KittyKay13

[one day after]     It's not the snores of my roommate, or the barking of the neighbor's dog, or the lewd calls of the drunken boys across the way that wake me up at three a.m. on a Monday morning. It's the sudden pounding on my door, three quick raps that leave Kendall fast asleep but me wide awake, and before I know it I've crossed over to the door and opened it to reveal my RA, Michele, standing there with a phone in her hand. She looks as disheveled as I feel but her eyes are bright with concern.     "It's... it's for you, Skye," Michele murmurs.     I know who it is even befo

I. That day the rain was my red carpet into the school, the sheets of water forming shadows, my only companions. They whispered in their little rain-voices and guided me through the burnt ruins of the once-massive buildings. Ashes mixed in the puddles at my feet and painted my legs grey with every step. A starburst of lightning exploded over my head, the rumble of thunder following quickly. The sound broke the clouds' last resolves and they began to cry relentlessly, drowning out nearly every sound except their mourning. "My sister and I, we called the thunder skyquakes." The boy had been hiding among the rain-shadows, out in the fiel

She went missing exactly a year ago, in June. Took off in that little airplane of hers and was never seen again. Charlie Bravo, that's what the CB in her end number N231CB is supposed to stand for. We say it means Come Back. Come back, Kit, come home. She left us last year. And now, at the airport, we hear the hum. Loud, mechanical, impossible, the hum of a special airplane's engine. Too perfect. Too much to hope. And yet there it is, taxiing toward us: N231CB. A metal angel. Because Charlie Bravo has come back. Kit's come home.

october looking for: a boy with hair so dark it reflects the stars above us and brings the brightness of the sky down to blanket these feelings that are beginning to possess me. a boy with eyes that hold all of the love he feels for me without letting any of it slip out into the hearts of other girls. a boy with a smile that brightens not only my day but his as well, not truly a smile at all but just the sun on the warmest day of the year trying to pass as human. a boy with a heart big enough to hold the remaining half of my heart within it, big enough to nurture it and make it whole again. november looking for: a boy who wants to know exa

11. I try to hate Chris Muyres as I walk home alone. He was the one who gave her the first cigarette, the first beer, took her to the first party and taught her how to be different. He took the twin I knew changed her and spat her back her body the same her mind forever his. But it's hard to hate a dead boy. 12. Breakfast at home smells like heaven but tinged with worry and fear because Jules is nowhere to be found and she never misses waffles strawberries whipped cream the traditional end-of-school breakfast. Mom and Dad carefully lace their words with happiness but I can see past their masks and watch

1. What's going on? People push for a better view, oppressing those of us who were already here shoving me into the yellow caution tape and my sister behind a fat man who lives across the street from our tiny house. Who is it? No one knows who called the paramedics, why they're combing the local park for a body they might or might not find. How long have they been in there? Maybe somebody knows when the medics disappeared into the trees - but all we know is that suddenly yellow tape popped up around the park's perimeters and someone started a rumor that there was a dead body. What's going on? Rinse and

I dart between the other girls, some laughing, others with faces green from nerves, all turning to look at me in confusion as I shove another part of the rainbow away. The agency thought they were clever, secretly naming all of the segments of their Fashion Week show after parts of nature: the Rainbow Series, the Summer Sunset Series, the Ocean Series - as if the audience won't be able to tell that the girls on the runway just happen to be appearing in descending order from bright red to a subtle violet. But there is a slight flaw in their plan, one that they had never considered but that I am now making apparent: always be sure to have mult

"Good afternoon, everyone." My mouth drops open as every other student moves out of the doorway to let him past and choruses, "Good afternoon, Mr. Reilly." Too late, I snap my mouth shut before mouthing the words, barely letting my lips move as I stare in recognition at the man. He's not only the teacher who was staring at me across the quad during lunch. He's the one who found me last night. I hadn't been able to see him properly in the dark, but I know I will never be able to forget his voice. He moves to the whiteboard, indicating as he does so that we shouldn't sit down yet. Still milling around the desks, we watch as he writes a singl

"Where were you last night?" David booms at me from the doorway. I spin around, holding the container of makeup that so far hasn't been able to hide the massive bruise and cut on my face. "You were passed out drunk on the couch when I came home, right on time. After you explicitly told me to get out of the house." His eyes narrow dangerously. "I know for a fact I was awake after your curfew and you still were not home." His son, Scott - I will never call that high school dropout my brother - smirks at me from over his shoulder. Even from this distance, I can smell fast-food grease in his unwashed hair and wonder why the twenty-three-year-ol

Run – run for your life, for the forgotten souls of those you once loved, for your future and that of those who will meet you. Run like you love it, as if death is not resting its hands on your shoulders and pushing down until you give up and stand hopelessly, watching the executioner come ever nearer. Run until the sweat drips into your mouth, till the burning in your legs overwhelms all fear, till you can't feel anything but the beat of your heart, pounding from the exertion, its thumps matching those of your feet. Dart between the trees, hear your feet land softly on the mossy earth; slip between spaces through which no one else can