Kaileigh+D

Memoir MP3

When It Rains

There is some primal joy in rainfall. Maybe it’s the monotonous sound of raindrops falling onto the roof of your house as you tried to fall asleep as a kid. Maybe it is the repetitive lull that subconsciously reminds us for our mothers heartbeat, one that as a child, lulled us to sleep. Or maybe we love the smell to the air that hangs in the air after the rain. The musty yet clean smell, crisp smell that has always been unmistakable in my mind. Or, perhaps we love the electricity of the rain, the raw power of lightning blinding the sky. Filling the entire window with white light as you watched from your parent’s bed, safe and warm, counting the seconds until a crackling boom of thunder followed. ….Eleven…Twelve…Thirteen miles away. Boom….Flash… and the counting starts again.

Rain always changed things. When I was little, rain meant puddles. Lots of them. I remember sloshing through the aftermath of the latest downpour in my ratty blue and green rain boots. Rain poured into the inside of my boots, soaking my socks and numbing my toes, but I didn’t care. Rain broke the exhausting heat of summer.

Summer storms, more intense and memorable than those of the rest of the year always stuck in my mind. It was something to look forward to in the hazy days spent in front of the TV or at summer camp. Rain made things new, clean. Rain meant a break from days of ninety degree heat waves. And when the rain came it washed away all the swirls of colored chalk on the side walk- the hop scotch squares and stick figures - leaving the steam rising off the asphalt, as if the road itself were exhaling in relief.

And so, it was a weekday, not that days actually have names during the summer, but a week day nonetheless, when it started to rain. At first it was a light drizzle, the kind that cant seem to make up its mind whether to turn into actual rain or to stop altogether- a fluke of the weather gods. The drizzle turned into a schizophrenic haze stopping and starting again every five minutes, and lasting all day. And the heat wave still hung in the air like a thick paralyzing fog, giving the air of that summer afternoon actual weight, as it, in the rare case when you actually slepped your sorry lazy ass off the couch for a quick trip to the bathroom or to pour yourself a glass of lemonade, you were actually weighed down, oppressed, by the actual heat.

My mom had left for the grocery store and my little brother and I stayed home. It was a rare occasion when we weren’t at each others throats. Alex lay sprawled out haphazardly on the floor of the living room making vrooming noises as he drove around his collection of hundreds of matchbox cars. At the moment he was quiet -a safe and less annoying alternative to the angry matchbox car throwing (angry and hell bent upon my destruction) little demon I usually faced.

I remember his terrible twos, and threes and fours. He’s seven now, and that’s pretty terrible too. But at the moment he was quiet, so quiet in fact that I could actually hear the soft patter of rainfall on the roof. Getting off the couch, I walked over to the nearest window and pulled the blinds open revealing the still sunny summer day and the soft drizzle that was starting. The parched grass, brown from the incessant scorching summer sun, slowly turned a muddy brown, greedily drinking up the sudden downpour- the first in weeks. I walked to the side door and as I fumbled with the locks, I kicked the ratty old mat out of the way wand yanked open the white steel door infamously known for sticking to its frame.

The rain drops were bigger now, the size of dimes. I could feel them falling upon my skin- a cold relief to the summer heat. Slowly soaking through the strands of my hair, the rain turned my loose, chestnut curls into a soggy dark brown mess. Like tears from the sky, it ran in tiny rivers down my face, following the contours around my nostrils, down to the bow of my lips, and finally to the curve of my chin, where they gathered in stalactites until gravity won and they fell to the soaked asphalt.

The droplets multiplied and increased in size. I could feel that my clothes were completely soaked through, the orange t-shirt and blue jeans, which were going to be impossible to take off whenever I finally decided to go back inside. For now at least, I was content to stand there, immobile with my face to the sky in the middle of a torrential downpour.

Small foot steps sounded on the slowly rotting wood ramp that replaced stairs on the side of my house. The previous owner had been paraplegic. Confined to a wheel chair for the duration of his life. Trapped like a bird in a cage.

I took a deep breath, relishing in the smell of the rain, the contrasting sensation of the hot humid atmosphere and the cold water droplets pouring down upon me.

“What are you doing?” Alex’s voice came from my left. I cracked one eye open and saw him standing next to me. His clothes and hair darkening as they absorbed the downpour.

“I like the rain.” I replied as I took another deep breath of the rain filled air. I looked at Alex, this time turning my head completely to look at his. He started back, confused and smiled. I ran over to the nearest puddle of water and splashed in it. Remembering how fun playing in puddles when I was really little, when puddles looked like rivers and lakes.

The weren’t as big now.

Alex followed, running like a crazy person in circles. I followed suit, spinning around with my arms outstretched until everything was a blur. The roar of the cars engine disrupted our rain dance. Our mom was back from grocery shopping. We stopped and stared at her. She pulled the car into the driveway and started at us with her mouth slightly agape. We stood there frozen, knowing that a storm was brewing. Something wicked this way come for sure, I thought was my mom drove the car past us and into the garage. Alex and I followed the car into the garage and started to unload groceries, silently fearing that any unchecked action would be the stone that loosens the dam. As we finished unloading, my mom, with her perfectly dry clothes and dry blonde hair, looked at us and shook her head. She went to the side of the garage and pulled out a foldable chair unfolding it was she walked back towards us. Placing the chair facing the open garage door, and the rain, she walked back into the house.

She came back, camera in hand motioning to us.

“Go finish dancing in the rain. You’d might as well.” she smiled as she positioned the camera near her eye to see through the eyepiece and snapped a picture. The flash and the click momentarily paralyzed us. We stood there like infants dazed and blinded by the sudden flash. Black dots danced in my eyes as I tried to blink out the after image.

Bewildered and confused, neither Alex or myself were about to answer or question her reasoning. We turned and ran back into the rain. Laughing and screaming in the pure unadulterated joy and simplicity of the raindrops falling on our heads.

short story MP2

 Cloud Nine //It was cold. Like the water. The heart stopping mind-numbing icy jet of water that had soaked me to the core. I was dry now. Safe. Safe and dry. And warm too. Safe and warm and dry. I curled into the fetal position, the bandages that wrapped themselves around my arms chaffing against the bare skin of my legs. The wounds, no longer exposed to the wet coldness now seared a hot hot heat. Circular slices. Burning. But it was safe, and warm, and dry. Safe and warm and dry….. Safe and warm and dry…Safe and warm and dry….. Safe and warm and dry…Safe and warm and dry….. Safeandwarmanddry…// Something was dripping. Far away. Maybe in another room, or down the hall. I didn’t know if there even was another room, because of the pitch blackness, but about twenty feet to my left something was dripping. Drip...Drip…Drip… I took inventory. Feeling in the dark, trying to make sure my body was still in one piece. I could feel large bruise forming on my hip, and the throbbing of few crushed toes where some brute had attempted to tackle me, but other that everything was in order. My hands and feet were bound. Zip ties most likely, which were near impossible to wedge out of and difficult to cut. They proved to be good for binding your prisoner to a chair, especially if you’re a crazy terrorist like whoever was holding me captive. My hands were starting to lose circulation, probably now turning blue. They sure weren’t going for comfort here in Shanghai. The creaking of hinges on metal screeched. Light flooded in from behind me. I looked up, catching a glimpse of the room I was in. Concrete walls surrounded me on all four sides, the wall directly ahead was made of cinder blocks and was about ten feet away. The walls to my sides were about twenty or thirty feet away. No window or doors lined any of them. So the door behind me was the only way out. I waited. The door closed and the light faded away. Boots sounded loudly against the concrete floor. Purposeful, even, and quick. They crossed the distance from the door to directly behind me, where I was bound, silent and motionless. Fifteen steps, I counted. The door was no more that thirty feet behind me. All I needed was a few seconds and could sprint the distance. I only need an opening. The man walked around into my field of vision. It was still pitch black but I could hear was his breathing, measured, purposeful, and even. Nearly inaudible, but deafening in the blackness. A light flashed on. Blinding, searing, it was centered upon my face. I could feel my pupils shrink in reaction to the intensity. “Hello, Sienna.” the man’s voice was dry, raspy, with a hint of a accent on the vowels. I blinked. Forcing the starched, burning light out of my eyes, squinting and partially turning my face away, trying to rid myself of the afterimage that the bright light burned into my retinas. “I’ll cut this short. You have information I need. Give it to me and you won’t return to Langley in a body bag.” I ignored him again. Waiting to see what interrogation tactic he planed on taking. I had gone through months of training as a recruit to withstand various forms of torture and mind games. Fortunately I love games. “The location. Where is it?” his voice remained calm, even. He was still in control. I decided to ignore this. I didn’t have time for his riddles. I had no clue what he wanted from me, or how my business here had ever become his concern. “No clue.” I bit back in quick retort. “I am going to ask you one more time, Miss Lenin. Where is the location? “What location?” I questioned. “The one that brought you to Shanghai, Miss Lenin.” “Ohhh…. That one… screw off.” I spat in fluent Mandarin. The man stepped out from behind the light. He rushed towards me and grabbed me by the neck. His tanned hands squeezed until I my face turned purple. The blood rushed in my veins. Pounding like a deadly warning. Black dots swarmed across my vision. Blackness.**

Again my face was shoved forcefully into the bucket of ice water. Freezing, bitterly cold to the core. My teeth chattered. I was still bound to the chair. The plastic teeth of the zip ties gnawed into my flesh, leaving ruby red rings in their wake. Strong hands ripped my face up and away from the murky ice, preventing me from drowning, but just barely. Before I could even gasp for air my head was shoved into the tub of water, half drowning me once again. Then, the man tore my face out of the bucket as the last of my oxygen supply, bubbled to the bucket’s surface. A welcome relief, I gasped, spurting the bitterly cold water out from my mouth and nose. The man’s face was close to mine now, his beady black eyes, heavy brows and flat nose, proved him to be monstrous and grotesque. “Now Sienna, I’m gonna ask you again. Once. Then we will get answers my way. Where is the location?” Another trip to the bucket for my lack of answer. More ice cold water. The suffocating drowning feeling took over. When my face was pulled out of the bucket, this time I was ready to give my reply. I spit all the water in my mouth and lungs into his evil little bastard eyes. “Go to hell” I snarled. He merely smiled, and pulled my face closer to his once again. “Oh, you’ll be there soon enough, Miss Lenin. But first, I will get my answers,” He sunk his fingers into my long black hair, twisting it at the nape of my neck. “Pity,” he said as his eyes burned into the side of my neck, down to my breasts and back up to my dark blue eyes. “ You really are a pretty girl, …too bad Langley will only be able to identify you by your dental records when I’m done with you.” He let go of his grip and placed a well aimed kick at my shoulder, sending the chair and me in it flying backwards. I landed full force on my wrists which were tied to the back of the chair. Pain flooded into me, searing my vision, I gave a silent open mouthed gasp, blocking out the pain. Mentally closing the gateway.

I feel nothing I feel nothing, I feel nothing…. “I’ll be right back Sienna, I just have to get a little surprise. Don’t worry. We’re not done here. We have all day.” He came back with a metal cart. A blue tarp covered it. I couldn’t see what it was. He wheeled it over towards me and pulled an extension chord out of its base and plugged into the wall near the door. Pulling the tarp off, he reveled a box. Its contents horrified me. My eyes widened. Knives, pliers, saws. Apparently he was going to make good on his promise. Seeing my reaction, caused his devilish grin to return to his gruesome face. “These are for later, my dear, first we’ll try something else.” he placed the box on the ground and reveled a metal case with switches and wires coming out of it. Puzzled I tried to see in the dim light, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “This, my dear isn’t exactly approved by Geneva.” He walked over to the bucket of water and dumped it over my head, drenching my now grimy tank top and black pants. I sat there like a drenched rat peering up at him from my current position on the floor. He yanked me and the chair up by my neck and set the chair up right. “We’ll start at 5 amps. So that’s about four or five thousand volts of electricity. This shouldn’t take long.” he smiled.**

Seconds, days, hours, minutes. It all became blurred. The only thing that was in focus -the only tangible feeling- was the blistering rush of electricity coursing through my body. I could see blistering bruises forming from his past attempts to get information. I could feel the searing heat of his latest attempt as my captor pressed the nozzle of the conductor to my flesh. And so time passed. Day in and day out, just the constant dripping in the dark and the paralyzing stench of my own burning flesh.** He entered the room. Alone. My captor. No metal cart in tow this time, no blue tarp, no special tools to rip my secrets out with. Just the lone man who had made my entire existence a living hell. He walked up to my chair. The metal was still wet from the water he had poured on me just hours before during his last visit. Before another blur of darkness. The sound of dripping. The heavy thud of slow liquid leaking from somewhere in to unknown darkness. His squinty stare, leveled upon my own. His black beady eyes glimmered in the low lighting of my prison. I shifted in my seat. The plastic ties had now chewed raw red rings around my wrists. The blood dripped down my hands from the cuts, the droplets rolling down the tips of my fingers and onto the dusty concrete of the floor. Drip… Drip…. Drip… “It seems that you are more important than we thought, Miss Lenin. Your friends back in the States are negotiating for your release as we speak. Little do they know, they will be walking into an ambush with the faulty Intel we leaked. You wont be leaving here without giving us a location,” he paused as his eyes flickered across my face. Evaluating, calculating, reading. Searching for something. “Of course, I will give you one more chance to remember that location.” His hand went to the pocket of his dark cargo vest. Carefully, he removed the object for which he was searching. A standard sized syringe filled with aqua fluid. He removed the cap with his teeth and stepped closer, bringing his vile face a fraction of an inch away from mine. “This is called FX9. A little cocktail I concocted. Very nasty. Very unstable. But it should do the trick. We’ll get the truth out with this, my dear. With this…” “-wait,” I breathed. My voice, shaky and hoarse, was barely audible even in my own ears. He raised one bushy eyebrow, and moved the needle away from my neck a few inches. “Yes?” he questioned. I smashed my forehead into the bridge of his nose as hard as possible, waiting for the satisfying crack of it breaking. With a spurt of blood and a howl of pain, it did. I smiled. His angry beady eyes narrowed and with a twitch of his arm he stabbed the needle into the side of my neck.
 * Time passed.

Darkness. Drip… Drip… Drip… I was on my side. The dusty concrete floor was beneath me. I took inventory, slowly moving my limbs. My arms and legs, no longer bound to the chair, were free from their restraints. I was weak, and my arms and legs were tingling from the lack of circulation, but everything was in order. I took a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. The room, usually cloaked in darkness was now filled with light. The walls, windowless and dull, were a nondescript gray. Artificial light poured in from the open iron door in front of me. Seizing the opportunity, I sprinted to the door as fast as possible. I met no resistance. I had a strange feeling, that I was being cornered, that this was a trap, but attempting an escape was better than nothing. The long narrow corridor stretched on. White mocking walls followed me on either side. I could see the end of the hall, a black door with a silver handle was in front of me. I reached for the handle, hoping for luck to be on my side. It wasn’t. I backed up ten paces and ran full force into the door, putting my weight into my shoulder. Nothing happened. I took another look at the door. The handle was old and starting to rust. I backed up again and swung my heel into the door knob, hoping to hit an aged weld point. With a loud snap, the handle popped off and the door swung inward. The room was pure whiteness, a drastic change from the eternal darkness that I had just endured for God knows how long. I brought my arm to my face to shield my eyes from the harsh glare, feeling the sweat on my brow as my arm came away from my face wet and sticky. My vision began to focus, and slowly I could see that windows surrounded me on three sides. The glare from the afternoon sun, which initially blinded me shedding light on the Shanghai horizon. Buildings and business stretched on as far as the eye could see. Life lived on. Normal. Unaware of the dark torture that lay in wait down the hall. I walked up to the window. I could see my own reflection in the glass panes. My hair was dirty and matted, my clothes, now scraps, were still soaked. From the torture or my own sweat I did not know. I saw the grime and dirt that covered my face. Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead, down the bridge of my nose, across the light band of freckles that were scattered there and down to the bow of my lips, were I could taste the salty liquid. I brushed my hand across my forehead to tame the wisps of hair that danced there. I met resistance. I looked at my reflection, nothing was there. Yet as I brushed my finger tips across my temple once again I felt something on my skin. The sound of the cocking of the hammer of a gun sounded as the cold tip of a pistol jammed itself into the back of my neck. “Another mistake, Miss Lenin.” The cold voice of my captor echoed in my ears. “Bring them in.” he added. Footsteps echoed behind me. I remained with my back to my captor, facing the mirrored windows. I kept focus on what I could hear behind me and searched the dark reflections in the window. Two people entered the room, one was definitely heavier than the other, followed by two men, of the same size weight. Their timing was the same measured step as my captor. My captor’s grip tightened on my arm as he wheeled me around to face the newcomers. My eyes widened in horror and shock. Before me knelt two more prisoners, a man and a women. Behind them two soldiers dressed in fatigues holding rifles stood at alert, ready for my captor’s next command. From the scorch marks and tattered clothing I could see the prisoner’s fate had been no kinder than my own. The woman’s face was one I had known well. From that fateful day on the playground when I pushed her in the wood chips eleven years ago, her face was engrained in my mind. Her eyes, an orange gold surrounded by a deep green, flashy as usual, burned in determination. I could see a particularly bad burn on her collarbone, still bleeding as it marred the caramel skin, an indication her Indian heritage. I was going to make them pay for harming my best friend. The man next to her coughed. My focus switched to him. Tavien, my partner was in just as bad shape as Masara next to him. His shirt was gone, and I could see a multitude of scorch burns from the electrocution and long open wounds slicing across his torso from his collar bone to his ribs. He lifted his head, meeting my gaze with his pale dead blue eyes. My heartbeat sped up in fear, I could feel the panic rising in my chest. “Sienna, my dear, I think its about time you divulged that location.” My captor hissed into my ear. I could feel his smirk on the side of my neck. “Bite me.” I replied, keeping my gaze upon my friends. “Oh, no that wont be necessary, my dear… Perhaps I can provide some motivation.” At the sign of some unseen cue, the soldiers aimed their guns at Masara’s back, and opened fire. Bullets pummeled into my best friends body, and she dropped face first to the ground in a pool of her own blood, slowly seeping into the pristine white floor. Someone was screaming, I could feel my body shaking, the cold metal of the gun pressing into the back of my neck, and the vice of my captor’s hand gripping my arm. Tavien’s dead stare focused on mine. The light in his eyes extinguished. He shut himself away from the world.

Let them. His message was clear. The location was more important. He no longer cared for his own life.

Neither do I. I twisted around and brought the elbow of my free arm to my captors ribcage. I screamed in rage and despair.

He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her…… Three gunshots rang out. Darkness. I could feel the cold wet floor on my face. I couldn’t move, or feel, or think. All I could do was listen as I drowned in a pool of blood. Drip….Drip…Drip…

I was home now. Safe at home. Under the blankets. Safe and dry. Safe and warm and dry. Masara found me. Found me in the warehouse. Hooked up to the wires, half alive, half dead. Hooked up to an IV. Blue cocktail. Blue, blue. Aqua blue like the ocean. Like the water. Cold. //She’s dead. He killed her. She’s dead. Couldn’t save her.// Dead… Dead…Dead. I was rocking, back and forth with my arms wrapped around my legs, as small, soft hands placed themselves on my wrists. On the scars there. “Sienna… The drug they used… It made you hallucinate. I‘m still here. You‘re ok… You‘re safe now, Sienna.” Masara put her hand under my chin and raised my face to look her in the eyes.

It made you hallucinate. Hallucinate. “Hallucinate….No… Not real…. You’re dead.” I whispered. “I’m real, Sienna. FX9 was used to make you experience things that weren’t there. I looked up the results from the experiments -before they were shut down. They found FX9 caused irreversible psychological damage. It was even found to erase entire portions of memory.” She took out a syringe full of blue liquid and pressed it into my arm. Drip….Drip….Drip….

Lord Tennyson

Morning snaked like blackened plume Horizon borne the did not end The crowd dragged on in solemn gloom Earthly bounds his soul transcend

Life lay crumpled against the darkened sky At his battles end, taken unawares Death triumphed in reigning cry As the procession gathered upon the stairs

Bleached granite tomb, eternally bound marched forth in golden autumn firelight Those pale dead lips would never sound His eased brow glimmered bright

Feathered wings doth did show Amber shadows feeding pyres burn There angelic beauty seemed to grow As Heaven waited in omnicient turn

With vagrant memories the spinners spun Silver shears snapping at first light Cutting tread of life undone Edged in their undead eyes, the future sight

Three in an endless crowd, they flowed The star like splendor then unvieled All voice ceased while Silence strode To altars edged where Time hath kneeled

Feathers rustled upon the rather A child's cry, a muffled sound A Stifled cough heard hereafter The living gathered for a life profound

And closed became the milky tomb Fates work again resumed To end the expanse of this mortal wound In darkness, forever, he rests consumed

Away from His house the crowd shoved Out again to daily chores Angelic light faded from above Rising away from these shores

And in her gothic interior Did his corpse lay Frozen in the shallow mirrored light Rested Lord Tennyson, night and day.