Disclaimer: I don't own KimPossible or any of its characters.

A Note from the Authoress:I had this ready to post on June7th for a very specific reason, but today is the firstday ffn's let me upload anything. This is a very long authoress' note, I know, but it's an important one to me, and might save a life, so please read. So the following note is dated June 7, 2005:

A Memorium:

Six months ago, on December 7, 2004, one of the greatest young minds passed away at the tender age of seventeen. His name was Kyle E. Jones and he was one of the greatest friends I've ever had in my entire life. He was intelligent (they sent his laptop to the FBI to crack all his locks on his files, to my knowledge they've still had no luck at all), kind and a savior to so many of us. Many of my friends wanted to kill themselves, one even found her way into the hospital because she cut so deep. He was there holding her hand, making her swear she'd never, ever do anything like that ever again. She'd found her best friend dead in a pool of her own blood a year prior. And on December 7th, halfway through first period, our school went on lockdown. Our calculus teacher informed us that something had happened in the upper parking lot by the South Building, so we weren't allowed outside the room. Our calculus class was extended by an hour that day, and no-one would tell us anything. Mostly juniors park in that lot, so my friends and I spent the entire class worrying about our friends. We thought it was a car accident. We were released to our second period class, and one of the freshmen in the class I assisted said her teacher had slipped and informed them that someone had died. There were rumors of suicide. We went to third period on time, and someone said the kid's name was Kyle. My friend and I immediately thought of our Kyle, but quickly pushed it aside, as it was a common name. A little into class, she was called out to the counselor's. I thought it was about her schedule. She did not return before lunch. I was petrified that it was my friend all lunch long, until finally, she came, in tears, and told me that one of our dearest friends had shot himself that morning. I won't say any more about that day and the days that followed; they were wrought with distress and terrible thoughts that I realized, Kyle would never approve of. He'd never told us that when we weren't around, he was teased because he was overweight, and didn't care about wearing stylish clothes, and loved his sideburns. No wonder he only told a few of us he was gay. But now I know. We made shirts that said "Got love? Words hurt the worst." And ya know what? It's true. And I have a mission for all of you still reading this; my friend, Annie, told us to do this at his funeral, and this is a great place to spread it and apply it. Everyday, I want you to compliment someone, tell them they're loved, comment on their shirt, ANYTHING. Even someone you don't know. It'll make a difference, and who knows? Maybe it'll keep someone from being trapped in the dark like Kyle was. Cos now I know: I can't bring him back, but I can change my life for him, and share it with him.

Kyle Jones, died December 7, 2004

I love you, Kyle.

And now for a real Author's Note: This story is progressing nicely, however, I've reached the infamous Hole In The Middle Of The Plot, and it's going to take a while for me to outline this middle section. It's a great deal of cutting out useless things, while keeping landmarks in the timeline and major character development. Not to mention, I'd like to write something else, maybe some one-shots, something from a darker fandom, outline the sequel ;) In other words, this story is going on hiatus. Not that I won't update at random intervals, but that this will only be written WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT :D. And the sequel's going to be frickin' cool. Creepy, but cool. Sensual and a lot darker, I'm sensing an M rating.

And a little note about the Interludes: They don't really fit in with the plot. One could say they're dreams, but they won't be referred to in the remainder of the story, except maybe in exposition, but that's just resonance. ;) Generally, they're based upon/inspired by/set to/done with some song. Not necessarily a songfic, but this one is, although it started as just an inspired by. Sometimes they're symbolic, sometimes they're foreshadowing, and sometimes they're set entirely AFTER the story (which I'll inform you of when that one comes about). This particular one is very . . . odd and sort of unnerving. Like most of them, it's written in a sort of fly-on-the-wall view-point with a rather cinematic feel. Also, this one foreshadows the remainder of this story and the general plotline of the sequel. Rather directly, too. And it's WEIRD and it might not make sense. But it WILL and that's the point. ;) The song 'Bury My Lovely' is by a wonderful band called October Project on their self-titled album. Highly recommended.

(No personal messages this time cos I wrote such a frickin' long note prior, but it was important to me.)


First Interlude: Bury My Lovely

Looking around, Kim realized she'd never been in this room before, and, with closer examination, that she'd never even seen this house before. She walked slowly, floorboards creaking under her weight, to the small, round window positioned just below the low ceiling there. She bent down to peer outside.

Cover the mirror,

Hide in your dreams,

Forget what they told you,

Forget what it means . . .

There she saw a car parked in the driveway, a modest little sedan, tin cans tied to the bumper, along with a handmade sign that read "JUST MARRIED" on the rear. She smiled upon realizing that the little car was the one Ron had begged his parents to let him have after Jim and Tim had confiscated his scooter for 'further modifications.' Beside it was a basketball hoop, wilting a bit, the rim a tad bent out of shape, but perfectly fit for a little game of one on one. As a matter of fact, a blonde and a redhead, both seemingly in their early twenties were currently engaged in a fierce competition of basketball, tackles, tickles, giggles and glomps. She smiled at them for a moment, before the redhead turned and looked up toward the attic window, apparently not seeing Kim watching her. Kim's mouth dropped slightly and her eyes widened. That face . . . she knew that face. It was undeniably her own. Of course, this Kim was older, terrible pain lying somewhere in her wiser eyes. Her hair was shorter, but still layered, leaving it longer than her mother's, and she seemed to have finally finished filling out in the past several years. The blonde turned, too, and, as Kim had expected upon coming to terms with the fact that she was watching her older self, smiling with the older Kim was an older Ron, matured greatly from his gawkish teenage years. His hair had finally managed to settle in its normal style without any strands sticking up in awkward places at equally awkward angles, and is freckles had faded, leaving only his smile to reflect his childish personality. He, too, had filled out; his shoulders broad and his muscles tight, obvious even through his trademark baggy clothing. The younger Kim grinned, remembering how everyone had seen Ron as such a wimp all through high school, and now . . . he was what every girl dreamed of. No, he'd always been, they'd just been too blind to see it . . . and so had she. She couldn't help but notice the matching bands on each of their wedding fingers.

A picture worth a thousand lies . . .

She turned from the window to inspect the remainder of her surroundings. It was dusty, naturally, but obviously having just been unpacked after their move in. Who ever heard of an attic being unpacked? But she quickly realized that in a few years she would understand why. She wandered over to a small table, recognizing it from her own attic, her parents', that is. Lying on top was an envelope marked "PROM PICTURES I". Curious, she lifted the flap and pulled out a short stack of photographs, featuring her and . . . Erik. She sighed slightly, then noticed that the entire top of the stack had a small tear at the top, fingerprints smudging Erik's face accordingly. I tried to . . . rip it in half . . . Smiling approvingly to herself, she replaced the photos and the envelope.

The mem'ry and the mirror,

Nothing but what came before,

Nothing but a closing door . . .

She wandered over to an antique vanity, tucked away in the corner, the large mirror trimmed with a fine scroll engraving on the wood. She peered into the looking glass, her reflection smiling back at her. She was about to continue on with her exploration of this attic, but before she turned away, another reflection materialized beside her own. Blonde hair, freckles and chocolate brown eyes beamed back at her. She turned, but Ron was not there, only his reflection. She gazed at the images for a moment. We look so happy . . . Their arms were around one another, her head tucked lovingly beneath his chin. But, before long, his image began to fade, leaving Kim's reflection, face contorted in grief, tears falling down her cheeks.

A picture worth a thousand lies,

A thousand words,

A thousand eyes . . .

She approached the mirror in several quick steps, confused and distressed. The sad Kim took on a look of determination, and two other figures joined hers.

Bury my lovely,

Hide in your room,

Bury my lovely,

Forget me soon,

Forget me . . .

Forget me now,

Forget me not . . .

The first was a woman in her early twenties with green eyes and hair that shone of black, brown, blonde and red cascading down her back. She was dressed entirely in black, a dagger hanging from her belt and a gun holstered at her side. A thin band graced her wedding finger and her pale skin shone against the dark void behind her. The other was a man, a few years older than the woman, with dark skin and hair that contrasted against his white clothing. He, too, holstered a gun, although it looked out of place with the simple gold cross that hung around his neck, and the worn Bible tucked beneath his arm.

Cover the madness,

Cover the fear,

No-one will ever

Know you were here . . .

She knew she recognized those faces, but at first she could not place where. But they did not threaten her. Somehow she knew they were friends, just somehow . . . The two forms smiled at the reflected Kim, each placing a hand on her shoulder. She could barely make it out, but she was certain the couple were clasping hands. And, as quickly as they'd come, they began to fade away. Rose . . .

A figure in the hallway light,

Returning like a ghost . . .

The image of Kim began to look weak and wavered, as if she were to fall, but before the dizziness overcame her, another image appeared, holding her tightly around the waist. It was Ron, ever faithful, ever dependable. The real Kim blinked several times, trying to make sense of it all. She knew it must be some sort of sign, some sort of warning given her in this dreamlike world. But fatigue began to greet her, and she settled to just watch as she and Ron began to age to the condition she'd just seen them in outside, playing basketball.

Something that was left behind,

Something in a child's mind . . .

A small child materialized between them, a little girl with long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She had Kim's beauty and Ron's wonderful, glowing smile. However, unlike her parents, she had more deeply tanned skin and a certain spark in those glowing green depths. One of Kim's hands was settled lovingly on the child's shoulder, the other covering Ron's, tenderly resting on her waist.

A picture worth a thousand lies,

A thousand words,

A thousand eyes . . .

Kim opened her mouth and reached toward the mirror, cautiously, wondering what secrets it kept locked within.

Bury my lovely,

Hide in your room,

Bury my lovely,

Forget me soon,

Forget me . . .

Forget me now,

Forget me not . . .

The image shifted, and above the child's head, Ron was pressing his lips against Kim's, holding her close. Their daughter was grimacing, covering her eyes to hide from her parents' romantic gestures.

Bury my lovely,

Bury the lies,

Bury me under

A thousand goodbyes . . .

Slowly, the girl began to pass out of view, followed by Kim herself, leaving Ron alone, his face in his hands, crying.

Kim stepped forward, her fingertips pressing against the glass. Ron's image shook and disappeared.

A shadow from another time,

Is waiting in the night,

Something happened long ago,

Something that will not let go . . .

Replacing their once happy family was the image of a woman in her late twenties, dark skin bared by the minimal amounts of black clothing that adorned her athletic body. Her long dark hair hung down the front of her face (where had she seen that face? Once more she found that something lingered in the back of her mind, just out of her reach), tucked behind one ear along with a delicate white flower. She grinned maliciously at Kim, one eyebrow arched menacingly. 'Vengeance,' she mouthed, baring sharp canines. Kim stared.

Bury my lovely,

Hide in your room,

Bury my lovely . . .

The woman faded away, an image of Kim and Ron replacing her. Ron held Kim so tightly, so fiercely, the real Kim felt weak at the knees, her stomach twisting painfully as she realized that she was dying. Not the physical Kim, but the one behind the glass . . . trembling as tears drifted down her face, mirroring Ron's.

Forget me soon,

Forget me . . .

Forget me now,

Forget me not . . .

Ron's arms were soon empty, holding a woman that was no longer there, crying in solitude. The image was so vivid, so real, Kim tried to call out to him, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came forth. She banged her fists against the mirror, causing the glass to shatter, cutting into the skin on her palms. She looked round for something to staunch the bleeding with, but soon, everything began to fade into darkness.


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