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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  • At 2:43 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Kewel stuff Grey, nice story, are you going to do a part 3? :D


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