap. If he slapped me four times, I'd be content. Four is my favorite number.
"It's time for your breakfast and medicine." Pussy-Cat skitters across the room, grabbing my tray full of molded plastic pudding cups and empty juice boxes. 100% juice, they say, and I laugh. Nothing is 100%. Besides me. They tell me I'm 133% crazy. Why can't it be only 4%?
"No room, no room!" I shout when Pussy-Cat comes near and Timothy laughs heartily.
"I've had it with your fairytale stories, kid," Pussy-Cat is angered now, I can see it in the way his shiny head burns a scarlet red and his one wrinkle on his forehead turns into four wrinkles.
"Squinting is bad for your eyesight," Timothy informs me and I wonder how he got so smart. He knows everything. He knows nothing. I don't relay this information back to Pussy-Cat.
"Just take your pills and keep quiet. We're giving a walkthrough today," He grins and I giggle and his eyes widen a bit. I believe he is surprised. I wouldn't know what surprise looks like. Timothy wouldn't either, but that's only because he doesn't have eyeballs. If he did, I would have ripped them off.
"So dress up pretty and try to wipe the scum off of your face."
"Am I going to the ball, Step-Mother?" He slaps me four times. I grin in delight, knowing this means yes, and forget the plastic eggs and stale toast on my tray to dance around my room. White, my least favorite color, but I don't know many other colors anyway. Pussy-Cat's mustache is a bright, fuzzy red freckled with silver and Timothy's mouth is a deep purple, outlined in fours. The sounds in the hallway are a bright yellow, like the sun I never see, and the screams next door feel like sandpaper. A doctor came once, only once, and told me I had a disease called synthesia, where I interpret sounds with colors. I confessed that it wasn't a disease- it was just an upgrade. The doctor shook his head slightly and walked out of the room, leaving his briefcase behind accidentally on purpose.
I spent the next month cutting fours out of his disease papers and staring at blobs of T's, M's, and all of those other letters I can't comprehend.
A concerned woman came into my room once and asked me why I was in the crazy hall.
"It takes time to turn crazy, lady. Come back in four minutes!"

~

"How long has she been like this?" The woman whispered to the doctor, even though the girl inside couldn't hear them. Alice, the woman believed the girl's name to be, although the girl couldn't claim it. Alice had named everyone but herself. Her obsession with fairy-tales had inspired the social worker to call her Alice. Through the two-way mirror, the doctor and woman could see Alice chatting to the corner of the room and with the way she was moving her hands around, seemed to be having a heated conversation with... whatever was in there with her.
"Since she arrived and her parents say before that. They think she caught amnesia and her dyslexia and synthesis took over the right side of her brain. The left side was far too damaged to help her think clearly, we believe."
"She told me that it took time to get her to this state."
"Ma'am, she doesn't even know her own name, much less what to tell people about her level of craze." The doctor smiled the Doctor Smile and the social worker shivered noticeably. "We'll call you if she gets out of hand. But other than her main problems, she's not that bad of a patient."
~
"Not bad, not bad, not bad," Timothy relayed to back to me.
"Of course I'm not bad," I twirled my fingers around the fresh, white cotton hospital gown. In a few hours, it would be torn to shreds and the only thing it would be good for was bandages when I cut my feet on the nails sticking out of the floorboards. The party was coming and even though I shout no room, they make room. They always make room, with their clean hands and white faces, sparkling with delight like the pale moon I couldn't remember.
"I'm just turning crazy."
"You're not crazy. You're just misunderstood." I growled at the door and flipped it the bird.
"Shut up, Timothy. You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know what you know."
"The hell you do."
"You shouldn't curse so much. It makes you look ignorant."
"Who's going to see me?" Timothy was silent after my remark. I grinned with pleasure. If only Timothy knew why I was really here. I remembered once an author on television had said that the best stories come from those who live in the story's environment.
They would really dub me crazy if they knew I wasn't really crazy. I'd been in this place for the past two years all in the name of my publisher, who thought the first draft didn't have enough passion. After hearing this, I locked myself up, thought of my least favorite number to become my favorite, and read Alice In Wonderland over three-hundred times. So day by day, I'd printed page after page out into my brain, letting the words spill out as the doctors drugged me up. A few more months and I'd let up on the craze, showing them I really had changed for the better.
It takes time turning crazy, though.

Multiple personalities are entertaining. Even more entertaining to write about.
-Float Like a Cannonball
Kaila Nicole

Things Everyone Should Hate About Winter

2009-10-13T12:37:00.003-04:00

1. Static.
2. Light switches and static electricity.
3. Car doors and static electricity.
4. Dull gray skies.
5. Dull gray skies that don't produce snow.
6. Misshapen snowmen who look like they're in the process of some form of asexual reproduction.
7. Slick driveways.
8. The idea a large, fat man in red is allowed to come into your house every December 24th and if you call the cops, they just hang up on you.
9. Yellow snow.
10. Brown snow.
11. Red snow. O_O
12. Ice cream always tastes better, but it is hard to drive and eat Rocky Road on slick roads.
13. You get weird stares for eating ice cream when it's cold.
14. You wonder if there's some social law against eating ice cream when it's cold and this gets your mind off of the slick road.
15. You crash and the police officer responding to the crash takes a look at your damaged ice cream cone and shakes his head.
16. Your toes and feet cry out for fresh air. You end up wearing ear plugs so you don't have to hear them. They respond by giving you athlete's foot and making it uncomfortable in public showers at the gym.
17. Moms at Wal-Mart fighting over Tickle Me Elmo's and Hannah Montana holiday collection dolls.
18. The Salvation Army ringers. They ring their bells again and again and again until the sound is implanted into your brain and the only way to make it stop is to tackle the Santa guy, but that would be a violation of social law, so you go around for two hours with ringing in your mind. You now despise Santa Claus for another reason other than breaking into your home.
19. Someone always ends up dying and you worry they won't be able to crack open the frozen ground, so your house will get voted on to keep the body.
20. After said body is kept in your garage for a few days, you notice that packs of hot chocolate keep disappearing and ending up in the toilet. No one else lives with you.
21. 25 Days of Christmas on ABC Family always features those cheesy movies in the month of December. You don't hate this, but you hate to have to lie to your boss again and again about your "stomach flu" in order to watch Frosty the Snowman.
22. You run out of tissues for your cold after watching Frosty melt.
23. All of those family members you've never heard of keep sending you Christmas cards. The only thing you've bought for a kinfolk is a beer last Sunday when you went out with your sister to the bar downtown. You throw away the card.
24. The body is gone from the garage, but the hot chocolate packages keep disappearing.
25. Christmas. Songs. Nonstop.

-Somewhere Only We Know
Kaila Nicole

Silver

2009-09-20T21:42:00.001-04:00

Silver Maloney lived with her mother, Molly, up on the shores of Desperado.
“Why’d you name her Silver, Molly?” The townsfolk asked again and again and Molly always gave them the same answer with a chuckle.
“Cause gold is worth somethin’!” The townsfolk would chuckle along, but it was the kind of laugh that meant nothing. Inside, they were confused. Why would you name your only little girl something mean like that?
Summer was Silver’s favorite season- it was the season of her birthday, when Mr. Macy down at the ice cream parlor would hand her a triple-scoop sundae topped with chocolate sauce for free- and it was the season of tangerines. If Silver had to choose her favorite food, it would be those little balls of glow and sunshine. How could you not love that sweet, sweet taste of summertime and sugar?
Each year she would pick and pick at the fancy farm the Jones’s owned and she would eat the ones that had fallen on the ground when no one was looking. There was no such thing as a rotten tangerine to her.
The year Silver turned ten, her mother took her to the movie theater up in Millington. Molly left the theater to get some more snacks and never returned. Silver stood on the sidewalk, frozen to the spot, and eyed the street with apprehension. Maybe if her mother had named her Gold, she would have kept her. Maybe if she had brought some of those tangerines home to her mother, she would have kept her. Maybe if she’d done this, done that.
“Where’s your daddy?” The theater owner asked her that night when she hadn’t moved from her spot on the sidewalk.
“Don’t know. Ran off a long time ago.”
“Where’s your momma?” Silver shrugged.
“Ran off a little time ago.”
“Well, you can’t just stay out here all night. Go up to Patty’s and call somebody.” Silver held her tongue and nodded, picking up her feet one at a time and following the illuminated sign of Patty’s Sports Bar. She should have told him she didn’t have nobody. No, didn’t have nobody to look after her now. Nobody to call. Back home, they hadn’t owned a phone. Phones were for rich people to talk to other rich people. “What do you need a phone for, anyhow? Just yap your mouth off and then it won’t work no more. Can’t get ahead in life if your mouth don’t work.” Her mother told her once when Silver asked for a phone to talk to her friend Cherry at school.
Silver passed Patty’s up, content with finding someone to talk to that would care. Walking home wasn’t an option. It had taken at least two hours to get here and that was by highway. You couldn’t walk on the highway. You’d end up sleeping in the middle of the road with your eyes closed.
“You think he’s a dead one?” Jack, her mother’s boyfriend, would ask her every time they came upon a dead critter in the road.
“I dunno. I guess. He’s just layin’ there.”
“We’ll find out, then, won’t we?” Jack would run over the possum or skunk or raccoon or whatever had met its fate with a front bumper or tire. Silver listened to the sounds of bones crunching, liquid squirting up into the undercarriage of the old truck Jack owned. Stolen, Silver presumed.
She always wondered if they had been alive and just wanted a nice, warm place to lie and hadn’t thought about mean old Jack sneaking up on them when they rested their eyes. That’s what she felt like, Silver figured. An innocent little critter sleeping peacefully and then all of a sudden, she’d woken up in hell. Her mother had left her stranded because she wasn’t Gold.
The year Silver turned thirteen, she dressed up as a boy to work in the coal mines for some money. After digging through a clothing store’s dumpster, she found a pair of blue jeans and a torn pair of overalls. She cut her long red hair short with a dull switchblade. Her favorite season, summer, was the year she worked in the coal mine. All day long was nothing but soot and flashlights. Coughing, wheezing, sneezing and aching. Fox, the men called her, cause she was as slick as one. They’d send her through tiny crevices in search of underground tunnels previously made that had fallen in. She was the possum resurrected from the roadway, digging far into the ground to keep away from the road.
Late into the winter, Silver went down with the coal miners into a new mine they’d been chipping out since summer. Come winter, Silver knew, was when the mining slowed. Frozen ground and frozen coal wasn’t worth much.
“Wait for it to thaw,” Boss Crow repeated over and over, “Frozen coal ain’t worth gold.” Down in the tunnels, the cave collapsed in on the miners and Silver sighed while the others panicked.
“Fox, think you can fit through there?” The leader, Timothy, pointed to a small hole in the corner of the debris. Silver shrugged and moved forward, slipping one arm in and then another.
“Nope. Too tight.” The miners whispered and wailed, reminding Silver of the squeal of truck tires on critter blood. Useless, she told them, to whine. Save oxygen to make sure we’ve got enough to last until they come and get us. They all nodded, listening to Fox cause he knew how to not panic. He knew how to stay cool.
“What’s your real name, Fox?” A new miner, a boy around the age of fifteen, asked her about four hours into being trapped.
“Silver. Silver Maloney.”
“Why’d your parents name you Silver?”
“Cause Gold is worth somethin’.” The boy frowned at her retort and she felt her heart go thump thump thump, quick pitter patter like critter feet running across the road, laying their lives on the line every crossing.
“I never heard of the Maloney’s. Where your momma live?” Silver shrugged.
“Ran off a long time ago.”
“What about your daddy?”
“Ran off a long time ago.” The boy kept his mouth shut, intent on breathing in and out slowly to let Silver have some air of his own.
“I would have liked to have been a fox, you know,” Silver admitted when she felt herself drifting off to sleep. The miners were on the other side of the rubble now, picking and picking at it like crows on a dead critter.
“Why?”
“They’re so pretty. So pretty. And you never see one in the middle of the road. Them foxes are fast, like lightening. And they don’t ever get left behind cause they don’t need no one. No one but themselves and maybe a mate every now and then.”
“Silver Fox. Sounds like a code name, like some of them detectives in movies.” The boy next to her chuckled. She’d forgotten to ask what his name was. Too sleepy, too tired, though. Time to go to sleep.
“Silver’s worth something, right? The metal? It’s worth something, right?” She had to know, surely he would give her an answer.
“Sometimes.” He shrugged, “Only when it’s rare.”
The year Silver turned thirteen, she found herself dead in the middle of winter. She was buried in a pine box nailed by the boy who sat next to her and told her she was worth something. The boy carved her name into a rock and planted it on the head of her grave as the coal miners tossed dirt on top of her casket.
After the grave was deserted, a red and white fox came to sniff and dig at the unsettled ground. Giving up on what it was searching for all along, it trotted across the graveyard and slipped in between the wrought-iron fencing. Its paw touched the asphalt, it twisted its head from side to side and then darted across the road and into the trees, shining like silver from the frost that covered them.

-Round Here We Talk Just Like Lions, But We Sacrifice Like Lambs
Kaila Nicole

Maximum Disappointment

2009-09-17T21:11:00.004-04:00

"Max and the Flock are flying high over Africa, but this time they're not alone. A sky full of cargo planes accompanies the team as they bring much-needed aid to the continent's poverty stricken regions. Among the volunteers is the mission's benefactor--the mysterious billionaire, Dr. Hans Gunther-Hagen. Max is intrigued by his generosity, but there's also something about him--and his intense scrutiny of the Flock--that makes her nervous.

But Dr. Hans isn't the only puzzling thing about their trip. The Flock also receives a cryptic message from a young girl, who tells them, "The sky will fall." Max and the Flock are ready to return home, still unable to make sense of her statement. But the surprises don't end with their departure, and something unbelievably momentous shakes up the Flock--pushing Max and Fang closer than ever. Angel makes a disturbing prediction. Fang will die before Max. Will the team be able to stick together through the chaos?"

Seriously. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? I'm certain these books are doomed. What started out as a relatively well-written series has become utterly cheesy. Obviously, James Patterson is not going to a kill a major character.
If he were to kick some off the character list, it would be in this order:
Gazzy
Nudge
Iggy
Angel
Fang
Max
I mean, honestly? You think he's going to just kill Fang off right now? Don't think so.
On another note, I'm kind of regretting having Fang and Max together in the books. In Fanfiction, it was awesome to read about what we wanted to happen. But now that it's real... it's so... PG. I understand that younger kids read these books, but it seems like the past few books have been incredibly juvenile.
I really do hope Patterson gets his act together and realizes these cheesy book summaries aren't going to help his MR career. His other books are undoubtedly amazing and he will continue to write great novels, but the MR series might just need to bite the dust after book 6 or 7.

Well, I'm off to finish the season premiere of The Office.

-Kaila

Drabble, Drabble

2009-07-09T22:21:00.006-04:00

As she spent more time in Man’s World, Diana digested a great deal of knowledge from what the computer told her. Truly, her stumble upon the World Wide Web had been on accident. Wally had left some video site up on another tab. One quick peek wouldn’t hurt, right? Now, Diana knew just who Britney Spears was, what laser hair removal was rated the best in Illinois, and why Brett Farr couldn’t choose over his football career or retirement. She learned that Coca-Cola and Mentos don’t mix, who was bringing this so-called "sexy" back, and- although she now regretted it- figured out why Green Arrow kept suggesting that she become a bunny.

Oddly enough, her favorite search was the forecast. Something mesmerized her about the green clouds of rain, yellow clumps of storms, and blue globs of ice. She dubbed her new favorite color blue. It was, after all, the color of something she had hardly seen on Themyscria. And yet, for some time, the colors puzzled her.

"Why are they like that?" She questioned to Superman as she pointed to the Weather Channel, "Why aren’t they the colors of what they truly are?" Diana watched as Superman’s brow furrowed, obviously unaccustomed to receiving such obvious questions. Diana whisked her hand about, waving the Boy Scout away before she collected an answer. Feeling foolish, she replaced the Doppler radar with Google’s homepage, intent on finding the answer herself.

Before her fingers could even touch the keys, a gravely voice behind her interrupted, "The colors are based on the severity of the weather. Rain is a light green, while the red and yellow symbolize harsh weather approaching, more like a thunderstorm." Batman finished.

As she spent more time in Man’s World, Diana sought information from Bruce. Why Wally’s favorite website featured things about faces and books, which form of Jujitsu should be used on Giganta, and why it was important to have a secret identity. Bruce calmly explained why men grab women's asses in public and even though it is rude and uncalled for, it’s no reason to throw the pigs through walls and threaten to rip their anatomy off. He enlightened her with the reasons they couldn’t be together and then enlightened her with kisses.

Oddly enough, her favorite question was the one on a whim- or on a knee- in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. Something sat inside that Bruce Wayne of hers, more than just peculiar facts and dry humor. She dubbed her new favorite color red, after the object that lay within his chest he had finally shared with her and after the color of the roses in her bouquet.

And yet, for some time, another set of colors puzzled her.

"Why white? Why black? Why are the bride and groom colorless?" She questioned her fiancé, pointing to the books and books filling the Wayne Mansion’s coffee table. Growing up on an island of women, Diana hadn’t exactly seen her share of weddings.

"They're colorblind to everyone else, so it wouldn’t matter what color they wore, anyway," He took a seat next to her, placed his hand on the small of her back, "They only have eyes for one another." Bruce finished.

The Golden Girls

2009-02-15T23:10:00.003-05:00

It was a Saturday morning, her most favorite day of the week. Rising from her Minnie Mouse sheets and matching comforter, she padded across the carpet and peeked out of her bedroom door. To the left, she could noted that her sister's light was off and the faint sound of snoring was seeping through the crack under her door. Trying not to wake the sleeping princess- the little girl grinned at her own sarcasm- she tiptoed into the hallway and pressed an ear against her mother's door. Like the sun rising and the earth rotating, she could always count on that familiar jingle to start playing.
"Thank you for being a friend, traveling down the road and back again...." The little girl cracked open the door, pleased to feel the sunshine pouring in through the venetian blinds.
"Hey, possum-squally, what are you doing up so early?" Her mother greeted the girl, who just shrugged. Truthfully, she never understood why she always woke up early on Saturdays. It didn't seem like an odd thing to her, though. Her mother scooted over in the large, white bed, making room for her daughter. Her mother's hand patted the bed, moving over her cup of coffee so it wouldn't spill. The little girl smiled softly and made her way onto the comfy ivory expanse. Once there, she snuggled up next to her mother's form and her eyes found the familiar tiny TV screen that sat atop the wooden wardrobe. Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose sat at the kitchen table, discussing wrinkles and lovers over a plate of cheesecake, as Blanche sashayed her way through the swinging door, clad in a glittery flowing gown.
The little girl and her mother laughed along with the program until commercial breaks would bring them back to the real world. During this time, they would chat over plans for the day, Aunt Barb's new car, and other things of that nature. Some time when Will & Grace was playing, the eldest daughter would plow into the room, always hogging the right side of the bed. The daughters would throw one leg onto their mother's own, grinning as she exclaimed they were too heavy, but she always left them there. With Lifetime movie previews playing in the background and the smell of freshly roasted coffee under their noses, the three women would lay in peaceful ambiance, for there were no words needed to speak. These women did not require speech to communicate: a capture of the eye and a corner smile would do the trick.
The three girls would lie in their golden glory, united by hearts and backscratches. These moments or thirty minutes or any instants they wished would last and last were what it was all about. And maybe they didn't last, maybe they were shattered in just a few short years, but then again, all good things must come to an end. There was only one truth about this life that really mattered and it was this: it was happening. Right then, as the three golden girls lay in the supple semblance of life, and every moment afterwards.

-She Gave me this Cactus in a Coffee Can
Kaila Nicole

Wanted:

2009-01-13T21:27:00.004-05:00

Giant, fat Tabby cat. If you see him, lure him to you with bologna / female cat, catch him, and please bring him to my house.
Reward: $100 [and I'll pay you back for the bologna too]
My cat Socks has run away, unfortunately. He kind of got mad at my sister since she moved him to a new location (aka her new apartment) and he's been pissy about it, to the point that he hasn't come home in two - three weeks. So... this is my goodbye post to my lovely cat Socks.

Here's the poem I wrote about him for Creative Writing class last semester:
Oh, Socks the kitten
Just about as tiny as a single mitten
His mews can be heard from miles away
And it's just so adorable, the way he sways
As he tries to put one foot in front of the other
Ending up tumbling into the soft fur of his mother

Oh, Socks the adolescent cat
Just about as big as a cowboy hat
As he chews on the brim of one
His yellow eyes lit up with exhilaration
And it's just so adorable the way he thinks
Believing no one notices him drinking out of the sink
As he tries to hop up onto the counter and grab a sip
And ends up tumbling back to the floor after a quick whip

Oh, Socks the cat
Just about as big as a basketball
As he lounges on a rug in the hall
And it's just so adorable the way he sleeps
Believing that every spot is available for a bed
As someone's foot trips over his poor little head
He blinks, watching them lumber
Before settling back into his slumber
Oh, Socks the cat!

I will miss you, my furry feline best friend.

-That is all
Kaila Nicole

Why I Love Creative Writing...

2008-12-11T18:15:00.004-05:00

"Upon my finishing, my neighbor's grand daughter, who talks to herself, the trees, and her three obnoxious dogs, came out.

This time she bared a phone who supposedly had a friend of hers on the other line.

This I doubt due to the fact that she is a mental case and should not have friends that can dial numbers." - Jacy

I love Jacy's "STORYTIME, MRS. BARTLEY!" time in class.
That is all.

Reverie

2008-11-19T17:26:00.005-05:00

You have known pleasant dreams
Where nothing is sorrow or as it seems
Where everything is simple and carefree
But now it is time to awaken
To unlock the door with the golden key
And let the real world flash by
The fantasy world is now forsaken
All in a split second, your life has changed
Moments once treasured are now estranged
Don't hesitate; fall back asleep
For those are memories you need to keep
Slip back into restfulness; my voice you will hear
Telling you to await the end that is never here...

-Kaila Nicole

Elegance

2008-11-19T17:20:00.005-05:00

A soft and delicate substance
Like white sand beneath toes
And the beams of the sunrise
Drowning a morning bedroom
With the white canopy billowing
Like liquid velvet in the sun
A small lamb moving slowly
Through the greenest pasture
And the smoothest fingers and hands
Stroking along bare, warm skin
Like cold mountain water running over rocks
And laying your head down at night
The cool air slipping and falling in around you
Your eyes falling shut as your body drifts
Drifts to another place with angels and
Wings fluttering in the distance
Pure elegance...

-Kaila Nicole

Directions on the Back of Subway Napkins

2008-11-18T20:22:00.000-05:00

The preacher's voice ricocheted off the walls and stained-glass windows of the church.
"Are you going to look to God for your salvation or to the plastic idols of man, to money and drugs and mere physical pleasure? Which are you to choose?" he screamed. Suddenly, a woman jumped from her seat and ran from the church. The church's audience turned, eyes narrowed as the young woman slammed the doors. The preacher paused, watching her figure run down the pathway and finally disappearing down the hill. "It seems that those who have these sins have a hard time confronting them," He announced and the crowd nodded and commented on the girl's state of being, "let us bow our heads and pray for God to forgive the young child." The church-goers obeyed and as if on cue, bent their heads and whispered silently to themselves.
Down the large hill, the girl sat on the limb of a tree and watched the cars pass by on the road below. Fragile tears slid down her face as she surveyed the land. She hated this place with a greater passion than she hated the rumors. Her birthday was on May 17th, which meant only two more weeks until she could escape it. Two weeks until pure freedom. As she was reveling in that delight, she didn't seem to notice the young man hiking through the woods. His eyes caught the end of her dress dangling off the limb and he slowly made his way up her swinging legs, her torso, and then finally her face. He glanced around, searching for another sign of human life, but saw none. A beautiful young woman stuck in a tree he just happened to come upon? And here he had thought this hiking trip would be a total waste.
"Miss? Are you stuck?" He called up to the stranger, who yelped and jumped on her tree branch. She pressed a hand on her chest to calm herself and narrowed her eyes at the boy below her.
"What are you doing here?"
He smiled and motioned to his hiking stick.
"I'm on an adventure and it appears that I've found Jane." Her eyebrows knitted in confusion at the reference and he sighed. "Tarzan and Jane? That ring a bell?" She nodded and swung herself to the branch below to get a better look at him.
"Of course. now that you've explained so. Now why were you spying on me?" His eyes widened and he raised his hands up in defense.
"Whoa. No need to panic. I wasn't 'spying' on you. I merely came across you on my way up the mountain." He took in the changing expressions on her face as she thought his explanation over.
"All right. So what are you doing hiking here? There's no trail near here."
He shrugged and dug a hole into the ground with his stick.
"I like to... make my own trails."
"So you've been slicing a trail in my forest?" She smirked down at him and he raised an eyebrow.
"Not at all, Miss Jane."
"The name's Summer, actually. And yours is...?"
"Hunter," He answered, walking closer to the tree, "now may I ask you why you are sitting in a tree?"
"I'm escaping the crazy townspeople." He eyed her suspiciously.
"You're not a criminal, are you? Because I'm not looking for trouble," He grinned as she jumped to the ground in front of him and crossed her arms over her chest.
"And what if I am? Are you going to run away and notify them of my whereabouts?" He sarcastically thought about it for a moment.
"No, probably not. You're too pretty to sit in a dark jail cell." She blushed a light rose color and he noticed how gorgeous she looked, with her blue eyes glinting in the sun and her hair falling in wisps beside her face. The messy bun that held her strawberry-blonde hair was bobbing up and down as she closed the large gap between them.
"So why are your townspeople crazy?" He questioned and she sighed, looking back over her shoulder before answering.
"My mother was recently arrested for prostitution up in New York. Word got back down here in Kentucky, and now everyone thinks that I'll wind up like her." He made a face and a question popped into his mind.
"Why? That's just... arrogant of them to think like that."
She smiled at him and began walking back towards the church. Service would be ending soon and there was no way she wanted to walk the ten miles back home. He walked by her side and awaited an answer. She felt elated that he had shown up when he had. Like an angel from Heaven to come on and remind her that she wasn't like her mother. That she was a totally different person and she had a future ahead of her that was completely opposite of her mother's. What she found odd was that she was confessing all of this to a total stranger. But the timing had been impeccably perfect for Hunter to step in and saved the day. And for that, she wasn't going to object.
"I don't really know. I guess that since this is such a small town, everyone thinks that there's no other direction for me to go." They arrived at the beginning of the path that led to the tiny church and Hunter stopped her.
"Well, it looks like this is where we part our journey." She nodded and watched as he slipped a piece of paper in her folded hand. He began to walk away and she held the paper tighter in her hands as she made her way up the path. Her breath hitched in her throat as she turned, watching Hunter's form move through the trees, every so often glancing back to look at her. She waved and he waved back, his hands making the motion to look at the note. She was then caught by the sight of him bathed in the spring sunshine, his honey-colored hair and dark almond eyes standing out among the fresh green leaves. She opened the note in her hands and there, on the back of a Subway napkin, read,
"So I have no idea if this will even be given to you, but its worth a shot. Here's the directions:
One, tell me your name.
Two, let me acknowledge how incredibly stunning you are.
And three, come down here and let me ask you to dinner tonight."
Her eyes widened and she hurriedly looked up from the napkin to where Hunter stood in the forest. She crumpled the object in her hands and raced towards him.
"I take it that my directions were helpful?" He smirked as she neared.
"Very. It was frightening how helpful they were."
The two stepped closed and she held up the napkin. "How on Earth did you pull this off?"
"You were staring off into La La Land and I just happened to have Subway for lunch. It seems that the fates were for us today."
"Ahh. I see. So do you happen to have a Sharpie on you?" She questioned and he gave her a puzzled look as he dug through the backpack hooked around his shoulders.
"Yeah... why?"
"So I can write my address on your hand. You need to know it before you pick me up, right?" Their smiles spread across their faces as she scribbled on his palm. "Don't lose that, now. Otherwise, you might never see me again." He grabbed her hand that had been writing on his and kissed the top before letting go.
"See you at eight, Summer."

-Mucho love
Kaila Nicole

Dialogue Poem

2008-10-28T18:42:00.004-04:00

At the intersection of Ran and Run:
"Which way does Run go?"
"Over the hills and through the woods."
The man looked at the woman strangely but kept on going
"And which way does Ran go?"
"Under the sea, under the sea."
He paused again and studied her for a moment
"So it won't take long?"
"You're halfway there, livin' on a prayer."
"So I'm halfway? I'm headed to Margaritaville, you know."
"You'll be wasted again, in Margaritaville."
The man sighed angrily and drove away
"I'll be back!"
He yelled out of his window and sped off
"With weapons?"

If I Was a Kangaroo...

2008-09-09T21:18:00.004-04:00

If I was a kangaroo
I'd hop right up to you
I'd try not to kick your face
And I'd try not to ransack your place
I'd be taking bids
From little kids
To see how high I could kick
But I'd probably take them to a flick
And take the cash and run
If I was a kangaroo
I'd come right up to you
But I'm not promising
That I wouldn't hit on you

:]
That was my poem for our creative writing journals.