La Vegetariana Loca

Here are some random ramblings of a girl that will probably end up in an insane asylum sometime in her near future...Kookookachoo. She loves her Queen, she loves her Beatles and her Who and her Zeppy and her music in general. She loves her writing. She loves love. And she loves you. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Part 2 (read last entry before you read this one)

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(Well, I'm getting a few more readers, just because I've been talking about this blog to more people. So, for you newer readers, the picture *usually* has nothing to do with the entry, it's just a random Queen picture I post. Brian May and Freddie Mercury are not my characters, no matter how cool that may be...Okay! I'm done! Here's Part 2 of the story!)

“Child, what’s your name?” Krishna asked the girl in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

She sat cross-legged in the soggy grass, wet with both the dew and the rain from the night before.

“My name’s Miranda. I’m fifteen and a half.”

Krishna nodded, then stopped, his head snapping up, “What?”

Miranda looked inquisitively at him, her head to the side, “What what?”

“Y-you’re fifteen?” he asked, incredulous.

“Fifteen and a half,” she corrected, her pointer finger upraised.

“Well…” Krishna said, digging his toes into the soil, “That changes things…”

Birds twittered through the air, their songs the only sound in the field, interrupted only by the occasional incantations coming from inside the tent.

“What happened to my daddy?” Miranda asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you so tall?”

“I ate my vegetables when I was a kid.”

“Why did you almost leave me last night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it because the man on the tight rope inside your head fell off?”

“I beg your pardon?”
Miranda inhaled, and pulled at a blade of grass in front of her, “Daddy always said that everybody has a little man on a tight rope in their heads.” She put her index finger horizontally in the air, and with the other hand, made an upside down two. “Usually, they do fine with balancing,” She made the two walk along her other finger. “But sometimes, when something really bad happens, or really good, the man falls off; the person that he walks inside of is changed.” She dropped both of her hands into her lap.

“Well, I guess that’s a good way to put it…” Krishna stated, concealing his utter confusion with a grin.

“You’ll get to meet him soon,” she said, nodding, “He was just sleeping last night. He’ll want to see you, and Kami, too.”


“My daddy, of course!”

Krishna sighed, and shook his head.

“What, you don’t wanna meet my daddy?” she said in a hurt voice, “I guess it’s okay if you don’t…”

“No, I never said that…It’s just…”

“It’s just what?” Miranda asked, the hurt in her eyes being replaced with curiosity.
Krishna shook his head, “It’s nothing. We need to find out something from Kami before I can tell you anything…”

“What’s Kami trying to find out?” she asked.

Krishna smiled, his perfect, pearly teeth gleaming, “You sure do have a lot of questions.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No reason to be,” was the reply she got.

“I wanna see Daddy…I miss him,” she said next, pressing her hand down in the springy grass to aid herself in standing.

Krishna made no move to stop her. He merely said, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Miranda crossed her arms, “Do you remember where he is?”

He nodded.

“Go with me to him!” she whined, taking his hand and attempting to drag him towards the woods. The trees looked much different from how they had the night before; they beckoned Miranda in, the boughs upturned just slightly, begging her to come back.

Krishna, noticing this, allowed himself to be moved, putting one foot reluctantly in front of the other.

They had walked only a few feet when Kami poked his head out of the tent, his red eyes reflecting the tiredness that was burning inside of him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, squinting against the morning sun.

Neither Krishna nor Miranda turned around to answer him; they continued their trip to the woods, Krishna drawn by Miranda, Miranda drawn by some invisible force, calling her.

Come here, pretty face,” it whispered in her head, “Come to me.”

“You sound weak,” she said out loud to the voice, “Are you sick?”

Krishna halted, and looked back to the tent.

The flap had closed again; Kami had retreated back into its dark clutches mere seconds before.

“C’mon!” Miranda urged, “We have to help him! He doesn’t feel good.”

“Help who?” Krishna asked, Miranda pulling him. He dug his feet into the ground, refusing any movement. He took his hand back, and crossed his arms, “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to go in there like that, especially with the Agrata like he is?”

“I think you’re scared,” she taunted, mimicking Krishna’s haughty stance.

“Miranda, your father is dead. Deceased. Gone. There’s nothing you can do to help him.” He wasn’t pleading, merely stating the facts. His face void of emotion, except for a tinge of annoyance.

Miranda snorted, “That’s what you think.”

She then turned on her heel, and sprinted as hard and as fast as she could to the clutches of the trees, kicking up small bits of soil behind her.

Krishna sighed, his head drooping down, “I haven’t even known you a day, and already you’re forcing me to watch after you…Stupid, stupid mortal…” Wearily, he pulled his eyes up, gazing after the swiftly shrinking image of Miranda. He went after her, but instead of running, he took long, purposeful strides, one of his steps equal to two of hers.
Kami yanked at his hair, his eyes boring into the basin of water that sat perched on the ground, its contents less than an inch away from his nose. In it, an image of Miranda running through the woods to the body of her father rippled to the surface, a figure with a heavy, black aura following her, making sure (reluctantly) that she didn’t hurt herself. But in front of her, nearer to her destination, was a white, wispy, something...Was it a low-laying cloud? Or perhaps a spirit? Maybe something higher up on the supernatural food chain…?

Higher than a spirit…” Kami pondered.

“Oh, Devaki…” he then said slowly, quietly, not believing what he was seeing, “That’s…no, it can’t be…Can it?”

He squinched up his eyes, the tip of his nose now touching the water, sure that he was seeing something that couldn’t possibly be there, that couldn’t possibly be happening. Maybe he was just tired, and his mind was projecting images in the water that shouldn’t be there. Yes, he was sure that was it. It had to be.

It just had to.

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Sunday, March 25, 2007

Just messing around...

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Well, I haven't written fantasy in a while (last time I did, I got mad at all of my characters, and killed them all off), and I rarely use third person...Anywho, I got this idea for a fantasy story, and this is what I came up with over yesterday and today. I was more or less just messing around; I'm not *officially* writing it because I haven't finished my other novel yet (267 pages thus far). So, basically I just want you to tell me what you think! Am I wasting my time? Or should I continue with this? And I know it doesn't make scadfuls of sense, but that's because, like I said, I was just messing around...Here we go!

Krishna shook his head slowly, his mauve eyes screwed up in frustration, “Kami, you just had to take her in, didn’t you?”
The young man in front of him, with stringy, dark brown hair and a rat-like face, mouthed wordlessly.
“Just…stop. Please. You’re giving me a headache,” Krishna sighed.
The girl that Kami held in his arms stirred in her sleep.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” Kami whispered, “and even more so, not at her. It was cold and rainy and wet and…”
“…and you should have left her where she was,” Krishna finished.
“But she…”
“I don’t want to hear another word. Now, go…” he said, pointing to the flap of the tent, “Put her back in the woods.”
“No!” Kami hissed.
Arching one perfect eyebrow and crossing his arms against his chest, Krishna lightly asked, “Are you defying me?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean…”
Krishna gently plucked the girl from the arms that held her, taking her into his own, “You found her in the woods, am I not correct?”
Kami said nothing; his hands folded in his lap seemed to have captured his attention.
“That’s what I thought.”
Krishna, carrying the girl, left the tent, and stepped out into the rainy night.
“You could have caused me a lot of grief, you know that?” he asked her, glancing down at her slumbering form as he walked. Raindrops hit her skin, lingered, and then fell to the overgrown, green grass at Krishna’s feet. “All I need is one more person to have following me around on my pilgrimage. One mortal is enough to worry about, but you expect me to deal with two of you?” he shook his head, laughing quietly.
He entered the woods, stepping into its clutch of moss and dirt. He continued walking, his bare feet squishing down into the freshly made mud.
The girl stirred again, only to turn towards him, and bury her head in his abdomen.
“No, no, no,” Krishna said in his high, clipped voice, “You’re staying here.”
He stooped down on his knees, water soaking through his trousers. He laid her down on the ground.
Her eyes fluttered open; she squinted against the moonlight, focusing on Krishna.
She clutched his hand.
“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” he said, furrowing his brow just slightly.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, appearing even more helpless than she had before.
“…I beg your pardon?”
The girl sat up, searching frantically with her mismatched eyes: one warm, brown one, the other forget-me-not blue. “Where’s Daddy?” she repeated.
Krishna stood, looking down at the girl, “What’s your name, child?”
She stood, and looked up at Krishna, irritated, “Where is he?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“H-he’s fairly close to my height, black hair...where is he?” she asked, her eyes darting amongst the trees.
“You need to get some sleep, child. You’re delirious,” Krishna said softly, the rain tapping repeatedly on his shoulders.
“Help me find him!” she demanded weakly. She turned to go deeper into the woods, but stumbled.
“Whoa, easy,” Krishna clutched her arm, stabilizing her.
“He was just right with me! Right there, see?” she pointed to a human-shaped form in the moss, “Right there.”
“Nobody’s here. Just you and me. Are you feeling alright?”
She spared him just a glance before filling her lungs and bellowing into the night, “DADDY!”
Krishna’s eyes grew large in fear; he clapped his hand over her mouth, “SH! Do you want the Agrata to find me?”
The girl, through Krishna’s fingers, screamed again.
“SH!” Krishna pushed, then gently removed his hand.
“You have to help me find him,” she urged.
“So this is why Kami took her in?” Krishna mused, “I can see why.”
“Please…” the girl begged, every fiber of her being pleading.
Sighing, just slightly impatiently, Krishna said, “Fine. Let’s get started, then.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, then, taking Krishna by the hand, delved deeper into the trees.
They were running, hand in hand, jumping over knarled roots. Every now and again, the girl stumbled; Krishna helped her up.
“I’m helping an insane child,” Krishna thought, “I could just leave her now; she probably wouldn’t know the difference.”
As if in response to that thought, the girl’s grip on his hand became even tighter.
“Okay, so leaving isn’t an option. But I’ve got to get through her head that no one’s there…Why is it always me that gets tangled up with the mortals?”
Then, all of a sudden, the girl stopped, her face twisted up in horror. Krishna stopped short at her side, steadying himself by taking hold of her shoulder.
“No…” the girl whispered, shaking her head, “No, no, no…”
Krishna looked concernedly down at her, a lone raindrop rolling off of the tip of his nose.
The girl caught his eyes, then pointed slightly away from the direction of their path.
An insignificant looking man, clad in a plain, white tunic and black trousers, lay spread eagled in the moss. His hair was black, and his skin was much too pale to belong to the living.
“No!” the girl cried, running to the man’s side, kneeling, “No, please…” she took his hand, feeling all along his forearm for a pulse.
She found none.
“NO!” the girl wailed, more tears streaming down her cheeks than raindrops. She threw herself across the man’s corpse, her entire body shaking with sobs.
Krishna cocked his head to the side, his sopping, blonde curls falling. He had seen that face before…
Then it hit him. And when it hit him, it hit him hard.
Things were a lot worse than he had thought they were.

Saturday, March 17, 2007


Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket (A really cute cartoon someone on my guild on Gaia, Break Free, drew! If you can't tell, it's Freddie as an angel consoling a sad girl. I love it. <3)
Well, I spent last night and today making this; it was a lot of fun. Basically just me having a fangirl moment. :)

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Hello there, my beauties! Is it happening? Is everybody doing okay?

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Yeah. I'm back. I'm going to start to try and post more regularly; I've been bad about that...I'm not even going to give you any excuses; you've probably got the gist of them by now.

And just to prove that I love you all so much, I just joined Google so I could use the NEW BLOGGER! Which was stupid, to tell the truth. I was perfectly happy with the old Blogger, but it forced me to switch. Bedumdiggity.

On a different note! I have gotten to where I really like Bob Dylan; he's just so awesome! I usually don't really care for the style of music that he does, but wow! Yeah. He's awesome. Gee, I think I already said that...Well, he deserves it. Kookookachoo.

Anyways, here's this really far out link that one of my friends emailed me where Dylan is singing Dr. Seuss's groovy. You should check it out!

Oh, and also, I heard that (and I hate to gossip) Sir Paul McCartney and Heather Mills are about to reach a settlement in their divorce. To that, all I have to say is: HALLELUJAH!!! And I'm sorry, but they've both been behaving like toddlers through this whole thing: extremely immature. However, I have to admit, I have been pulling for Paul; Heather strikes me as a gold digger...I just hope that Beatrice (their daughter, for those of you that don't know) isn't scarred too badly. That's the worst part of a divorce: the children that get hurt. To be honest, I don't think Paul and Heather should have been married in the first place. First off, Paul is almost twice her age. Secondly, they both have GINORMOUS egos. Not always a bad thing, but it just doesn't work in a marriage. Thirdly, they were both in serious relationships beforehand: Paul had lost his wife of 29 years to cancer just a year before, and Heather left behind an engagement for hating to gossip so much, I'm pretty dern good at it. O_O

And one more thing: Anna Nicole Smith's death. It was sad, but who wants it shoved in their face 24/7? Definitely not me! Besides, it's not like she had a huge impact on the world. It wasn't like JFK died, or John Lennon died, or MLK died. I'm sorry, I shouldn't judge; I didn't know her personally, but JEEBUS!!! Is it really all that newsworthy? Children are starving all over the world, more than 40 million people today are infected with HIV/AIDS, global warming is getting worse and worse by the day, and all we can talk about is her? I mean a little bit's fine. Mention it, sure. But have it on the news for weeks as the main topic? C'mon!!!

Well, I'm done with my soap box for now! Abrupt ending, I know. :) Love you all!

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