[For the beginning of the story from day one, click here.]

I burst out laughing, although unpredictable antics are Lottie’s strong suit and I should have been expecting her response to such a glorious electronic beat. Lydia hollers, “get it, girl!” and tries to imitate Charlotte’s wild gestures, to no avail. As graceful as Lydia could be in life, she is no dancer in a rap video. She may have no rhythm, but sit her in front of a piano and you will be left awestruck by her natural gift. And although she denies it as a superpower, Lydia Grace Noble has perfect pitch. I am very much looking forward to the Christmas party, at which she has promised us she will play and sing carols – as long as those of us who are so inclined will sing along. It’s a mere eight weeks away, and the anticipation is definitely palpable. My favorite time of year, the time that contains Thanksgiving and Christmas, is when my heart yawns and stretches, coming awake fully for the first time all year. Everything about these two months each year makes me feel joyful, like I am still just a little girl. The cold, the clothes, the traditions – all of it! Football games no one really pays attention to in their carbohydrate-induced stupor, eating all day long and not feeling the least bit guilty about it, and the closeness and warmth of family around the fireplace make Thanksgiving utterly perfect; while the decorations, the classic songs, the hustle and bustle, the giving, the getting, the colors and the lights, the movies, the shopping, the gift-wrapping… Christmas is overwhelmingly my favorite holiday.

But here I go, getting lost in daydreams and warm, sparkling memories, when I’m supposed to be telling a story. This happens to me far more often than it should…

I am brought back to the present reality when Lydia appears in my direct line of staring vision.

“Forest green,” Lydia appraises with her own imploring, light green eyes. “It’s either Christmas, your family, or the new kid.”

“The first,” I confirm casually, making absolutely no attempt at hiding anything.

The problem with brutal honesty is that it leaves you fully exposed. I feel like I am constantly walking around naked.

“Ew, Georgia Lynn, would you mind picturing yourself fully clothed from now on? My poor little heart can’t talk all that,” Louise informs me teasingly, and as she towel dries her wavy brown hair I see a glinting stone, looking suspiciously like an engagement ring, on her left hand waving with her motions.

“When did that happen?” I squeal, grateful – for once – that my mental capabilities did not ruin a good story for me.

“Well, since you’re pryin’…” Louise teases me, drying her right ear and grinning from that one over to her left.

“Yes, I realize I am prying, but, I really want to know – you know it’s because I care about your life,” I tell her, reaching out to inspect the rock perched proudly on that oh-so-important finger. The yellow gold band houses a large, round-cut diamond surrounded by little circles of blue topaz.

“Wyatt took me to the exact place where I first found him…” Louise begins to explain, but as my ears take in her words; my mind fades back to seven months prior – the night that Wyatt Livingston joined our band of strange and lonely pariahs.

“There it is again,” Louise was saying, holding her head in her hands.

“What is it?” I ask, my hands fluttering uselessly near my newest friend’s aching head. She’s a reader, like Nadia, so headaches are a common occurrence, but this one is so bad I am really starting to get concerned.

“This man’s voice. He just keeps crying out – ‘help me, please, anyone, help me!’ and  I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, or I would help him! He is so miserable, Georgia, I am kept awake at night, sometimes all night, and  there ain’t a single thing I can do for ‘em,” Louise’s ocean blue eyes are wrinkled at the corners with deep concern.

“And you are absolutely sure it isn’t someone in the building reach out to you?” I shift from foot to foot, restless.

“Positive,” Louise confirms; she is pacing nervously now.

“We should go look for this guy,” Charlotte proposes. Her tiny, indestructible frame is visibly twitching with anticipation. “The four of us could do it, easily. Lou, you and Nadia could work together listening for him to find his location, and I could definitely fix up any minor wounds he may have until we can bring him here.” Charlotte is a healer – internal and external. She is virtually unbreakable, impervious to illness, and can heal others by touch – to an extent, depending on the time they would take and the seriousness of the trauma.

“Lydia won’t like it,” I blurt, disgusted once more by my lack of mental or verbal filter. I wish I could just bite my lip and keep all the nagging truth and reason inside, and just be easygoing.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Charlotte’s gentle voice is unusually low, and she shrugs, small and fearless.

“Easy for you to say,” I snort. “She can’t put you into a coma.”

“She can’t put you in a coma either, genius,” Charlotte rolls her honey brown eyes. “At least, I don’t think so…”

Her face fades into a more contemplative look and I make a haughty sound in my throat.

“I think we should do it,” Nadia’s musical voice finally enters into the discussion. “I mean, why else do we have these abilities, if not to use them to help others? Lydia would agree with that much, anyway.”

“And the entering into danger part…? That’s our decision to make; we are more than capable, and absolutely old enough, to call our own shots. I say we do this,” Charlotte pounds her fist against her palm.

All eyes swing to search the pained face of the reason for this conversation.

“If you gals are gonna back me up, I don’t see any problem with this,” Louise decides on the spot, her brow furrowing into a stubborn line, her slender jaw set firmly.

“Well, let’s get started, then. Everyone put their cell phone in their pocket and grab a flashlight. The quicker we start moving, the sooner this man will get the help that he needs,” Charlotte reasons, pulling two flashlights from under our bunk beds.

As quietly as humanly possible, the four of us creep down the hall and down the staircase – taking each step as quickly as we can relying on Charlotte’s keen senses and silent, graceful leading, as well as Nadia’s ability to listen for any leadership who would stop us, to keep us from getting caught. Louise is too distracted by the constant gnashing of teeth in her gray matter to be much of a help – I lead her by the hand and keep her feet from hitting the inevitable squeaks in the old wooden stairs. She shoots me a grateful glance in the dimly lit lobby, and I see the raw panic and ache that does not belong to her inside of her nightfall pupils and morning sky irises. I squeeze her slender hand and try to give her the smallest of comforts – she squeezes it tightly in return, and I know she gets my mental message.

“Is there an alarm?” Nadia asks in a whisper.

“Not on nights when Jerry is in charge of security,” Charlotte rolls her eyes. “He thinks he can take on anything or anyone that decides to walk through that door, so he doesn’t bother with it. I personally think it’s just because he is technologically inept, and doesn’t want to learn how to set the stupid thing.”

Nadia grins. “Then let’s hope it is indeed Jerry’s night to watch the place – I have it on good authority that he also loves to raid the fridge more often than necessary.”

We all inhale softly and hold our breath inside of our lungs, our hearts pounding in anticipation as Charlotte reaches out a tiny, tan hand to turn the huge brushed nickel knob. Hearts pounding in our ears, we hear the tiny click of the latch releasing us out into our mission field.

When no obvious alarm sounds, we pile out onto the giant old staircase, knowing getting down those brick steps would be the noisiest part of the deal. Tennis shoes clattering against the mortar and blocks, clamoring for the muting of the lush lawn below, the four of us reach the grass with no sound but a mutual sigh of relief. Charlotte pushes Louise forward, and Lou takes the leader role with no fanfare or ceremony.

“He’s getting louder,” Louise tells us confidently, letting her feet blindly follow the siren song of the screaming inside of her skull. “We’re coming!” she says urgently aloud, though I know she’s probably yelling it with all her might back to him mentally.

And we blindly follow her farther into the woods, through the paths in the ancient firs and sweet-smelling pines, four flawed Samaritans with no knowledge of the man in need – other than his need.

 

[FAIR WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK - this is art for art's sake. No promises that it's any good. I'm just letting whatever wants to come out onto the page, come out, and whatever happens, does. ♥]

 

So, here’s the skinny.

I’m not really sure what God was thinking when He put me here, of all places. I mean, why not somewhere with less people? Less complications? Less messes that I think are my responsibility to clean?

This doesn’t make any sense right now, but it will.

When it does, will you let me know?

I haven’t gotten there yet.

 

I am twenty-one years old, I am a mess, and I have never been kissed.

My name is Georgia Lynn Freebird, and this is my story.

 

I wake up this morning to the chill of a new autumn day, and wonder just how cold it’s going to be when I put my shoes on and enter the outside world. It’s a typical day in the Southeast region of the United States, a place I wish I did not live, but am doomed to stay within for the time being. I tell everyone I’m having a great time in college, nearing the finish line, getting excited for graduation.

If only they knew the truth.

I yawn and stretch and do very typical things. I check the clock, and it’s 6:37 in the morning. Of all my friends here, I am the least remarkable. That’s not me self-deprecating or anything; it’s just a statement of fact. I roll out of bed and head for the bathroom in a zombie-like trance. Only, instead of brains, it’s definitely caffeine – probably coffee – my system is craving. I have to be in the mood for coffee, I’m not one of those people who are addicted and can’t survive without it, I just enjoy it in the mornings and on occasion, the afternoon. See? None of this is important or out of the norm. I’m wondering what I’m doing here for the thirty-thousandth time since I stepped through the huge front doors and tiptoed onto the gorgeous oak floors of the lobby in my crayon-yellow Converses.

I hear the distinct sound of Nadia’s light snoring as it cuts the silence in half, and I take comfort in her presence. She, of all the people here, should understand me best – we did come from the same womb, around the same time – I was first, seven minutes and three seconds before Nadia appeared, I came into this strange world full of bizarre happenings. I remember this much clearer than most people would; my memory is flawless – an eerie video of all that has gone on before plays in my cluttered mind on a whim. I’m learning here – at “college” – how to pick out specific memoires whenever I need them. Like anyone else, I have things I would love to forget, but I do not possess the luxury of a weak mind. Things do not slip through the cracks for me – great for taking tests, keeping track of birthdays, and cooking without looking at a recipe, but really sucky for awkward childhood moments that are best left in the grubby hands of… well, my childhood.

Things would certainly be easier if I were the textbook definition of “normal” – though I doubt they’ve actually decided on a solid one, yet.

Maybe they’d be harder, who knows. But hey, the grass is always greener, right?

I shuffle my stocking feet all the way to the cold tile floor of the bathroom attached to the room I share with Nadia and two other roommates. When my eyes hit the mirror, they are bluish-gray, the serene color of the morning sky, and I absentmindedly scratch my ivory cheek. Another yawn makes its way from my throat to the air surrounding me. Maybe if my stupid dreams weren’t so vivid, I’d sleep a smidge more peacefully.

“You complain too much,” I scold my grungy reflection, who promptly shrugs – apathetic, as always.

I hear Nadia’s motherly words as clearly as when they were spoken to me the day before: “Each day is a gift to be spent well, not suffered through. Remember, your words are significant.”

I snort aloud as I mull over the last part – how could I possibly forget?

I know she wasn’t mocking my steel trap of a psyche – Nadia Eve Freebird is the kindest, most compassionate and most empathetic human being on the planet. No sense in trying to blame her for my melancholy, because it would be false. Maybe it is the seclusion that’s getting to me. At  first, I had fallen in love with the huge, old hotel-turned-boarding-school that’s tucked quietly amongst the huge, old North Carolina trees – but after nine months, I am beginning to feel much like a baby in the womb: cramped, and ready to breath oxygen into my lungs for myself.

I brush my offwhite teeth without fanfare, spitting into the sink without poise. I am not the classiest woman on this earth, but hopefully I possess enough social graces to get by out in the so-called “real world”. A tiny spark of glee pricks in my chest, and I imagine myself at the bottom of the front staircase. The sad part is, that’s about as far as I usually get before I realize I have no idea what is supposed to happen next. Am I walking toward a big, important career? A life of quiet, blessed servitude? A family of my own?

A smile curves my thin lips upward as I linger on the fantasy of a husband and children. I am unsure if I am equipped to bring about such beautiful dreams… but they definitely are worth dreaming, all the same. An ache swells in my chest at the very real possibility that they may never come true. I cannot linger on them, it is way too easy to get depressed. As I bring a hot washcloth to my face, my eyes are as gray as the looming cumulonimbus before a great and terrible storm.

I brush the blend of brown, blonde and red my over-dyed hair has become out of my face and up into a high, messy ponytail. Instantly, my head feels lighter and I feel like I can see more of the world around me. It’s strange what a simple hairdo can do to a person, even one as complicated as I am. I open the little bathroom window, breathing in the chilly air of the North Carolina morning, grateful for my senses. I can’t decide if I’m going to get a shower or not, when another warm body makes their presence known in the large, black-framed mirror.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” I say, still half-awake, not yet experiencing the clarity of full consciousness. “You’re looking lovely as ever.”

Louise turns to me and flashes a smile that is all full lips and perfect white teeth. “Darlin’, I know you ain’t usin’ pretty words to try ‘n get me outta this bathroom,” the dark-haired Southern belle answers me in her thick, pleasant accent.

“You certainly would know that, wouldn’t you?” I smirk.

Louise gives me a knowing look, and the pageant smile fades to a sarcastic, answering smirk. She reaches beyond a black-and-white patterned curtain to turn the hot water on for her shower, the one that I am contemplating, and the one that effectively makes my contemplating completely obsolete.

I heave a sigh and hang up my washcloth before leaving Louise to her morning ritual, and silently wish I was a quicker thinker. When I reenter the bedroom, Nadia is pulling on her favorite socks, wearing a hoodie. She and I share an excited glance – it’s the first truly cold day of the year, and our hearts are beating in thrilled unison at the obvious heralding of winter and all its beauty, including Christmas.

I close my eyes and breathe in deep; our window is open and I swear I can hear sleigh bells as my lungs draw in the smell of cold air and gray skies. When my lids retract, my sister shakes her head.

“What?” I grin, already knowing the answer.

“They’re currently this crazy shade of forest green,” she informs me, pulling down one of her own eyelids. “Why couldn’t I have gotten that talent?”

I roll my freak-show eyes. “Because, instead, you can freaking read minds.”

“So can Louise. What’s so special about that?” Nadia gives me a killer look, and I shrug.

“I’m pretty jealous,” I tell her, and she laughs.

“Whatever.” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “Even if I didn’t know that was true, it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re way cooler than you think you are.”

“You’re not the only one who has noticed, either,” a hoarse voice greets us from the bottom bunk across the room.

Nadia holds her hand out toward the voice, like, see? I frown.

I can’t read minds, remember? I think toward her.

She just grins. Infuriating!

A bedraggled blonde head pops out from the constellation-covered comforter, glaring up at me with dark-circle-rimmed, honey-brown eyes.

“The newest one of us, that Luke Browning kid – you know, the one sees the future? – he sure couldn’t take those sexy green eyes off you the second he walked in this place,” Charlotte – the zombie blonde – informs me with an evil glint in her wide, darkroom pupils. “Did you notice him noticin’ ya, gorgeous?”

“Yeah, I definitely noticed,” I blurt, and then slap my shiny, pale forehead.

That’s the other thing I forget to mention when introducing myself.

I cannot lie.

I’m serious.

Not even when I try really, really hard.

And definitely not when asked a direct question.

“I knew it. Thank God, some dish. It’s ridiculous how boring this place has gotten these past few months. Not even the mind-invading tricks the Baxter boys pulled on Halloween did enough for me. Though, I still feel creeped out whenever I strip for a shower…” Charlotte shudders, obviously remembering something horrible.

Nadia snickers, though I know it was probably a lot worse for her and Louise – considering they would’ve had to hear everyone’s thoughts being invaded all at once.

All of a sudden raucous rap music is being blared down our hallway, and I know that our counselor is awake and getting “pumped” for the day.

I swear, if I didn’t adore that woman with every fiber of my being, I would murder her in her sleep.

“LYDIA, SERIOUSLY?” I swing the door open and scream against the incredible force of surround-sound bass pounding its way down to all of our rooms.

“You slow down and you die, my love,” her shiny soprano voice shrills into my morning ears. In the afternoon, this sound would be welcome, pleasant.

Right now it just makes me want to push her violently down the stairs.

My imagination is very vivid, and I hear Louise and Nadia laugh out loud at the clean-glass-clear image of me taking my world-weary violence out on our beloved Lydia.

Charlotte, who is five feet tall exactly, and about ninety pounds soaking wet, jumps up out of her bunk and gracefully twirls out into the hallway, breaking out a ridiculous combination of hip-hop moves that would make Fergie’s blood turn to acid with jealousy.

 

If it's sucks and it's completely stupid, I can't apologize. I'm all up in this.

If you wanna let me know what you think, that's cool. Just know I'm not supposed to edit. The purpose of NaNoWriMo is to just MAKE yourself write. It's about 50,000 words - not if they're even any good. I've been needing this challenge for a long time. So, here goes nothin'. <3 

...as National Novel Writing Month is affectionately known.

I'm terrified but exhilarated in the same breath, because I officially signed up just this evening for the first time ever. I don't know what's going to happen with it, but I'm really excited to find out. I can't decide if I'm going to use my xanga for it, but if I do, what readers I do have may be bombarded with my ridiculous fictional ramblings...

50,000 words in 30 days. Ha!

I'd apologize in advance, but I'm not sorry.

 

HERE GOES NOTHING! <3

I cannot stop listening to Kings of Leon. They are incredible. And Caleb Followill has some of the prettiest eyes I've ever witnessed.

Observe:

In other news, I don't like change. I don't like that my best friend of over four years and I are slowly drifting apart, going separate ways. I miss the days where we were young, dumb puzzle pieces with nothing better to do but shoot Nazi Zombies and eat lime Tostitos. Now we're states apart, I have a fulltime job, she's a fulltime student (and she has a serious boyfriend, something I know very little about other than it's a very time-consuming, important, hard-work kind of relationship)... The last time we got to actually hang out and talk was June of this year. It's almost November. I miss her, dammit. She's like the only person in the world who understands all of my stupidity (and my depth, too). It's hard not having that anymore. We hardly get to talk. I don't want to be a complainer, things are pretty good otherwise, and I understand that this is how life goes. You don't stay seventeen. You grow up, things move forward, friendships change. It just sucks. I also have no idea what to do about it. It's like, I either accept it, or get depressed about it. I think I should take the first option. Ha.

But when I say that otherwise, life is good, I'm serious. I love my new job; being a mama to ten to seventeen kids at once (not alone!) is tiring but really fun. It's never dull, that's for sure, and I'm learning that I have skills that I didn't realize I possessed. That's always a nice thing to figure out, I think.

I'm getting really excited for Christmas. On principle, I won't let myself listen to Christmas music until at least November... Halloween has to be over before I'm singing Jingle Bells, because I don't want to get sick of it so soon. I'm still dying to decorate my room, but I can't let myself do that until next month either. I have candy-corn-hued lights strung around my bulletin board, and just seeing that little string of golden globes has me giddy like a little child.

My heart is definitely yawning and stretching. From October to December, I am the happiest I'll be all year.

i want to write but nothing will come to me.
so i'm going to collage instead.

 

i'm sorry my xanga is basically obsolete.
you aren't missing much. ;] 

"I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

 

 

I want that so much.

When did I become this person?

This silent, apathetic, small person who cares more

about what internet strangers think of her than what she thinks of herself?

When did I do this?

This swampy gray film I've pasted on myself,

to cover up any shred of light that might try to sneak through?

Where is my heart?

In a cold, dark box deep under the earth?

When did I let my insecurities steal my breath,

and numb me to You?

 

 

I am the walking dead,

but I will shed this unfeeling skin. 

I can't get over how much better this song sounds this way.

I got up at 7:45 on a Saturday (which, sadly, is super early for me) to watch the footage from nine years ago.

It doesn't feel like it was that long ago. Every time I see pictures or video from September 11, 2001, it feels like it just happened that day.

I choose to watch this footage, and to relive that horrible event, that painful day in history that I lived through, because it makes me remember.

It makes me remember why I wanted Bush back for a second term. Why I love Rudy Giuliani. Why I want to burst with pride when I hear the anthem, or see an American flag, or the lyrics I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free... Why I am riddled with excitement because I am officially old enough to vote, and registered to do so. Why I love veterans, and how deeply I cherish the sacrifices that they made, the hard work that they did. Why I love our troops, for the hard work they are doing and the sacrifices they are making -- and their families, for loving them and supporting them. Why I hate when people rag on Bush and this country and the war and everything else.

Despite the economy, or anything else, this man was strong in the face of tragedy and he helped to hold us together.

I can't forget. Now, or ever. Because even though it's almost been a decade, I imagine it feels like it just happened, as well, for all of those who lost people that day. For people who survived. For those who were injured, and have those scars to this day. For those who searched through the debris. For those who caught it on film with their own hands. For those who watched people jump from the buildings, for those who discovered the bodies, for those who realized that people they cared about (or even just worked with, or knew as an acquaintance) were dead. I won't forget because I know that they can't.

 

I was twelve years old, sitting at my desk at GBNCA, my feet barely touching the floor. I turned around in my uncomfortable plastic chair when I saw my teachers gathered around the little television in the corner of our classroom, something that never happened (I didn't even know the thing had cable). I probably smoothed my khaki skirt, tugged at my navy blue logo-embroidered polo, or leaned back beyond the wooden dividers to talk to one of my friends - anything but care about the flimsy PACE book sitting in front of me. A few minutes later, Pastor Mike, Miss Debbie and Miss Judy all gathered us up and took us upstairs to the chapel to have an "emergency prayer meeting" - something else we'd never done before. They didn't scare us, they just calmly explained to us as best as they could what was going on, and after we prayed they began calling our parents to dismiss us. My mother and three-year-old sister Abbi ran up the ramp to get eight-year-old Ben and I, instead of waiting in the van. When we got home, we did nothing but watch the news. I remember cutting block cheese on the counter in our kitchen. And my best friend Ashley came over to watch the news with us. We sang 'It's the End of the World (As We Know It)', like the immature young girls we were, since we didn't know how to handle it. We stared up at the sky, afraid of every airplane, fearing that the events of the morning were only the beginning.

Later that night, it struck me what was going on, and I remember crying a lot that night, and the night after that. I remember wishing I was old and strong enough to help them dig through the huge piles of debris. I remember wanting to hold every person, especially the children, who lost people that they loved.

I can't forget. It's all burned into my brain.

 

I realize that it's your right to say negative things about America, just like it's mine to say what I believe.

But never forget how you have that right.

And never forget September 11, 2001.

 

 

"Time passes. However, for the United States of America, there will be no forgetting September 11th. We will remember the Savior, who died in honor. We will remember every family that lives in grief. We will remember the fire and ash, the last phone calls, the funerals of children."

- President George W. Bush, November 11, 2001

...as such, this post will probably be uninteresting as well.

I'm still waiting for the people from my job to call me and give me a start date. Ugh.

I've been more social lately though. Well, more than usual. Reconnected with an old friend of mine from middle school. She and I grew up very similarly, ha. We have a lot of the same views on things.

Pray for my best friend, her grandmother is sick - after her grandfather just passed away last year.

The (FREAKIN') laundry is finally caught up. 

My room (actually, the entire basement) is being overrun with a cricket invasion. [I bought glue traps today... I'm hoping that they work, like my uncle told me they would.] I swear to you, they are an army and they lie in wait just to make me pee my pants.

I want to draw more cartoon characters on my wall. Right now it's only Pikachu and Charmander. (My room is seriously like a museum of strange. 'Eclectic' isn't even the correct word. It doesn't do it justice.)

I bought The Orange Box like a week ago and I still haven't gotten to play Portal or Half Life 2. (My little BROTHER has though. Bastard!) Team Fortress 2 is kind of... frustrating.

It's starting to get cold outside... I'm wearing long sleeves which makes me incredibly happy. It doesn't sound like a big deal, I'm sure, but fall and winter are my favorite seasons.

 

That's basically it right now. When something more exciting happens, or I suddenly have the urge to share my thoughts on a particular subject, I guess I'll be back here.

<3