Five Questions with : Kossettes Novellettes ( teeth )

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
An interview with a writer : Kossettes Novellettes

Submitted: June 15, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 15, 2017






 A(scending) ( Solace )

Our teeth were rattling. Chattering from the small movements of our skeletal muscles twitching under the skin;  not from the cold air rattling the windows from the outside, but from the slow vibration of the twin engines trying to gain a safe altitude for our jump. Our radio, static.

The fear in our eyes as we exchanged ocular courage had a different name now, its definition was an invitation for a thrillful death, unwelcome but not turned away. Our eyes were too open for such things now;  here, 13 thousand feet over the chaos below. An untamed fire had made it's way across the vast landscape now below us; a slow death crawl of the devils dancing tongue.

The pilot wanted one last drop before his inevitable rise into the outer atmosphere, he was our Daedalus. He knew the world was collapsing in on itself, and had agreed to bring us up with him, so that we may fly one last time. Hover. He let us borrow his wings and would continue his journey upward after our fall. Pride comes before the fall, our enemy was ignorance. And we were about to spar.

"Koss let's take our mind off things. The city is burning below and I see storm clouds moving in." The windows rattle and rain drops commit the suicidal act of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"The wild is ablaze and," suddenly an echoing boom from the thunderheads rolling in as the plane elevates." And, since the lament of the unsatisfied has caused such friction that a spark has ignited and the world is now on fire, let me know something," electric neon signs explode in the darkness as we are shrouded in a blanket of violence.

He adjusts his harness and checks his watch. He rips it off and steps on it, I can barely hear the glass of the watches face crunch under his boot. No more tickety tick, just us, to talkety, talk. 

"Before we jump, I am curious,"

Question 1 : Who, if such a person exists, is the reason, the inspiration or motivation for creativity?

Inspiration...The world around us.

The constant monotony of my everyday life is what inspires me.I try best to capture the normality of life, in the best way possible and, dramatize it of course, whenever I write a story.

The fallout of losing a job, the fatal break of a bored man on his last leg in a stifling marriage. And..a particular story I want to write one day.

Life is a giant grid of connected causes and results; affects. Every tiny moment being connected to one another and I try to explore that.

( Though I tend to focus on the sad moments, rather than the happy ones. )

 The pilot waves to us without turning his focus on the heavens, motioning to open the side door. The wind howls with such ferocity it shakes the interior of the plane, like the muscles under our skin that make our teeth dance.

Question 2 ; What is your favorite word and why ?

Well, jeeves, that is a toughy. I have been told I drop a lot of F bombs. Also, the scream people make when I peel their flesh off with a potato peeler,,,that sound ..he gives a chuckle.

 'It's now or never,' Pilot Daedalus's voice is muffled through our radio headsets. We step to the edge, Hell is pulling at us, out and forward, Heaven won't lose its grip, the planes interior vacuum holding us in limbo. We jump....out of sight and into the lowlight of the clouds casting shadows in the void. Crackling veins of electricity shooting down from the cumulonimbus.

De(scending)  ( Halo )

 Through our two way radio headset I can hear his syncopated breathing. I match in time. We were living breathing F bombs, being dropped from on high. We float for awhile, uncomfortably before regaining some resemblance of balance. The thunder is so loud we no longer hear it, only feel it.  

As the ground races up to meet us, we watch as smoky ashes and wisps of cutlery like flames reach up like a thousand burning fingers waiting for us to fall into their pull. Melting teeth.

I continue the talkety talk,

Question 3 : When did you first start writing, do you still have the first story you wrote, whether loving it or hating it, which drove you to write more?

 Well, only M'Lady storm can ever know the true age of when I first began writing. But, I was very young, probably around elementary school. He looks off into the distance longingly, My first story is gone now, it's been like 15 years. My drive to write? I've always just done it. I read a lot as a child and just kind of picked up writing from school and loved it. It's one of the few things that hold my attention from boredom.

 Our visibility improved as we fell, 1 thousand feet at a time it seemed; the pilot now long gone, disappearing into the updraft. He went in search of his feathered son and somehow we were blessed enough to be given the wings he had perfected, to guide us down. The wax would not melt this time.

"This reminds me, Kossettes, let me ask you," 

 Question 4 : Where is the scariest place you have ever been and have you ever gone back there to see if's still as scary as you remember it?

I'm not easily scared, surprisingly. But, I would have to say : a Nightmare. I have this recurring dream where I'm walking through a forest and I always come across this woman. She gets me each time. And, each time she sings this song and screams at the end before she attacks. Every time time I dream this, it gets more and more warped. Difference is, brutal scenes flash as I run or, before I enter the forest. The innocent tortured, bloody brutal scenes. She is always singing the same song at the end, to the point where I remember it by heart. Each time, I always wake up after she catches me. It's one of the few nightmares I have that actually scare me.

 We dangle in the air like marionettes being taught to walk for the first time. Our walk becomes a dance. The wild, still burning below, fills our lungs with the heat of a crematorium.

If our wings were our words, then our words would be flailing limbs in a waterless pool of freedom . Drowning in the air, drowning in the fire. Breathing new life. Breathing new desire.

 Question 5 : Why do you write and if you didn't write, what do you suppose you would do as an outlet for your creativity ?

I wish I had a better answer for this first part but honestly I write because it's the only thing that motivates me in life, even my pursuit of dentistry is 30 % because I want a career where I won't have to put a monetary focus on writing.

I used to box in high school and even moved to mixed martial arts before I stopped to go to college for an English major, minoring in creative writing. If I hadn't kept writing I would probably still be fighting.

 Re(ascending)  ( Amends )

 After the fall, we fell once more, into the fire.

Jumped into the chaos of the burning world below, doing what we desired.

Lifted back up, not even violent electric clouds would be our pyre,

Out of the ashes, a phoneix,

 swooping wings that silence the deafening screams,

lifting and raising the sky upward.


 Until we meet again Kossettes,

( blessed )







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