Welcome to Caillete Creatives! I’m Caille Rose and I strive to make my art and writing represent human thought. From dream to meme and everything in between; Caillete Creatives is where art and the mind combine!
Lost in Time - The Forgotten Sands
My lips were cracked, and the wind cut through me, biting into the exposed skin. The arid air filled my lungs with dust, and I opened my eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight. The silence was broken only by the howling of the wind. The wind tore through me, leaving papercut-like scars on my exposed skin. I stood up slowly. My body ached, my scorched skin stiffened against the sudden motion. How did I get here?
Third Person singular (Present Tense) On a cold January night, a man sits hidden away in an abandoned doorway. He rests on a dirty old sleeping bag, years of use had left it torn in several places, looking nearly as war torn as its owner. He wears an ancient jacket, underneath which he wears several layers of clothing he’d scraped together, his skin is worn from years of exposure to the elements. One leg rests limply beside the other, he’d lost feeling in it years ago from a stray bullet. He was so important back then, now no longer able bodied he’s been forgotten like a child’s toy. The wind blows and he pulls the sleeping bag and coat tighter to him, tonight is a frigid night. He closes his eyes once more and pictures the scenes of his life, remembering warm summer days long ago, remembering his wife, this is what allows him to fight through the night.
Birthday Cake – Short Story Caille Rose Introduction: Why is this story Important? Due to the sensitive nature of this short story, I feel an introduction is necessary. This story serves to tackle a complicated issue. High functioning and hidden eating disorders. Eating disorders have long been in the public eye, dramatized to sell tickets and views. Everyone knows the story of the anorexic girl, Hollywood brand of course; it has been written a thousand times over.
You slip into the crowded lecture hall and take a seat toward the back. You look to the clock on the wall to check the time. Perfect. As you had intended, you’ve arrived fashionably late. This course was incredibly boring, and the professor counted attendance through the end of class quiz. You’d figured out weeks ago that the quizzes were on the previous weeks content and all the previous weeks materials including lecture recordings were posted to the course’s website. Now you show up toward the end of class with the quiz material adequately studied and get to avoid most of the boredom that is learning physics in a crowded lecture hall. You’d tried in the beginning of the semester to come to lecture and pay attention, but it was difficult to follow the professor’s words in such a crowded room. It was much easier to learn the material at home where the distractions are minimal. Unfortunately, this left you at a disadvantage on some of the extra credit questions and if the professor called on you to answer a question it was an issue, sort of. Most of the class couldn’t hear you speak across such a massive space anyway.
The First Publication
Part One: The End of Perfecting Finally, I’d been wanting to do this for such a long time. It sounds strange but I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. I only have a limited memory of my childhood so maybe that’s why, but it’s always been a pass time of mine. I’ve always read and wrote in cycles, reading half of a book I’d found then beginning to write my own, or continuing a previous work. At the time I reached High School I had completed two full manuscripts. I never published them of course and they are gone now, but that’s a thought for another time. Right now, I need to put the finishing touches on my latest manuscript. While I adjusted the words on the cover to the placement, I wanted I thought about how I’d gotten here. Like I said, my previous manuscripts are gone now but, this manuscript contains some poetry that survived that loss hidden in a notebook from way back in middle school. I did the math in my head, that was eight years ago. I’ve of course broken down, edited, and re-written them so many times saying they are the same poem as they were way back when is a bit of a white lie; none the less I’ve finally done it. I’ve completed a book of sorts and I’m going to publish.
Night Terror Part 1
Night Terror This world of pain and sorrow wasn’t what she’d hoped for. The sadness she felt since the loss of her sister cut so deep no breath would come from her aching lungs. The tears of grief that used to flow so freely would no longer come, her eyes had become the window to her soul, a barren desert, a land without relief. She turned her aching eyes to the screen in front of her, the ancient newscaster's words seared into her mind, “The virus is currently known as ‘Night terror’ is infecting the citizens of Uz. This virus is incredibly dangerous and appears to be spreading rapidly. While it is unknown how this virus spreads citizens are urged to proceed with caution. Early symptoms include insomnia, hyperactivity, and extreme hunger. As the virus progresses the infected individuals begin hallucinating, these hallucinations often include strange magical creatures and the individuals may become violent if approached during an episode. Family and friends are urged to contact authorities and medical personnel if they notice someone exhibiting these symptoms. There is currently no known cure.”