Just a Kiss:
Ross Dale Kelly

I sat at the table, thinking things through, as my own way seemed perfectly viable, other than the fact that it wasn’t really sticking to anything really ordinary. A wonderful girl was looking back at me, although I knew I couldn’t let her see my path during this interesting time in my life. Not knowing what to expect in this lifestyle, I told her to just give me a kiss and say that she would be mine.
I fainted, and stood up, out of body, seeing that she was already gone, not knowing that the kiss had sent me through such a drastic spell. I had to let her go, and in the crowded lunch hall, everyone saw, for dinner, me forget that which I wanted to protect in order to keep her safe within her own shoes. I wandered through the courtyard and dining hall with a seemingly understandable daze. Both she and I would have to wait before I could let her into my care.

She is a Spy:

We were looking for a sort of file which was written by the Sentinel Chief himself. No matter where I moved, sorting through the unknowns and making deductions as to the next best place to spread my search, she seemed to be either ahead. Looking in a better inferred place or deducing the same things which were product of all my concentration, frustration and effort, her search was more thorough.

If there was any genius in my action, she seemed to be so nonchalantly tossing equivalent theory into my greedy eyes. I was full of an envy which seemed to be slowly boiling and convicting into shapes of graphically humbling proportions. Her every action clouded my mind. My decisions became dually complex as I tried to induce her considerations, what she was considering and then I tried one upping the logic of my argument.

She seemed to put me to shame in a sort of way. She made me want to be better and smarter, but I weakly confided in a fantasy where she took care of me.

I was no use to her without my ability to think in a different way, to possibly stumble upon something which she could have overlooked due to pure conditioning. But looking at the face of the problem overtook me with worry and sensibility. The problem was too big for me to uncover without some sort of luck or guidance which could steer me toward the real answer. But I had no such guidance, and she seemed to be tearing through the problem faster than I could accurately decide on my own simple questions.

Separately we were creating two trails of diligent and steady work. Both were moving toward a valid answer. The temptation to take a steadfast glimpse of her working began to drift into my mind. I wanted to see an inference she would make, being free to only observe and study the decision, without going through the complexity of the thought which had to deduce the answer.

I began to slow my work, filled with a distraction to pursue this woman in her own search, and at least get an understanding of how she operated. She intimidated me, yet was so alluring.


I was scared of losing ground by steering my search in another direction, trying to pursue this woman, just to catch a glimpse of how she worked. But I was also scared of what I may lose by not experiencing her methods, and reexamining my own ways.


Her brilliant posture dragged the attention of the people who became convinced that some shadowed yet important deed was being conducted through this woman. She received honest responses, and quickly took and stored the truth, unobtrusively. I had the impulse to break into the conversation. I would have looked slightly detuned and separate within the company of her and her questioned subject. I would be able to only comment on the exchange of thoughts, adding nothing to the whole experience.

I became sickened uselessness. I had to stop all but my breath. How could I obtain such freely liberated fact from this world? It was an impossibility to be a service to her. I came undone as my inflictions on the world became meaningless to me.


Then she turned and addressed me, “So, you, there, seem to be well informed on this topic. What do you think Bill Riley had to do with the disappearance of Sander and his document?”

The last two weeks of though swirled in my head, graying into a very indefinite answer. “I think the documents made their way through the hands of a few very important people, without the need hold a bearer. The text could only be interpreted by select individuals whom would be able to direct it to its next destination.”

“Yes, I think that the problem with this Paper is that it only leaves distinct knowledge of its contents in certain places.” My head was spinning as I wondered how much she had been able to interpret from people with close to direct contact with the Document. I couldn’t seem to keep from divulging more than I knew already.

Her deep brown eyes looked through mine, then politely glanced away and scanned the trees and the bench along with my own. I couldn’t seem to get an idea as to her next thought or movement, as I stood slightly swaying, as the sun pulled at the warm air, calmly rising around us.

She leaned a little in my direction on her toes and smiled. “Have you been finding what you’ve been looking for today? It seems that you are searching for something.”

I leaned back in my stature, unsure where I would take my words. As I thought, a light pressure was forcing me to utter anything which could come to my lips collectively. She was so beautiful. Her posture and quiet articulated engagement in the situation showed an unbelievable strength and knowledge about her.

AIM me about my work: iTrillian

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