AN: This is a post-decommissioning story. Do not be deceived. It will not be what you expect.

Not a sequel to '29 Tries' (as in it does not have to have been read for this story to make sense) but can be read as an alternate epilogue. That is, the first 29 chapters of 29 Tries is tentatively considered past canon for this story.

A lot of you have been waiting for this! Unfortunately, there will be more of that. I can't say how often I will be able to update this story because it is nowhere near finished, so… I also don't know how long it will be but WE WILL GET THERE I PROMISE JUST HANG IN THERE FRIENDS

Disclaimer: KND is my forbidden fruit. I see, I am tempted, I can wax philosophic about it, but I cannot receive the sweet taste on my tongue without righteous retribution. Therefore, it can never be mine, and I will continue to admire it from afar on my lonely, much-abused keyboard.

Wild Birds

Chapter 1: The End

"Try this – close
your eyes.
No, wait, when – if – we see each other
again the first thing we should do is close our eyes – no,
first we should tie our hands to something
solid – bedpost, doorknob – otherwise they (wild birds)
might startle us
awake. Are we forgetting something?"

– Nick Flynn "forgetting something"

Kuki wakes up with the carpet on her face.

Well, no – that's not quite right, is it?

Kuki wakes up with her face on the carpet.

That's better. The thing with words is, as wonderful as they are to communicate, they are equally as prevalent in breeding misunderstanding.

Remember that. It's important.

Kuki picks herself up gingerly and rubs at her burnt cheek, regarding her bed as if it had decided to throw her out of it voluntarily. The pillow stands out like a flag of surrender against the mangled blankets.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast. Backpack.

The morning is grey and bulging with thick clouds that look as if they're slowly devouring the tops of the trees that flank the road to school. Kuki stops on the sidewalk to peer upwards at the sky and notices a dinky little treehouse she's never really seen before. It looks about a hundred years old, and there are streaks of faded paint on the side facing the street.

Kuki goes on her way and forgets.

AP Chemistry. Art. Economics. Lunch: cornbread and beans. French III. Study Hall: French quiz next week, look over the vocabulary. Anatomy. Pre-Calculus.

The walk home feels longer than normal. Kuki works on her homework until dinnertime, then she takes a shower, watches some TV, and crawls into bed. She's asleep almost immediately.

…

Eight hours later, the alarm clock goes off and Kuki peels herself from the floor.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast. Backpack.

Kuki's shadow is pale and the dull weather follows her all the way to school, and then all the way back.

…

Kuki reaches up from the floor to turn off the blaring alarm.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast. Backpack.

It always looks like it's about to rain, but it never does. Kuki supposes the clouds are being merciful - that treehouse the next street over would probably get so heavy and swollen with water that it would collapse on itself. It looks like it's falling apart already – obviously no one has cared for it in a long time.

…

Kuki never hits the snooze button and sits up on the floor at precisely 7am each morning.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast…

"Headaches again, Kuki? No more caffeine before bed!"

…Backpack.

The clouds look like they're moving today. Kuki's shadow is moving, too.

The guy next to her in Pre-Cal snores.

…

Kuki has taken to keeping her alarm clock on the rug for easier access.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast…

"The weather is awful," Kuki's mom comments on her way out the door. "Take an umbrella."

…Backpack. Umbrella.

It doesn't rain.

…

Kuki mistakes the alarm for something else in a dream. She wakes up reaching for something that isn't there.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast. Backpack.

The treehouse is looming and dark, but others on the sidewalk just clutch their dry umbrellas and stare at their shoes as if they can't even see it. Kuki rubs at her temple and pretends she's like everyone else.

…

It takes Kuki three tries to turn the alarm off and she tosses the clock under her bed in frusration. She's too old for Rainbow Monkeys, anyway.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Hair. Breakfast. Backpack.

Why would someone paint numbers on a treehouse? It doesn't make anything less grey.

…

The alarm doesn't go off the next morning. Kuki wakes up on the floor to the sound of the garbage truck.

Sweater. Leggings. Socks. Sneakers. Backpack.

She flashes out the door and across the empty driveway, giving up on the tangled knot of her hair.

The clouds are bulging and blot the sky with deep greys and blacks. It almost feels like nighttime.

Kuki sprints down the sidewalk, past the dilapidated, unloved treehouse, around the corner on Pleasant Union Avenue and into something that isn't supposed to be there. Pain shoots through Kuki's face. Her eyes snap shut with the force of it, closing up on the image of a person in a hood.

There is a grunt, the sound of someone falling, and a crack of thunder.

"Watch it, you cruddy-!"

Kuki's eyes snap back open.

The clouds burst, roar, and pour it all down.

AN: Let me know your thoughts about this mother! Before anyone asks, Kuki is a senior in high school at this point, so about 4-5 years have passed since her decommissioning. Old, I know. Reason why it's rated T; things will be coarser and more adult-y. Nothing too bad, no taxes or anything.

For questions about updates/progress/errors/etc, the most efficient way for me to see your question is to send me an ask via askthetoast on tumblr. I can't trick the doc format into letting me put a link here anymore, so the link is on my profile. It will be our information hub for this and future fics!