It was dawn in the Danakil desert. The sun rose above Erta Ale. Most people thought it was unwise to build a space aircraft launching facility near an active volcano, but other than the volcano the location was perfect. The landscape was mostly flat, and there was only a small local population because it was near an active volcano. The wild life weren’t a problem either. The Ostriches, Gazelles, and African Wild Asses lived as if the space center wasn’t even there.Though still this would be the last launch at Dr. Legesse Wotrou Space Center,due to fears of geological activity. Dr. Menelik watched a herd of gazelle graze from a window on the top floor of the space station. About a kilometer across the arid landscape stood the launch tower with the space shuttle loaded in. He looked on the TV covered walls of his office, and saw the happenings in the control rooms, launch tower, and astronaut quarters. Everyone was scrambling around making sure all was set for the launch. No one was walking in leisure. Everyone had a job to do. This is what they had been working up to for years. This is the day they would see the fruits of their labor.There was a knock at the door. “Come in” said Dr. Menelik. Two men walked in both carrying suitcases. “Mr. Engel” Dr. Menelik said smiling. “To what do I owe the honor?”“I just need you to sign some papers” Mr. Engel said opening his briefcase. “They’re just standard legal documents stating that you authorized the launch of the shuttle. This one says that you authorize the Selassie to began its mission.” He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and bent down to sign the papers.“Do I put the date of the Ge'ez calendar?” asked Dr. Menelik.“No just use the western calendar” Mr. Engel said nonchalantly. He wrote May 24 2085 on the paper. He looked at the other man in the room who was looking at the TV’s.“Who is this man that has accompanied you?” asked Dr. Menelik.“My name is Paul Tonui” said the man. “I ask you not to sign the papers just yet.” “Why not?” asked Dr. Menelik.“I was sent by some of the concerned members of parliament” said Paul Tonui. “Concerned about what?” asked Dr. Menelik.“Well, you see more than two trillion birr has been spent on this project to this date. That is more than six million over your allotted budget.”“Yes this is a costly venture” said Dr. Menelik. “Though I’m surprised that we are not more over budget than we already are. The budget parliament gave us was no where near enough, though we are grateful for what they have given us. They will see that this is a great investment in the long run.”“ The money could have been used for a more practical investment” Paul said. “Schools need to be built, research must be done, debts must be paid. Necessities must be taken care of first before we can invest in such luxuries as space colonization.”“Necessities” said Dr. Menelik chuckling. “By the way things are looking on this planet now space exploration should be at the top of Parliaments agenda. Polar ice caps are melting at an alarming rate. Eritrea is losing an average of fifty miles of land a year to the ocean. Within two decades the ocean will have reached Ethiopia. Half of Europe and the Americas are already in space because they know what is coming.”“But doctor that is not the point” Paul interrupted. “ The concerned members just believe the space program is moving to fast. Ethiopia is the first country on the continent to go to space and, build a space station. We are about to conduct a mission that the most powerful nations have only started attempting. They just believe that what you are doing is a bit too radical for….“For what” interrupted Dr. Menelik. “ For Ethiopia. It is sad that the same men who lead this country bound her with their doubt. The same men who weaken her with their corruption and greed. How dare they try to stop me when I try to bring hope to the people, and dreams of the future to the children. If giving hope to them is too radical. Then call me Dr. Radical.”“ Doctor I assure you that is not there intention” said Paul. “ They want only what is best for the people of Ethiopia. In wanting the best for the people of Ethiopia they believe it is their duty to intervene. They told me to tell you this only if you were not willing to change the direction of the space program. They are threatening to call for your resignation.”Dr. Menelik chuckled. “call for my resignation will they” he said grinning. “ Tell them to go ahead. But tell them to remember, I received my bachelors of science degree from Addis Abba University in astrophysics. My masters for NC A&T State university. My Doctorate from UCLA. Came back to Ethiopia became a tenured professor in astrophysics. I headed the department for the last five years. I have served as president of the Ethiopian Space Society. I have published multiple articles in scientific journals. I have conducted experiments on the international space station and on the moon station. I have been to space nine times. So tell them go ahead and fire me. Tell them good luck finding someone more qualified than me for the job. There is no such man in Ethiopia or even in the world perhaps.”The room went silent for a moment. “ Very well then” said Paul. “But please remember doctor that these are not my views or opinions, and that I am rooting for you.” With out another word he turned around and walked out the door.“Now where were we” said Dr. Menelik.“Signing the papers” said Engel. Dr. Menelik signed the papers.“Will that be all” he said handing the documents to Engel.“Yes” said Engel turning to walk out the door. “ But do remember that if the mission is not a success it could mean the end of your career and the end of the space program.” Engel closed the door.Dr. Menelik went behind his desk and sat down in his brown leather chair. He looked through the window at the spacecraft. Then he looked at the digital timer on the wall with a sign above that read time till launch. “10:35” the timer read. This mission must be a success he thought to himself. The people of Ethiopia depend on it.***The astronaut quarters was a windowless room. It had plane white walls with a white tiled floor and ceiling. There were a few lockers and a bench. It had no aesthetic function at all. You would have thought the room was useless if you had somehow managed to overlook the men in spacesuits.There were five of them sitting on the one bench in the room. Four sat motionless and quiet, while the other sat quivering. Everyone ignored him for a time until the one at the far left broke the silence. “Bekele what’s your problem?”“Nothing” said Bekele. “ I always get a bit nervous before a launch.”“ Well could you stop.” said the man at the far left. “You being nervous is making me nervous. This is only my first time going up.”“What” said the man second from the right. “you’ve never been up before and they’ve got you on this mission. You don’t know what the first five minutes will be like and you’re going to be up there for more than a month. You won’t last.”“ lay off him Mariam.” said the man second from the left. “ You heard him its his first time.”“Well if the boy cant handle this” said Mariam chuckling. “He certainly won’t be able to handle what goes on up there.”“Would you all just shut up!” the man in the center said obviously agitated. “Yes captain” the men said in unison. “ I can tell by your childish blabbering that none of you understand the magnitude of this mission. We are doing something that no nation has ever done before. We are going to a planet we only think exist and has god only knows what on it. And for your information Mariam I brought Ahmed on bored because he has skills in navigation and geography that are of a far greater value than yours on this mission.”The room was quiet. Not a word was spoken for what seemed to be an eternity. Then the door to the room swung open. Three men walked into the room.“Gentlemen its time” one of the men said. The astronauts picked up their helmets and stood up. “follow me” the man said walking out the door. They did as they were told and followed the man through the doorway. The other two men followed behind them and closed the door. They marched down the corridor. The only noise was the sound of their boots hitting the tile floor. They came to a door. The man turned around. “Gentlemen enjoy your fame while you are at earth.” He pushed the door open and a wave of camera flashes came rushing through the doorway. A legion of reporters stood lining the walkway to the next door. They weren’t asking questions just taking pictures. The party made its way through the parted sea of reporters. All was silent except for the sounds of cameras. They reached the next door and walked out. They stepped outside the building.The vehicle that would take them to space penetrated the sky like some space themed skyscraper. They walked toward it. “Get a good look men” said the captain. “This going to be the last time you see earth for a while.”“Or the last time we see it at all” said Mariam staring at Ahmed.When they reached the launch tower they all packed into an elevator and headed upwards. The space center came into full view as they ascended the tower. They saw the top of the building they had just exited and other launch towers without shuttles in them. They saw people and gazelles which were hard to tell apart at that height.The elevator stopped. The doors opened. They walked onto the platform. They looked out at the landscape in amazement. The people looked no bigger than dots. They felt as high as the mountains. On the platform there were five men waiting for them at the door of the shuttle. They walked towards them. They ushered them into the space shuttle. “Godspeed” said the men that had ushered them to the shuttle as he and the other two walked back to the elevator.The astronauts and the other men climbed into the cockpit. The captain sat in the pilots seat while the others sat in the other vacant seats. The other men began to strap them in. Once they were in the men wished them good luck and exited the shuttle. The count down timer read “50” and decreased by the second.“This is mission control” said a voice over the radio. “Countdown is in forty seconds, are all systems go”.“All systems are go” said the Captain. “The crew is ready.”“Excellent” said the voice from mission control. “ Lift of in twenty-five seconds, run your final check captain.” The captain flipped a few switches and pressed a few buttons.“All systems are go mission control” said the captain.“ nineteen eighteen seventeen” said mission control counting down. The captain began pressing some more buttons. “fifteen, fourteen, thirteen”. The captain pressed another button, the shuttle began to shake. “Ten, nine, eight”. the copilot pressed several more buttons. “Seven, six, five”. the captain flipped a switch activating the after burners, a loud roar came from the bottom of the launch tower. “Four three”. The shuttle began to shake. “Two one!”. All five men were pushed back into their seats by the force as the shuttle rocketed upward.“ Erta Ale” the captain said into the radio. “We have lift off.” Cheers could be heard on the radio from the control room. The captain held his hand over a switch. “Releasing auxiliary rocket boosters in five, four, three, two, one” he said into the radio. He flipped the switch. The two rocket boosters detached themselves from the shuttle, and went hurdling back to earth. The huge orange fuel tank soon followed suit.“Detachment was a success” said the voice from mission control. “ Stand by to enter orbit.”“Standing by” said the captain. The cockpit was quiet as it rocketed upward to the heavens. Everyone was calm except for Ahmed, who was griping his armrest as if it held the key to his survival.“ You think this is bad” Mariam managed to say chuckling. “Just wait until you get on the actual ship.” Ahmed acted as if he wasn’t there. As if his words blended in with the roars of the rockets.Time went on, and the spaceship rocketed upwards to the cosmos. The blue sky turned darker as the shuttle exited earths atmosphere. The ship rattled as if some great invisible force had taken hold of it. It seemed as if the shaking would never end. Then the shaking slowly subsided.“Powering down thrusters” the captain said flipping some switches. The thrusters went quiet. An eerie silence. The men began to unbuckle themselves from their seats. After they did so they glided to one of the windows. They sat there and stared. It wasn’t often that they got to see earth in such a way. Ahmed was the most amazed, his mouth hung wide open. It was his first time seeing earth like this. It was like a giant green, white, and blue marble.“Were moving out” the captain said floating to the pilots seat. “All systems are. What the hell!” the captain said looking out the window. The crew members rushed to the front window. They grinned. A soccer ball went floating past their front window as if it was the most natural thing in the universe.“Captain ,is all well” the voice from the space center said worried.“Yes, all is well” the captain said watching the ball as it glided toward earth. “Mission control” he continued. “What can you tell me about a soccer balls floating through space.”“What!” the voice from mission control said almost laughing.“Just forget it” said the captain. The soccer ball floated slowly towards the earth. The soccer ball began to go through the atmosphere like it was a meteor. It began to turn red until it burst into flames.The crew just stood there staring at the place where the soccer ball had once been. They stood puzzled by the occurrence that could only be explained by something that they had not seen yet.“Lets move out” the captain said sitting in the pilots seat. The puzzled crew went into the body of the shuttle to make sure all was well from the launch. The captain turned a few knobs, and pressed a few buttons. The shuttles rockets ignited, and it began to move forward.For about twenty minutes the shuttle coasted quietly through space. All that could be seen was the infinity of space.“Why are we launching the ship from the Ethiopian space station? asked Bekele.“Because the national space station doesn’t have the capability to launch a space ship of the size for a mission of this caliber. as the United Nations space station” the captain replied. “I think I see the station up ahead” he said pointing to what looked like a dot.
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This was an article I originally wrote for Christian Fiction Factor but it has some good points that fit spec-fic writers also.The Uses and Misuses of Inspiration.Carole McDonnell“The Lord gave me this idea.”How often I’ve heard a new writer say this? Often, this sentence preceded great stories. But just as often it introduced writings that were so half-baked I found myself searching for a tactful way to say “Please don’t blame the Lord for this.”Don’t get me wrong. I believe that God is an everflowing font of creative ideas. When I find myself stumped in the middle of a story, I will often –very often– shout out, “Father, help!” Then, taking it on faith that He has indeed helped, I resume writing with the confident hope that the new God-given idea will emerge. Sooner or later, it does. Either the idea comes gently as I sit at my computer, or it rides on a very apt coincidence, or it floods in on a creative torrent as I lie in bed at night. (Always remember to keep that notebook on your beside table!)As Creations of God, in whose image we are made, we cannot help but create. But God is an Author as well as a Finisher. He plants seeds, nurtures seedlings, sends water and sunshine, until the tree has grown sturdy enough to attract all kinds of birds to its branches. Unfortunately, the writings of many Christians seemed stunted, like perpetual seedlings. Quite often the seed needed better soil in which to grow, a soil mulched with technique and watered in discipline and mindfulness. But many Christian writers are such believers in the idea of Inspiration they think that if God has given them an idea, there is nothing more for them to do than to simply write the story. But writing is difficult, and many internal and external obstacles work against this idea of “divine inspiration.”From within the writer (affectations, unconscious mimicry, the refusal to touch an idea that “God has given,” lack of research) and without (publishing company guidelines, denominational requirements) come obstacles common to all writers. But the “divine inspiration” flaw is especially hard for a new Christian writer to shake. As a published fiction writer who critiques and reviews fellow writers, I have seen too many stories that fail because of the writers’ attachment to divine inspirationThey usually fall into one or several of these categories:The tendency to slavishly imitate a parable:Bible sermons, parables have much in common with novels, such as themes, characters, and conflicts. But while sermons and parables often preach to the choir, novels reflect a journey in which the soul and spirit of a writer argue against each other. Parables aim to teach one simple profound truth, a truth the hearer probably already knows. I’ve used the parable of the seed, for instance, throughout much of this article. There is nothing wrong with an old motif or idea.Parables, cliches and old motifs are perennial because they have power. Throughout literary history, great stories such as Steinbeck’s East of Eden have been written using the Cain-Abel or prodigal son motif. But consider that East of Eden does not slavishly mimic either the Bible story or the parable. Instead, complications abound in the characters, setting, and situations. The reader sees events through Cal’s point of view, thus reflecting the author’s own inner questions --attraction and repulsion– about the character of Cain. The novel’s emotional resolutions satisfy the reader because the ending seems valid and thoroughly examined; in addition, all the characters were loved and all were imperfect. Many a new Christian writer, however, fail because they rigidly refuse to depart from some minor aspect of a parable because “that’s not the way the story is told in the Bible.” When a writer says, “God was on Abel’s side,” she is blocking her own creativity.Banal storiesThe old adage states, “write what you know.” One of the staples of the Christian publishing world is the prodigal “return to self/home” story. Slice-of-life stories are hard to write, because they are about what everyone knows: everyday life and home. Life is full of wondrous moments crafted by a loving and Invisible hand. In the same way, a slice-of-life story must fulfill its creative purpose while adding conflict that entertains or enlightens the reader. A writer has to understand if the scene she’s describing is a burning bush, a dying fig tree, a stone of stumbling or if she is writing something that doesn’t resonate at all. Is the scene an episodic little event full of cute home-spun small talk that is simply taking up space? Is the author willing to change or delete the scene or will she argue that “God wants me to write it in exactly the way it happens”? It is amazing how much “truth” can be told even if the facts are changed. Another problem with slice-of-life stories is that they are conversion stories. A conversion story is notoriously hard to write. Imagine a successful worldly character returning home. She feels vaguely empty and rootless. At last, the homecoming to good kind-hearted and holy Grandma brings about a return to old-fashioned values, and the character comes to herself. These stories are always satisfying if done well, but what if they are not? And what if, once again, that old idea of “divine inspiration” has once again caused an obstacle?Stories that are simply unreal.While it is good to show the goodness of God and His people, many Christian writers rely too much on the sentimental, the melodramatic or the miraculous. This leads to over-emotional run-of-the-mill storylines, too-obvious allegories, black and white characterizations, simplistic conflicts, and Deus ex Machinas. Yes, praying patient Grannies often kneel before their homemade altars to pray for missing prodigals only to rise minutes later with new (miraculous) information – perhaps an address in another town where the prodigal lies in a drunken stupor-- but when I saw this scenario in a manuscript I recently critiqued, I knew I was in for a book of unreal, extremely perfect, godly characters ...and divine quick fixes. I was not disappointed. After the third miraculous escape, and the author’s declaration that “God does this kind of stuff all the time,” I realized the author did not care about the rules of fiction.Affectations and emotional entanglements:Another problem with this notion of Divine inspiration are stories written by people who are too emotionally or psychologically entwined with their works. These stories fall into four categories; speculative fiction which the writer truly believes to be prophetic, stories too imitative of the King James Bible, writings that aim to speak a new truth, and lastly, memoirs written by those who have endured profound sorrow. These are some of the hardest seeds to bring to fruition. Why? Not because God didn’t give the seed of these writings, but because the writer’s ego depends on getting the work done in exactly the way she has written it. As Christians, we don’t need to be told that we have problems with our carnal nature. We are humans and want to show others how poetic, wise, and wounded we are. But tried-and-true modern techniques exist to improve a story, and it is the story that matters, not the writer. This is especially true when a writing project is a memoir. Christians are always reading spiritual memoirs, parables, and miracle stories. We cannot help but be affected by what we read but we must be aware that the styles of these works can adversely affect our own stories. The writing styles of these books often are not like those of books in the marketplace. Aspiring authors don’t see the obvious: the Christian memoir they are reading was either self-published, written by a famous Christian personality, written years ago in a fashion that is now outdated, or was about an event that affected not only the writer but a large number of people. Sad but true, most people –even Christians– don’t want to hear about us, and they don’t want to hear our justification of our lives...not until we are famous. This does not mean the story should not be told or that the idea to write a book was not God-given. It does mean, however, that much watering and careful planting is needed.Lack of Research:Another problem in which divine inspiration butts up against reality -or is it realities?– is in historical fiction. The writer who chooses to write historical fiction has chosen a hard path. She must understand that cultures, ancient and modern, need to be researched and understood. Research is not easy and cannot be done with only a few clicks on the internet. A writer must immerse herself in that other world until she understands it. Style of dress, currency, names, architecture, geography, tribal laws and etiquette, governmental hierarchy are just a few aspects of culture that much be explored. This is especially important if the heroine is a passionate fiery feminist type. I once was asked to critique a story in which the main characters took a boat from Galilee to Rome. On their arrival, they gave an innkeeper a few “coins” to rent a horse, and then sat down to look at the menu. The story lost me when these Jewish main characters sat down to eat non-kosher food. With unwashed hands, no less. To say nothing about the unnamed coins, the “menu,” the fact that one of them was a woman traveling alone, and the horse rental. The story might have been half-way good (okay, maybe not) if the author had done something to root the story in a well-researched world.These problems are not uniquely Christian. Yet, in my experience, I’ve seen that many Christians begin to build a tower of works without first examining their building materials. They often use spiritual justification for not doing the hard work of writing. They will often say, “God will teach me to write.” True, God does teach us to write, but since He is a God of love he often leads us to an interdependence on other people. No man, John Donne puts it, is an island. Self-reliance or trusting only the Holy Spirit often are excuses used to avoid learning.Inspired or not, we must do our part. Although God loves humanity and has saved it by the blood of his Son, I am not truly saved unless I meet God’s gracious act with my act of faith. In the same way, an inspirational idea is graciously given to us but we are to water it and plant it in good soil. A successful Christian writer knows that hard work and inspiration go together. If a writer is inspired to write a story, she should do historical research, learn all the aspects of her craft, free her story from the burden of validating her life, study the denominational statements of magazine publishers, and work within publishers’ guidelines. Then if her idea is truly a divine inspiration, God will give her the ability to use it in a form and genre acceptable to the publishing world. Instead of using only half-baked stories, let us study to show ourselves as good workmen, fashioning the clay with as much care as the Universal Potter does.
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Hey dolls and guys: I decided to try my hand at erotic poetry with kind of sci-fi flavor and I wanted critques and comments from a group of writers I really respect. Be kind ya'll (smile) I ain't leaving it up for long lol, trust.Blue Light(for Q)Let your tonguefingers open mygardenwhat you find thereis yourstaste my blackberriesnibble my datetheir sweetnessis unparalleledjuicy enoughto satisfy your cravingand quench your thirstI surrender…my mouthhandsopen your gardenwhat I find thereis mineripe plumsto savorpapaya aplentyto feed my hungerlarge enough to mountas we ride intoEros's realmrocked by wavescradled in cries, whisperslong and deepthrough moist cavernsdark snug tunnelswet sugared valleysbetween caramel vinesJourney with me‘neath the blue lightof my dreamsamid sunset/sunriseWhat we'll find thereis oursCopyright 2008 Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson all rights reservedThanks one and all for your support!!!
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Hi all...just wanted to collect emails in preparation for the launch of my debut novel, Taste and my small press's website Blaqmermaid Press. Please message me your email addresses so that I can add you to my mailing list. Along with the novel, I will be running contests/giveaways, and conducting creative writing and self-publishing seminars! Feel free to poke your head around www.blaqmermaidpress.com which will be completed within the coming days. Thanks for your support!B. Sharise
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Gary stood at the starting line of the 400 meter dash event of the intergalactic games. On the staggered starting line ready to race him were some of the greatest athletes in the universe. This among other variables had him wondering what the hell he was doing there.In the other lanes stood other beings that differed greatly than those Gary had been accustomed to on earth. First there was a Tigon in the first lane. The mere size of the Tigon intimidated Gary. Tigons were extremely strong creature each having six legs which they also utilized as their arms. Gary was sure the Tigons would win the throwing events, hell they worked out with barbells the size of Gary’s house on earth.In the second lane to Gary’s left was the runner from Isisia. The Isisians were extremely tall by human standards. The Isisians usually stood at a height of seven feet five inches most of their great height coming from their extremely long and skinny legs. This particular Isisian was above average. He stood around seven foot seven and his legs were extremely muscular compared to many other of the Isisians that Gary had noticed at the games.All though things seemed as if Gary couldn’t get at any more of an disadvantage the thing that troubled him the most was in the lane to his right. There were three other creatures to his right. But only one posed any competition. It was not another creature with a great inhuman physical advantage over him as a matter of fact he was not even from another planet. It was Gary’s teammate from earth. His name was Octavius. Octavius was a six foot even muscular onyx skinned running machine. It was he who had won the gold medal at the last Olympics. Gary remembered it vividly, Octavius`s five seconds in front of him. Gary not being close enough to even grab one of Octavius`s locks that flowed gracefully behind him as he ran across the finish line.Since Gary had come in second he had earned a spot on the earth’s intergalactic team. He was amazed that he had made it this far. Hell he was amazed that he was able to run in college. In 3019 A.D. Gary had received a track scholarship to the University of Oregon. But before those years at the university Gary had not shown any potential in track in his early years of high school. It was not because he wasn’t fast enough it was because of what he was allergic to. Steroids were legalized in all athletic competitions in 2311 A.D. by the world athletic association so that the human species would have a chance against the more physically evolved creatures from other planets which earth had come in contact with in the last century. Gary attempted to use steroids during his freshman year of high school but soon found out he was allergic to them when his throat closed up and he had to be rushed to the hospital. Yet he kept at it staying on the track till 11 pm on some nights trying to get his times down. On his senior year he managed to earn all-state honors which led to the scholarship.Even in college he had to go above and beyond just to reach minimum standards athletically and even academically. He had never done well in school. His grades in high school had almost kept him from going to the university but he pulled them up enough to be admitted. Even in college he had to work at extremely hard and was able to pull out a few B`s even a few A`s. In collegiate levels steroids were used even more frequently than in high school so Gary had to put in extra effort to be better than his steroid injected competition. He ran his way up the track and field ranks until he found his self were he is now.Gary stood at the starting line holding his cross necklace (which had graced his neck since his freshman year) trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach making continuous attempts to rip him open. He knew that hard work and perseverance had gotten him here. He squeezed the cross necklace that rested upon his neck. He looked up into the stadium press box at the saddest thing ever mistaken for a reporter in disgust. The reporter glared back at him.They had just landed on the planet Ridon for the games he thought to himself reminiscing. He and Octavius were exiting earth’s team space craft when they were approached by what appeared to be a Heroxian. He was extremely fat with rubbery scaly skin and short legs. He had no neck which Gary found comical. “My name is Neb I’m a reporter from the planet Herox“he said when he had finally reached them. Even though he had short legs he stood equal in height to Gary. He wore a black pin stripe suit with a white shirt and pink necktie. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you fellows a few questions” he continued. “sure” they responded in unison. Neb turned to Octavius. “You are going up against the best athletes in the universe, how do you expect to hold up?” He asked holding his pen and notepad ready. “well” said Octavius. “I’ll do what I always do, do my best and pray for the rest.” “Great” said Neb writing something down on the notepad. “That will be all, thank you”. He turned around and began walk away.“Wait” said Octavius grabbing Neb by his fat shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask Gary some questions? “ Neb turned around and looked at Gary. He looked him up and down as if sizing him up. “Why?” he finally said “it’s obvious that he doesn’t stand a chance“. “What” Gary said looking angrily at Neb. “I’m simply telling things as they are” he continued. “You see we Heroxians don’t sugar coat things. We may be horrible athletes but we are some of the smartest beings in the universe. You see I’ve researched your species thoroughly and I’ve looked into the history of earths Olympics and I’ve found that ever sense you’ve allowed the first man from the Negroid breed named Jesse Owens to be in the Olympics their breed has dominated the games ever since. But as I turned through the pages of earth’s history I came across another interesting fact. The issue of how your breed of Caucasians treats the Negroid breed. First you enslave them and then afterwards you treat them like…. How do you humans say, o yeah, you treat them like crap”. At this time Octavius stepped in. “I think that’s enough, lets go Gary.”By this time Gary and Neb were standing face to face. Octavius grabbed Gary by the shoulder and pulled him past Neb who stood there and watched them walk away towards the stadium. “It doesn’t matter anyway neither of you stand a chance” Neb yelled at the two athletes. “The Isisian is going to whoop your water drinking carbon based asses.The thought of the interview fired him up. “What right did that walrus like loser Neb have to judge him?” Gary thought to himself. “Five minutes left till start” the official said threw the loudspeaker. He looked to his left and right and watched the various creatures stretching and knew that he didn’t stand a chance. “Why am I here?” he thought again. He held his cross tighter than ever before. He knew nothing else to do so he did the unthinkable. Gary got down on a knee and began to pray. The whole stadium watched him on his knees as if he was taking a piss. The athletes looked to their side watching him. They looked to Octavius as if they expected him to do something. Octavius looked down and watched his friend pray in front of thousands of creatures not knowing what to do. Then his next action came to his mind. He got down on his knee and prayed like his friend.“Thirty seconds runners to the line” the official said. The athletes approached the starting line and stood in their blocks. Gary could fell the butterflies more than he had ever felt them in his life. This was his single most important race ever. Then a warm uneasiness came upon him. He began to grin. “I’m not going to lose” he said to himself. “None of these guys have as much heart as me, they don’t stand a chance” He said looking at Neb through the corner of his eye. “Runners to your mark” the official yelled. Gary grinned. “Get set” Gary got in the starting position. “Go”.The runners sprang from their blocks with a great force. The Isisian, Octaivius and the Tigon got and early lead. Gary caught up and passed the Tigon. He had run 100 meters when he was five feet behind Octavius. He closed the gap. His legs were moving like lightning. Octavius looked to his side and saw Gary as he passed him. The look of surprise that had inhabited Octavius`s face then turned to an encouraging grin. He had run 200 meters and the Isisian was ten feet in front of him. He felt like he could not go on any longer and he was already running at top speed. He reached deep inside himself into his heart which was already running beyond healthy capacity. His body began to move at a speed even he didn’t believe he could move in and still he went faster. He had run 300 meters with 100 left to go. The Isisian was 3 feet in front of him. Gary was turning red his lungs felt as if they had taken a betting. His chest heaving like a ballon. Second place was beyond what he ever thought he could achieve. But he wanted first. Octavius had managed to catch up with them all three of them were running neck in neck at the last 50 meters. Gary could see the finished line approaching. Octavius was a foot behind him and the Isisian was neck in neck. He could have slowed down and gotten a well earned third or maybe even second but he wanted first. His heart was beating at an unimaginable speed. Ten more meters Gary was red as a tomato his body dripping wet with sweat his chest felt as if it had ruptured. Five meters to go the Isisian had managed to get a small lead. Gary was in excruciating pain but he dived for the finish line.Gary lay on the track panting and spiting up blood. A voice came over the loud speaker “first place goes to Gary Mcroberts of Earth. Octavius who was exhausted from the race came to help him up. “Dude that was amazing” Ocatavius said pulling Gary to his feet. Gary was dizzy his legs were trembling and blood was dripping down from his lips. “Did I break the world record?” he asked barely able to lift his head. “Did you break the world record?” Octavius said as if not believing what he had heard. “Dude even I broke the world record you came close to breaking the universes record!” he said excitedly. Gary looked up in the press box and saw Neb staring down not believing what he had just seen. Gary smiled. “Dude I fell like shit” he said as the first aid team came running to him. “Well you’re looking at this the wrong way” Octavius said grinning. “At least you don’t have to run the 400 meter hurdles“.
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Black StoriesBET J - Documenting the African American ExperienceSend in your Docs...Black Stories is a documentary series that tells the real life stories ofAfrican Americans and their experiences. A showcase of documentaries fromeveryday people in and of the Black community.Black Stories tells diverse and provocative stories of African Americansthat need to be told. In an effort to further document the African Americanexperience; Black Stories, like a modern day "griot"; examines the lives, lovesand experiences of a people. BET J and the Producers of Black Stories arededicated to providing a platform for independent films that tell the AfricanAmerican Experience in all its forms. If you're interested in telling your story,please send us your short documentary.(Docs must be 45 Min. or less and in some way express the "Black"experience, past or present)Send DVD copy to:BETJ / Black Stories1540 Broadway, #27New York, NY 10036212/205-3184 Please include complete contact informationThanksBET J / Black Storieshttp://www.myspace.com/blackstoriesRead more…
PRYA KAYLERA LAKEFOLKHalf way down he saw the shadow leaping at him but being in freefall there was nothing he could do. The collision was powerful, catching him midsection and knocking the wind out of him. The attacker hit him with enough power and momentum behind him to reverse Max’s course. At first he was certain they would both fall all the way to the ground which, considering how high he had ascended the Downhills rooftops already, it would be quite a ways down. His body writhed and twisted as his instincts tried to get him turned around and into some kind of landing posture. That was proving to be extremely difficult. Mostly because of the strong arms wrapped tightly about his waist. Max grabbed onto the surprisingly narrow wrists and tried to pry them free so that he could get himself turned around before…“HUMPH!” The snow covered rooftop of a smaller building he had not been able to see when he first jumped slammed into them. It would have been a worse landing had they not been falling at an angle.They rolled in the snow both trying to end up as the one on top. Too beaten, too run out, and too surprised by the sudden attack, Max ultimately lost and found himself pinned. One hand was grasping his attacker’s bare shoulder, his claws strained against the inside of his leather gloves, the other was being held tight by a hand with claws of it’s own, over his own head. Strong muscled thighs straddled him and stole the leverage from his legs.“GRRRR!” was all he could manage but the growl froze in his throat when he saw beautiful lupine auburn eyes staring wickedly into his. A pearly white fanged grin sat in between fire red lips, split down the middle by a lone finger that was shushing him. An explosion of garnet colored hair fell down around her face which was so close to his now that it tickled his cheeks. The scent that he had searched for, that she had hidden before somehow, now flowed through his nose and pooled right behind his eyes. It was heady, warm, and his eyelids almost immediately drew half closed from it. His hand relaxed on her soft shoulder but he did not pull it away.“…Max….” she said in a low whisper, drawing his name out long and slow, like she was trying it out, seeing what the very sound of it told her about him. That shushing finger slid down to her bottom lip as she said his name, her nail, or claw just as flame red.Her other hand slowly eased its grip on Max’s wrist and then slid down his arm to his chest. She held it there for a moment, letting it rise and fall with his breathing.“…Maxxxxxx…” she breathed again and leaned into him, arching her back. Sweet breath brushed his lips, she was so close. Then she took the finger from her lip and placed it on his.Soft, warm.Her thighs slid up through the snow on either side of him and gripped him tightly. They were bare. She was wearing some kind of thick leather fur lined skirt that was slit up on both sides so her legs slipped out easily enough.How could she stand this cold?On her feet were calf high fur boots, bound by thin leather straps. They looked warm enough, but with only the skirt…The top she wore was more sports bra than shirt, it was so tight. She was bare from the shoulders. But she was so warm!Through his own coat, and two shirts Max could feel her heat. He was laying in a good six inches of rooftop snow but she was so hot on top of him. Or was it him? She was so close, those lips, eyes, her husky, warm whisper…“…shall I keep you this time?” She pressed into him, and he could feel her full chest slide over his. Her face came even closer.“Wha…?”“…shhhhh…” she quieted him and Max knew why. From far above there came a series of shouts and howls. Their voices rose as they drew near and then Max and the girl watched as the Downhills gang leapt off of the rooftop a few floors above them and landed onto the steeple rooftop of the church. Some fell but most made it to the very next landing which Max had planned to use himself. Snow flew and the howls continued but none of them looked back. If they had then they would have easily seen the two of them hiding almost in plain site.“You planned this. You led me this way.” She only smiled back at him her own eyes becoming half closed as she inhaled his scent.“Why did you help me?” he asked but she just lowered her head, blinding him with her blood red colored hair. A cool breath touched his throat and Max knew she was taking in his scent even deeper. His blood pumped hot behind his ears.“…again…” she answered and brought her head back up and met his eyes.“Again?”Her smile parted her lips and Max saw the canines gleam. A very red tongue flicked out and slid along the sharp point. She pressed even closer and despite his own layers of clothes he could have sworn he felt her nipples pushing into him.“When I was here before?” The night of the second break in. He been thrown into the river, came ashore near the Downhills, but… he could never remember how he had gotten home.“I was…” he had been near to death that night he was sure. “… was cold…”“…I warmed you…” the heat between them was making him loopy. His body was beginning to respond. He tried to focus.“Why did they attack me?”She pursed those lips. “…Lotarre…”“The guy with you at the Museum? On King Day?”“… wants what you have…” she had unbuttoned his coat and slid her hands up under his shirt. How could her hands be so warm?“’What I have’? The stone?” and for the first time she seemed surprised. That still did not wipe the smile from her face, so closed to his.“…stone?...”“Yes. The stone from the museum break-in. The stone that makes me like you.” And that broadened her smile. She leaned back exposing her neck to him in what would have been a good laugh had she dared to break the quiet.“…you think you are clan?” she asked looking down at him almost amused.“Clan?”“…yes…” she lowered her face, once again just a breath away from his and she smiled at him, this time deliberately flashing her fangs at him. “…clan…”What did she mean? Downhills clan? Not by showing him her fangs she did not.“I mean…” he showed his own teeth, canines top and bottom. “… like you.”But she just smiled and twisted her mouth. She looked away from him briefly, and upward. Her eyes searched the rooftops for any sign of the Downhills gang. When her probing fingers found the stone he wore on a string around his neck she turned back to him and pressed close, again grinding herself into him, her smiled wicked.In spite of the danger, cold and strangeness, Max’s body responded to her ferociously. Her thick strong thighs were warm enough to feel through the leather of his gloves.“…you are not like me…” she breathed into his ear.“I mean…” then she snatched the Stone hard and the string popped. In a cloud of flying snow and a playful laugh she bounded off of him and leapt from the building.He tried to grab her before she took off but she was too quick. When he got to his feet he saw her standing on another rooftop a good fifty feet away and ten feet higher than where he was. The stone swung back and forth as she dangled it tauntingly from her hand.“… no majiks…” he heard her say under her breath, like she expected him not to be able to hear. “… let’s see you claim the house now…”
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EDITED BY JOHN JOSEPH ADAMSFrom Star Trek to Star Wars, from Dune to Foundation, science fiction has a rich history of exploring the idea of vast intergalactic societies, and the challenges facing those living in or trying to manage such societies. The stories in Federations will continue that tradition.What are the social/religious/environmental/technological implications of living in such a vast society? What happens when expansionist tendencies on a galactic scale come into conflict with the indigenous peoples of other planets, of other races? And what of the issue of communicating across such distances, or the problems caused by relativistic travel? These are just some of the questions and issues that the stories in Federations will take on.Genres: Science Fiction only. Original fiction only, no reprints.Payment: 5 cents per word ($250 max), plus a pro-rata share of the anthology’s earnings and 1 contributor copy.Word limit: 5000 words. (Stories may exceed 5000 words, but $250 is the maximum payment per story, and stories 5000 words or less are strongly preferred.)Rights: First world English rights, non-exclusive world anthology rights, and non-exclusive audio anthology rights. See my boilerplate author-anthologist contract, which spells out the rights in detail.Reading Period: November 1-January 1, 2009Response Time: Most rejections will be sent out quickly, but stories that I like may be held until January 31 before a final decision is made.Publication date: May 2009Publisher: Prime BooksSubmission Instructions: Email your story in rich-text format (RTF) to John Joseph Adams at federations.anthology@gmail.com. Include the title of the story and your byline in the subject line of the email.ABOUT THE EDITORJohn Joseph Adams is the editor of the anthologies Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse, Seeds of Change, and The Living Dead. He is also the assistant editor at The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and is the print news correspondent for SCI FI Wire (the news service of the SCI FI Channel). For more information, visit his website at www.johnjosephadams.com.http://www.johnjosephadams.com/?p=1630Read more…
In Brief:Allen Ashley will be editing a collection of stories loosely themed around “Catastrophes, Disasters, Post-Apocalyptic Fiction”. Allen is looking for original, unpublished stories which deal in a modern manner with these classic Science Fiction and Social Horror based themes.Rights and Other Technical DetailsWe are looking only for original material - No reprints. We are seeking to acquire First British and First North American Rights for your story with a six month moratorium subsequent to publication. At the current exchange rate we are offering 3p / 6c a word up to a maximum payment of £100 / $200 per story. We expect to only publish one story per author. The book will be split 50:50 between solicited works and open submissions. The submission period is scheduled to open on 1st July 2008.How do I submit?The information in this section applies only to "open" / "unsolicited" submissions. It does Not apply to invited authors.Please note: To enable authors to fully develop their core catastrophe idea and their characters’ reaction and response to the disaster, we are generally seeking stories in the range of 6000 to 12000 words. We will consider shorter material but we are extremely unlikely to take a story longer than 12000 words long.Please note: Before submitting – before completing – your opus, you should email a 500-750 summary to Allen at:editorcatastrophia@hotmail.co.ukIf we like your idea or approach, Allen will then contact you with a request to see the whole manuscript.Allen will NOT be receptive to submissions without prior email contact and agreement on the synopsis. Your synopsis does not have to include every plot twist but should detail the specific catastrophe/disaster/problem and the setting (e.g. downtown LA, the London Underground, beginning in Madagascar and spreading across the world…).Stories should be in English and in a legible typeface (Times New Roman, Arial, Courier New). Stories will be requested as an email attachment compatible with Microsoft Word or Rich Text Format.What do we mean by catastrophes?In short, some event that rapidly changes the world social order, threatens the survival of Humankind or planet Earth, reduces people to a state of mere hand to mouth existence, puts the clock of progress back a couple of thousand years almost overnight, takes our attention off the exploits of celebrities, footballers and politicians and instead focuses it on keeping ourselves and our loved ones alive until sundown… you get the picture. To give a further flavour of what we want, here is a quote from Allen Ashley’s story “The Overwhelm” (Catastrophe = World is engulfed by fog): “Truly it didn’t take much for the veneer of civilisation to be stripped away.”We are taking a broad view of what constitutes a catastrophe / disaster / apocalypse. Please note, however, that we do not view catastrophe stories as an excuse for disgruntled authors to indulge in a pointless orgy of gratuitous rape and violence fantasies.A Brief History of Catastrophes:These sorts of tales have a long and prominent history within the genre and are amongst the first titles that spring to mind when listing SF classics. Discounting Biblical, mythical and similar precedents, this sub-genre probably commenced with:“The War of the Worlds” by H. G. Wells (Invading Martians destroy Britain) and M. P. Shiel’s “The Purple Cloud” (Polar toxins kill everybody bar protagonist).Brian Aldiss famously labelled many of these stories as “cosy catastrophes” but that certainly hasn’t got in the way of our enjoyment. Your editor grew up on these stories and with “Catastrophia” expects to reinvigorate the genre for the twenty-first century. Indeed, recent films such as “The Day After Tomorrow” (environmental disaster), “Deep Impact” (comet strikes Earth) and a re-make of “The War of the Worlds” suggests the desire is there to be faced with the apocalyptic all over again.Further Information and InspirationWant to get the feel for the nature of the catastrophe before writing and submitting?Here’s an “off the top of my head” list of catastrophe stories to add to those already mentioned:John Wyndham – “The Day of the Triffids” (Blindness and Killer Plants);John Wyndham – “The Kraken Wakes” (Marauding sea monsters);John Christopher – “Death of Grass” (AKA “No Blade of Grass”) (All grass / wheat / rice crops fail);J. G. Ballard – “The Drowned World”, “The Drought’, “The Crystal World”, “The Wind From Nowhere” – early quartet of psychological / environmental disaster novels from the master;Brian Aldiss – “Greybeard” (No children are born);Edmund Cooper – “All Fool’s Day” and Richard Matheson – “I Am Legend” (Benchmark post-apocalyptic last man on Earth tales);Brian Aldiss – “Barefoot in the Head” (LSD contamination causes social breakdown);Edmund Cooper – “Kronk” and Charles Platt – “The Gas” (Rampant venereal disease / sex plagues);John Christopher – “The World in Winter” (New Ice Age);Keith Roberts – “The Furies” (Giant wasps);Roger Zelazny – “Damnation Alley” (Mad Max started here).For a really modern catastrophe story in the short form, I recommend that you track down “Approaching Zero” by John Lucas (Contemporary lifestyles as catastrophe!), most recently available in “The Elastic Book Of Numbers” Edited by Allen Ashley (Elastic Press, 2005).Catastrophes for the New MillenniumWith the current prominence of “Green” issues, you may well decide to try your hand at environmental disaster, biological agents running amuck, responses to the future fuel and water shortages or similar themes…I’ve always quite liked the idea of the animal and plant kingdoms getting their own back on Humankind (See “The Furies’, “Day of the Triffids”, the film “Them”, etc…) – so I’d be quite receptive to an idea along those lines. No vampires, though, which have been done to death.Something based on our dependence on technology in the so-called Information Age. No cyberspeak gobbledegook, please, and no rehash of “Transformers”… but I’m sure there’s plenty of material to extrapolate from.Better still, come up with a fresh catastrophe idea, something that has not been explored before but is still close enough to the real world to convince as an extrapolation or a possibility.OK, enough of me broadcasting ideas – it’s now up to you fabulous authors out there to impress your humble editor.- Alleneditorcatastrophia@hotmail.co.ukBefore We ForgetAbout P. S. PublishingP. S. publishing was set up by Pete Crowther in (1998-9) and is now the leading British independent press within the Science Fiction / Fantasy / Horror field. P. S. Publishing won the World Fantasy Award in 2006 and is a multiple recipient of the British Fantasy Sciety award.About Allen AshleyAllen is the author of 5 books including the novel "The Planet Suite" (TTA Press, 1997). As editor of "The Elastic Book Of Numbers" (Elastic Press, 2005) he received the British Fantasy Society award for "Best Anthology" in 2006.
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A few years back, I saw several advertisements for a book with a decidedly unique title: “The Coyote Kings of the Space-Age Bachelor Pad,” by an author named Minister Faust. It was published by Del Rey Books, and getting heavy promotion. Minister Faust, by all indications, was a black writer and also a Canadian. I’m a Canadian, too, by naturalization rather than birth.Always on the lookout for new additions to the ranks of black science-fiction and fantasy writers, I quickly got hold of the book. A few pages in, I was hooked – not only by the quality of the prose, but also by its sheer audacity.The story is told from multiple viewpoints, with characters introduced via a data sheet like the ones used in role-playing games. The setting is Edmonton, capital of the Canadian province of Alberta. Most Canadians consider Edmonton so dull that they refer to it as “Deadmonton.” But in the Minister’s hands, Edmonton becomes as lively and lethal as New York and Los Angeles put together.“Coyote Kings” combines the past and present, technology and mysticism, hip-hop and Egyptology. There’s a myriad of plot-points to juggle, but the Minister doesn’t let any of them drop to the ground.The main characters – a pair of talented, underachieving young black men named Hamza and Yehat, and a mysterious black woman named Sherem – are multi-dimensional and compelling. So is the supporting cast, which includes a white Rastafarian. The dilemmas they face are mind-boggling, but the characters have the inner resources needed to resolve them.What they don’t have is time, which they need because the fate of the planet is hanging in the balance.When I finished “Coyote Kings,” I admired the way the Minister conjures coherence out of what could have turned into chaos in the hands of a lesser writer. And I wondered what he would do for an encore. Sometimes, a brilliant first novel becomes a pair of shoes the author has trouble filling his in or her subsequent work.I needn’t have worried. The Minister’s second novel, “From the Notebooks of Dr. Brain,” is just as good as “Coyote Kings.” However, the books are so different it’s difficult to compare them. “Coyote Kings” is stone serious, even though it flashes some far-out humor. “Dr. Brain,” on the other hand, is pure satire, as well as laugh-out-loud comedy.It’s a parody of the superhero-comics genre, told from the viewpoint of Dr. Eva Brain-Silverman, psychotherapist to “hyper-hominids” during a juncture when the necessity for superheroes is passing. The focus is on a dysfunctional super-team known as the Fantastic Order of Justice – FOOJ for short.Superhero parodies have been done before. So have dysfunctional super-beings, ranging from Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four to the Watchmen. But nobody has done it as well as the Minister. If Richard Pryor had ever written science fiction, he might have come up with something like “Dr. Brain.”The humor in the story works on more than one level. For example, there’s mention of a “Crisis of Infinite Dearths.” That phrase would be funny to a person who’d never so much as looked at a comic book. To someone familiar with DC Comics’ “Crisis on Infinite Earths,” it’s hilarious.There’s at least one laugh like this on every page. Even though “Dr. Brain” is much shorter than “Coyote Kings,” it took longer to read because I was cracking my sides so much.Some of the hyper-hominids are direct take-offs on established heroes and heroines. Omnipotent Man, for example, is what Superman would have been if he were raised by the Clampetts instead of the Kents. The Flying Squirrel in “Dr. Brain” isn’t Rocky – it’s Batman, inspired by a different species. Iron Lass is Wonder Woman as an uptight Valkyrie rather than an earnest Amazon.The Minister’s imagination spawns plenty of original super-beings as well, such as Xman, who has the power to turn his spoken words into reality; and Brothafly, who is nothing like the Superfly of blaxploitation-movie fame.“Dr. Brain” isn’t all pun and games, however. Beneath the humor, the Minister takes on issues such as racism, homophobia, political correctness and the cult of celebrity. The satire almost – but not quite – overwhelms the serious aspects of the book.That’s two winners in a row from Minister Faust, who is shaping up to become a one-man New Wave in the SF genre. I’m really looking forward to seeing what he comes up with next.
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This one is a little hard to understand. I'm experimenting here... trying something new for me. please if you've time, hit me with some feedback, criticism, LOVE or hate.AWAKENING'SI feel cold. I'm sweating, I should not feel cold. The room is hot, people are fanning themselves, I've got sweat on my brow, but I feel cold. That's crazy, I'm crazy, and that's why I'm here.It started with the first snow. That's when I started losing control of my thoughts. Little things at first, small and innocuous, I paid them no mind at the time. In fact I may not even know when it really started, because maybe I never have noticed them until that first snow.I had just come back home from my first vacation, a trip to Mexico for the Festival of the Dead, and had arrived at the airport. There was no one there to meet me, no surprise, as no one had known that I had left. I wanted to call my house and check my messages while I waited for a cab. When I went to dial my own number I began dialing another. Just some random number that had nothing to do with me. When I tried again, it happened again, and again. At the time I just chalked it up to fatigue.I feel cold wind in my face, irritating my eyes.That makes no sense. There is no wind blowing in here. This is an office building with climate control. The heat is turned up to at least ninety...I broke the knob off at ninety-eight.No I did not! I've never even been here before. I just came in and sat down, I didn't touch anything!I'm afraid to call maintenance. I don't want to get into trouble.No I did not do it! But I can see it in my mind. I remember turning the dial. It broke off in my hand. But I just got here.Reluctantly I look up. The receptionist desk sits in an alcove. Behind the lady receptionist on the wall I can see the thermostat. The knob is missing. Oh God.Hot in here. This is insufferable.My nose is numb from the freezing wind.I place my hand to my face and feel my hot skin. It's a little oily from sweat.Boy do I look troubled.I imagine how I must look sitting here to the others in the room. Head in my hands now, leaning over so they can only see the top of my baseball cap,Some black college.Howard University. I'm wearing a long thick trench coat that keeps me warm outside in the cold. It's been a particularly cold winter and I bought the trench when I saw it hanging in a store window. Only... I don't think I really wanted it. The thought and the desire to have it was much like the cold wind I'm feeling on my face now. I never even liked trench coats before but then I had to have it. Even now I think I don't like it, but I still where it. Crazy.I must be hot in this coat.I am, but I have to keep the cold wind off of me somehow. Sweat droplets slide down my chest and I can feel my body heat pouring up out of the neck of my shirt onto my neck and under my ears. It's crazy hot in here, why don't they open a window.Why don't they turn the heat down?Because I think I broke it.I wish the windows on this floor could be opened like the ones upstairs.Oh God. My thoughts are getting more and more inconsistent. That's why I'm here right? But it's always worse when I go out or at night in my apartment building. I've got to move.Man do I look troubled. Maybe it's drugs.I don't do drugs! Maybe I need drugs, to control my thoughts. I can't stop thinking crazy thoughts. No, not really crazy thoughts; I've haven't thought about hurting anyone... yet. That's why I'm here though; to stop this before it gets any worse.It's too much pressure. I don't want to feel anymore.A wave of pain rolls over my mind. Cold wind blows across my face and I can feel it on my chest now.I could just... fly away.That thought felt like a lie. Weird. Never felt like that before. I can't just fly away. But then again, I never touched that thermostat.God what's my problem? Too bad, I'm kind of cute for a black guy.What is taking so long? I need to get help now! Is this what it's like to lose your mind? Thoughts running amok whenever I'm around people. I don't even know if this doctor can help me. Maybe he'll just give me a prescription for prozac, everybody gets prozac.Someone's coming.I stand up suddenly and look around. There is no one coming into the waiting room. There are three other people in the room now, but no one new came in. I was certain someone was coming. So certain I could almost see themOh shit! What's my problem. Hope I don't start no crazy shit. Picked the wrong day to come up here.I imagine how I must look to the others in the room now. Standing up suddenly, looking about in a paranoid fashion, I startled the others. They were trying not to look at me now. I don't blame them.So I just sit back down and place my head back in my hands. I don't even notice that it's been hot for a few moments when once again there is a startling blast of cold air in my face. Even with my hands covering it.Good just sit back down boy, don't cause no trouble.I hope I'm okay. Maybe someone I knew died.What? No one died! Man it's getting worse. Take a deep breath. Control it... Control it. Just a little while longer and I can get this shrink to give me a script to get me back in line. I can't live like this any longer and if it's going to take drugs to do it then so be it.Just fly away.My ankles ache and now my hands are going numb. A shiver runs across my shoulders.Drugs. I've got to be on drugs. Look at me I've got the shakes. And how can I be wearing that coat? Must be a hundred degrees in here. Drugs. Probably that crack. Kill my wife for sending me hear in the middle of the day with crack heads like me.I'm not married. It's getting worse by the minute now. I could almost see my wife's face with that thought. No one sent me here. I sought this place out. This is where...My brother went here.No I don't have a brother. Now I could almost see his face."Dammit." I mutter under my breath.Oh shit. There I go. Soon I'll be pulling a gun out and killing everyone in this room. Next time Sharon can get her own papers.Sharon, a soft faced woman, about forty years old, blond hair and blue eyes not aging too well.Someone must have died. I feel sorry for me. I wonder if I'm a student here like me. Probably not. I'm a little older and I've never seen me before.My image is inconsistent with other images of students here at the university. I'm not a student here though. College for me was a long time ago in another city. The strange thoughts are gaining not just in frequency but in sharpness as well. I could see the image of myself as it was matched against the back drop of this collage. I was trying to see... if I myself had seen... me on this campus before. It was such a clear thought, so distinct. And there was Sharon, whom I've never met but I knew she needed me to get something for her. What is going on with my sanity? I've never even heard of something like this.[Afraid to get in trouble. It's my first day.(Crazy crack head.*I look really lost.(God it's hot in here!Damn! The heat is unbearable. I stand and hurriedly pull off my trench coat. The sweat on my now exposed forearms starts to cool.(Thought I was going to pull a gun.*Hey. I'm wearing a shirt like this/that.What? There was a strong image of my shirt, black, long sleeves rolled up, turtle neck. Then a mirror image, but the sleeves were rolled down, hands and face not my own. A woman, white, here. I look up then and scan the room. I've seen that girl before and not just in crazy thoughts.Sitting on the other side of the room she was. She looks down and away as I look at her.*Oh God I/he saw me/me looking at him.Nervousness overwhelms me. The woman is looking away from me now her head down and staring at her hands. As I look at her the cold winds cease and I can feel the heat of the room more clearly. I'm filled suddenly with nervous energy and I can't figure out what to do with my hands or what to look at.But I just look at her. She's obviously nervous, like I'm suddenly feeling... looking at her hands.Nervous and suddenly sweaty. *Why is he/I still looking at me/me?A blurry image... me, head still turned in my direction. My direction.I look at her, she fiddles a little.*Why am I / is he still looking at me / me? Just look back at me/him then.I feel my lungs fill as I take a deep breath and she looks back up... at me. Our eyes meet and I see her...The cold wind rushes back into my face, across my chest. If I just fly away... No! Focus! I'm onto something. Look at her eyes.She meets my stare with resolve.*I/she won't let him/me intimidate her/me.Oh God. That... that wasn't my thought.*If he/I wants a staring match, I/me will give him/me one.It's her thought. Her thoughts!*I/she/I am not looking away.I could feel what she was thinking. Am I going crazy? Or is this real?(Looks like I am / he is about to start some trouble with that girl.I turn my head then, looking right at the man sitting across from me.(Oh shit. I am / he is looking at me/me now.I can see a quick flutter of images now, my gaunt face fluttering away to the magazine the man is reading. I am hearing... no feeling his thoughts as well. He's nervous now as well as irritated about the heat and the wait for the psychologist. The papers he had to get don't seem so important anymore. Sharon... she is his wife.They are not my thoughts. I did not break the thermostat, someone else did. The receptionist? She's looking at me also. Wanting the Doctor to hurry up, deal with me and get me out of here. It's easier now to interpret her thoughts now.Sweat dribbles down over my brow, MY brow. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.[I'm going to lose this job over that damn thermostat.Her thoughts were just as easily apparent to me. They all were, all at once. It was like listening to a group of people talk at once. No… more like ‘Feeling’ what everyone else was feeling at once.*Looks a little better now.(Crack fit appears to be over for now.[Just call maintenance and say it was like that.<...fly away...The cold wind is back. I shiver at the sudden drop in my body temperature.*Oh oh.(Oh oh.[Probably was already broken.Very cold now. Like I'm standing outside in the snow. My ankles ache… No, not MY ankles.Overwhelming stabs of melancholy… I can't go on.Feels like my whole world is a small tight box getting tighter… Got to get out… I can't go on.(So beautiful.Philadelphia skyline. Familiar, but I wasn't really seeing it. Cold hard wind… Face numb… Hands numb… My ankles ache horribly....and I could get out of this box....and I could rise up out of this gloom. Hard concrete slides across my finger tips. I can see the American Commerce Building sign in the distance.(Crack head is starting to lose it again.*He looks so confused.[What is taking the Doctor so long? Get this nut out of here.Not my thoughts! I must keep telling myself that. THEY ARE NOT MY THOUGHTS. Then whose are they?The door to the Doctor's office is closed. He's a psychologist so maybe the reason he's taking so long is because he's having a serious problem with a patient… a patient standing out on his ledge, ankles aching as he tries to negotiate the small ledge.I'm struck by a bad case of vertigo and I almost fall over. Someone is going to kill themselves. The office.I take a step toward the door and then hesitate. I think I'm waiting... waiting for it to end.(What's he up to?[Hurry up Doctor!*Maybe I should say something.Maybe I've been drawn in by his despair, but part of me wants him to jump. Part of me wants to...The office door is locked.[Oh shit! Sir you can't go in there!"Sir you can't go in there! The Doctor will call for you..." I hear and feel her voice behind me. I feel her think the words just before she says them. I must focus on that ONE voice."Open this door!" I shout and in my mind, with everyone's attention focused on me, I hear my own voice in stereo.Startled. Two distinct impressions of my sudden pounding on the door from inside and out.There isn't enough time. I slam my shoulder into the door. Once, twice and the frame cracks, three times and it flies open.Shock. Fear. TERROR!Wow… So that's what it feels like to be a rich white guy and see me coming at you. Yikes.But there's no one here. No window open and no thoughts in their minds as to anyone on a ledge. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I'm just making this all up in my head to explain my losing control of thoughts. Oh God.I look again to the window but it definitely is not open."Is there some problem?" $He's looking for drugs! The Doctor said and thought. Images in his mind about the phone... then his hand and whether they were in my line of sight.The window to his office was on the same side of the building as the window in the waiting area. In the distance I could see the American Commerce sign. Maybe I saw it in the window in the waiting room. I could still be crazy, but... I'm still cold.I can't feel my feet anymore, my fingers hurt when I try and bend them. My throat is raw from the dry cold air and I keep coughing.$Don't do anything to set him off. He could have a gun."Shut up!" I scream at him, but he can't help it. He is terrified now and his fear is starting to eclipse the man on the ledge. I place man hands over my ears and shut my eyes as if that could help. Standing here like this I look classically insane to him.A window sill scrapes along my back and I stop and lean against it. No! He stops and leans against it. I, me, I look out the window again and still I see no one.$While his eyes are closed..."Don't do it!" I say with a sudden ferocity that he jumps. He was going for something in his desk. I can see the gun in his thoughts as he plays the memory of it in his mind.Focus. Where is he? I can see his thoughts, feel them, smell them, hear them, taste them, just sense them. They are pouring out of him... no, he is screaming them out at me... no just out, out at the world.$Won't get another opportunity!"I swear to God..." I warn him again and spare him a quick glare.Focus. I'm on a ledge. I'm against a window. What window? It's on this building. The American Commerce sign is staring at me both through his eyes and through that window but... not exactly the same. It's at a higher angle from this office than it is from the ledge. It's...Whoa! Gust of wind pushes at me and nearly pulls me off the ledge. Why am I hanging on? Just let myself fall... I want the wind to pull me off anyway. I want an excuse.Focus. HE wants the excuse. Where is he? Higher in the building certainly and on this side of the building.$Just do it!"Don't!" dammit I've got to get out of here but I feel so close. It's as if he had been in this room.(Call the cops! Why won't she call the cops? She's got the phone!*Someone should do something! I wonder what he’s doing in there.No not this room. One like it upstairs.Focus! He climbed out the window. They are different upstairs. They can open.But he couldn't jump from the window. No... he could not jump from that window. The American Commerce sign was on this side of the building, so did he go right or left?[Oh God I can't remember how to dial out.(My cell.$The gun now!Left! The window he left was on his right so he went left. The building is the same except for some huge vent that would have stopped his fall under that window. So he shuffled left.Vertigo again. He's starting to push off the building.(9-1-1!*The cops are gonna come get him. SadnessThe window he was at now must be above the one in the waiting room. I dash back out and slam into the receptionist's desk in my hurry.[Don't hurt me!$Get the gun!*He looks frightened(Did he see me on the phone? Fear.Their thoughts rush through my head as I run past them to the window.[That window won't open.(Good. Just kill yourself boy.*Oh no. Don't hurt yourself. "Don't..." fear/hesitation.$Bullets. Just use the speed loader.The window won't open. I can't find the edge. The receptionist doesn't know either. If I could just scream at him not to...<...awayI feel my foot fall on empty air and I begin to fall. No! Focus! I am not falling. One chance.$Loaded!I run back across the room and grab my chair.Focus! The chair is heavy but not too heavy. Pick it up, pick it up! I run with it over my head back to the window.$Careful. Maybe he left. Hey! That’s a four hundred dollar chair!Hard. Hit it hard!The chair shatters the window but is too wide to fall out. I let it fall to the floor.I can see the shattered window coming up fast. Oh God man, just reach out!I jump halfway out the window with my arm outstretched.*Don't!$My security deposit![Blame him for the thermostat.< A hand?His hand hit my forearm and slides down to my hand where...$What was that?(Good Lord! Was that...*He caught someone.He damn near pulls me out of the window. My thighs come up against the window frame hard. Glass crunches and scrapes across my torso. Can't let go! He's so heavy! His weight pulls my feet off the floor and they swing up kicking the chair across the room.(He'll fall!*Oh no! HESITATION.<...so sorry...My body pitches forward out of the window. I can feel the panic and horror from everyone in the room and the man outside. Or is it my own fear?My heels slam into the window frame with a rattling jolt. I'm laying across the window ledge by my thighs now and sliding further out. The backs of my boots shuttled down the window frame until my knees hit the edge of the sill.*Should I?(Maybe I should...$Somebody should...[Going to die.I scream for help but the rushing winter wind takes my voice. Their indecision fills the room behind me like a thick fog. Oh God, somebody...!!HELP!!It is much like a bolt of electricity. I don't think that any of them are aware that it is not my voice that they just heard. It doesn't matter though; all I care about is the result.I feel them rush forward, toward me, with my urgency, my fear. Their hands claw desperately at my legs until they get good holds and begin to pull me in.Looking back to the jumper I feel his turmoil before I see it on his face. He had second thoughts on the way down, and now he was having second thoughts on his way back up. What was so terrible? What ever it was he wasn't thinking about it right now. There was a... a note, he didn't want anyone to read the note.Glass scrapes my arms as we are both pulled inside and fall in heaps on the floor. My heart is racing along with everyone else's our adrenalin being driven by outside forces. Mine by the fear and excitement I feel from them, theirs by the thoughts I am still reflecting at them. I close my eye and then quiet my thoughts as well. As seconds pass I can see everyone calming down a bit.It still seems unreal. I'm actually sitting here reading their minds, no not really I guess. It's more like feeling their thoughts, their emotions, their every sensation. Funny, but all of a sudden these people seem more real to me than anyone I've ever met. And there are more real people coming in now from the hall. Their concerned for the Doctor,*...His office...* security has been called,*...saw that crazy looking black guy...* heard the noise,*...sounds like a fight...*As people enter the office they see me on the ground with the man who tried to kill himself,*...crack head...*their judgments are like assaults on me. They accuse me in their minds wishing to do so out loud. Wanting to be here to see security drag me out,*...hit him a little...*Too many thoughts and I fear I will go insane. Glass crunches under my feet as I rise to my feet.*...Uh oh...* FEAR(How did he know?)*...Somebody stop him...* "Hold it buddy!"(They think he...) "He didn't do anything!" I feel her concern for me. She thinks we have some kind of connection because we stared at each other for a moment. (...what are you thinking...)*...then what did he do...**...where is security...**...say he broke it...*There are too many thoughts again, and they are starting to blend together. I have to get out of here before they threaten my sanity like they did before.Another wave of fear rushes over me as I move and grab my coat and bag.*...going to pay...**...a hero...**...how did he know...*I brush past some people at the door and I know their fear for a second.*...don't look at him...**...don't leave...*[...RECKONING...] and I pause in the hallway. That thought was faint but amazingly clear. But there is no further thought like that. Everyone in the hall is looking at me, but none with the conviction or purpose to match the strange thought I just picked up.*...maybe if we all grab him...**...should hold him until security...**...if he's armed...*It's getting bad so I turn quickly and walk down the hall toward the elevators. There are thoughts ascending that are easy to recognize as security guard so I side step to the stairwell. Getting out of here won't be that hard. Dealing with what I am will be the hard part.This is the dawn.Read more…
You have received this email because of your relationship with LibraryJournal. For customer support or to stop receiving future promotionsfrom LJ, please scroll to the bottom for instructions.--------------------------------Dear Publicist:To help libraries prepare for Black History Month as well as supporttheir ongoing purchasing of multicultural books, Library Journal willagain feature in its November 1 issue works by and about AfricanAmericans.This issue will include books being published between November 1,2008, and February 28, 2009. Please supply us with two galleys (or books) ifpossible in all subject areas, including reference, art,literature, poetry, religion, biography, history, politics, health,science, sociology, economics, and fiction, as well as promotionalinformation and catalog copy. Please do not include children's books.This material is due on August 25, 2008. If you have any questionsplease call (646) 746-6800You may mail information to Ann Burns, Library Journal, 360 ParkAvenue South, New York, NY 10010.
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WINTER GHOST P 2HOWLSI flinch at the tiny shards of ice that scrape against my face and shut my eyes tight until the wind changes direction. When I open them I see that she has closed her eyes again as well. It’s almost like she’s sleeping. Naked except for her nightgown, her supple form could be lying in plush white bed covers. Radiant skin stands out in stark contrast to the snow. Soft legs rise out like tranquil islands in a white sea, undisturbed by the harshness of the blizzard churning around us. I almost don’t want to disturb her.But she must be cold.I bend down, sinking one knee deep into the snow despite the cold. Carefully I slide my hands beneath her. Frozen snow slides up my sleeves but I don’t stop.Another blast of ice and wind screams over my back, across my neck and burns my ears raw.She can’t have been here long, not with skin so warm. Her eyelids flutter slightly, like the wings of a butterfly, as I take hold of her but otherwise she doesn’t stir. Not even as I pull her from the blanket of snow.Again the wind bawls, flying down the alley almost as if in protest.She is so light. It’s like there’s not much of her at all.More icy snow rails across us and I pull her even closer. Her warmth pours through my thin jacket and seeps into my chest.She is so soft that I’m afraid to hold her too tight… I might hurt her.Her eyebrows are furrowed ever so slightly but somehow her face is still peaceful. I… I’ve never seen her before but… something…… in the slope of her nose…… the pout of her lips…… the fan of her eyelids…… something is so very familiar.How did she get here?I look up, squinting through the wind and snow and see that of the two homes set on either side of this alley; only one has a light on.One light, in one window, on the top floor of the house. But there is too much falling snow for me to see it clearly. It’s just a blurry haze of amber light so I can’t tell if it’s open.Could she have fallen from that window? Is someone looking for her?Of course they are. She must have come from this house. If someone is still inside then they must be worried for her. I turn with her in my arms toward the front of the alley.The snow is so deep now that I’m taking huge awkward steps to get through it. Her toes are dragging in the piled snow and I try… but I can’t lift her any higher.Almost to the front, she’ll be home soon.The wind is picking up and changes direction again. It howls down the alley once more driving another cloud of snow into us, almost forcing us back into the alley.It’s so strong… I can barely move forward.It’s so loud… almost like… it’s angry.At the opening of the alley now and I can see the storm is getting worse. It hasn’t abated at all since I got off work. The sky has grown even darker and the snow is so thick in the air that I can’t see across the street to the other homes. Huge wind blown drifts of snow are waist high most places… and in others it looks to be piled higher than my head. The city is going to be at least a week getting out from under this.At least the snow is still fresh. I can kick though most of it and I wade toward the front of the house. Just one step at a time… just get her inside before we both freeze to death.I march on. The tempest still fights us. As we emerge from the alley I see the snow covered steps leading to the house’s front door to our right.Almost there. I pull her tighter to me. The twin bushes at the front steps sway back and forth in the wind throwing snow all about them. Wads of it pelt us as I plod on toward the steps. The snow is even higher here… but we’re so close.More wind… more snow… I close my eyes to the attack and take another step.I almost trip as I stub my toe against the bottom of the steps. So I grit my teeth and open my eyes. In front of me, at the top of the steps is a huge recessed doorway. Partially hidden in its shadow is a large wooden door.The wind howls in protest as I place my foot onto the first step…
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RECKONINGThe snow covering the forest ground reflected the moon light, keeping the black of night at bay long after sundown. The night was clear after the winter storm, and the snow covered everything. It had been a fairly gusty storm so the snow found its way everywhere, over rocks, over trees, and even under their sheltering branches. The moonlight, consequently, found itself everywhere, lighting up the park to the point where one could see quite clearly for nearly a hundred yards or so.In the clear areas.Like so many things in life, no matter how bright the light is shining, no matter where or how it is directed, there are always still dark corners. The denser parts of the park, where the trees stood closer together and the branches seemed to be thicker… more clustered together, these places remained hidden. They remained dark, the thick tangled black trunks and branches crisscrossing over each other providing a shield from prying eyes. And like so many things in life, dangerous things, wicked things, found their way into these dark corners.Roach was a dark, wicked thing. In people, darkness is hollowness, a lack of soul, like a cold damp fire pit. Dark things see the world differently. Without the light inside to compare they cannot see the light outside. When Roach looked at the world, he could not see the light in people, their souls. To Roach, they were as inanimate and unreal to him as clothing, tools, or toys. In most cases, they had even less value to him. Their usefulness to him always ended very practically, and often very sadly, for them. It was his wickedness that caused that.In people, wickedness is manifests itself in intelligence. Roach was no scholar, to be sure, but he was extremely intelligent. Evil is the result of that intelligence being guided without a soul.Roach was extremely adept drug dealer / whoremonger. He was dark enough to do what was necessary to gain the power and money he wanted and he was wicked enough to know his limitations. Roach had been in jail once, learned from the experience, and had never returned. He also was smart enough to avoid the treachery and gunplay that went hand in hand with his chosen profession. That is not to say that he had never killed anyone. Indeed he had killed more than his share of valueless things, and had never bothered to count. Roach was wicked and never killed when it could come back to hurt him.Dark, wicked things are curious by nature. Perhaps because the unknown was dangerous, or better yet powerful. It was curiosity that had lead Roach to discover the forgotten underground railways that lay beneath his neighborhood. Wickedness had allowed him to use these railways to build his small drug base right under the noses of the police and rival dealers. Wickedness is how he used them to carry out kidnappings and assassinations that kept him strong. Curiosity is what brought him to the woods tonight.The railways had a partially hidden exit in the park. Roach knew this was both dangerous and powerful. It could allow someone to discover his drug base, or it could allow him a more expansive route to ferry his product.Roach was not alone. There were two dark things with him. They lacked his intelligence, but what little they did have kept them both useful and aware that without Roach they would be two dry, crumpled little dark things.They followed him out here this night, deep into the woods. Roach said there would be no cops, it was too cold.He was right.Roach said that they would be able to see just fine. The moonlight was strong.He was right.Roach said that they would find something out here they could use.That remained to be seen.The woods had an eerie, turn of the century ghost story look that night. The effect was lost on the trio, as they merely perceived it curiously; dark wicked things only know fear when faced with actual death. Roach looked for the darkest corner of the woods, almost instinctively and he found such a dark corner not too far from the opening to the railway. A nice good secluded area that was elevated on a hill. It could not be seen for the thick black branches. Roach knew it would be hidden even better in the summer, when leaves filled the trees.Then his cold eyes with their big black greedy pupils spied a light, a small glow high on the hill that had almost got by him.The light flickered… a fire then.Who would have a fire here? Curious.Dark wicked things are good at being silent when they want. Like wraiths the trio crept up the hill towards the light. The snow was fairly new so it did not crunch. The branches were clearly outlined by the snow and they avoided them easily.Fate always seems to favor the dark wicked things.At the top of the hill was a clearing. From under the cover of the tree line Roach and his two shadows peered. The fire was huge, a bonfire. The mind of the dark wicked thing noted that despite its size and brilliance it could only be seen from this close proximity because the tree cover was so dense. He also noted the figure moving about the fire.The person wore a ragged hooded cloak, and moved, or rather danced around the fire. The dance was slow, small movements, at first. Roach thought he saw a glimpse of skin, a bare foot, and then a leg also bare.… a woman's leg.The dance became more feverish, as she undulated wildly. Her arms and legs flashed more and more. Roach saw that there was a dry area of ground surrounding the bonfire but that the woman danced wildly and stepped on the snow as well as the dry ground without care. The dance got even more crazed and it seemed to Roach that she was not dancing so much as going through some kind of seizure. The undulating motion caused her hood to fall back and her huge unkempt mane of hair burst free. Even at this distance he could see the leaves and twigs entwined in her hair. It was as though she had been rolling about on the ground.More shaking and then she began to take huge steps around the fire as from the other side came another bare leg. Another woman danced around the fire from the side he had not seen. Roach now saw as the second woman danced now facing them that beneath the cloaks… the women were naked.Dancing naked around the fire.One of the dark things behind him muttered.Yes, Roach agreed; Damn.The women stopped moving around the fire, shook, and began to roll their bodies, swaying back and forth in front of the blaze.More muttering came from behind him as his two dark followers enjoyed the show.Roach thought quickly in his wickedness about what was going on here. There was no one else on this hilltop. They had circled as they came up and he was sure. Whatever happened next he was sure would not be seen by anyone. The dancing of the two women drew him strangely.Their bodies were sweating from their exertions despite the cold. The sweat shone on the skin and the trio of dark things felt stronger stirrings than even at the dark corner bars where the women danced naked and did whatever pleased. Roach knew enough to be wary of lusts but his confidence was strong.It was too dark up here for anyone to see.The park was empty anyway.They had an escape route.The women were theirs.The dancing began to reach a pitch. The women writhed and convulsed. Their legs stiffened, spread apart on tiptoe, as their breathing became loud audible gasps. Now.Dark wicked things entered the clearing and the light of the fire. The women continued their wild movements apparently unaware. Roach walked right up to the one closest, the one he had first seen naked. Brazenly he stood right in front of her and admired her body as she rolled her hips in snake-like fashion in front of him. He allowed the smile to slide across his lips. He wanted her to see it when she noticed him. His two shadows were over with the other woman, respectfully leaving him one to himself.Big black pupils surveyed her body. The sweet pained expression on her face, the sweat sheen covering her full breasts, the rippling muscles of her belly, the small enticing patch of soft hair that made his jaw tighten, the swaying thighs, legs taught with spasms, small pretty feet on tip toe, as convulsions racked her body.Damn right.Then her feet collapsed to the ground, and the cloak settled back over her body, leaving only one smooth thigh exposed. Roach slowly raised his eyes, very careful to keep the smile in place. First he saw the now relaxed neck, then to his surprise, a smile, as sly as his own.She was into it. Good.Then he saw her eyes.Dark wicked things only know fear when faced with death. Roach looked into the woman's eyes. The pupils were big, black, and there was no soul behind them. There was a flicker of fear.But if Roach had learned anything in life, it was that the adage of fortune favoring the bold was true. The smile stayed."You ain't have ta stop dancin'." he enjoyed the smile, but the eyes were so cold. He had never seen eyes that dark before, not even in the mirror.She looked at him not with shock, fear, or even anger. Her eyes were like those of a spider having found a fly wonderfully close to the center of the web.She raised a small delicate hand and placed it on his chest. Roach liked this but the wickedness in him warned him of danger.There was still a small flicker of fear……but he liked her smile.There was some shuffling behind him. Roach figured the woman on the other side was either fighting or giving it up. Then the shuffling quieted a little and He wondered why it still sounded so heavy. He turned to check, he did not want this to be a fight, not if it did not have to be.One of the shadows was on the ground and not moving. The other was on his knees in front of the woman; her hand around his throat drawing blood, her other was raised high... fingers splayed like a claw.Wickedness can be a wonderful survival tool. It combines ruthlessness with viciousness in amazingly effective ways. Roach turned clockwise lightning fast while swinging his right fist in a solid backhanded arc. His left hand reached into his pants and grabbed the handle of his nine-millimeter.The punch missed by a margin so narrow, that he could feel the edge of her nose push air back at him. The gun came up and that soft delicate hand of her became a terrible claw that slashed at his face.There was a gunshot, but Roach never saw it, all he could see was a flash of crimson, his blood. Her nails had torn open his face, and ripped open an eye. He let his legs buckle and he fell backwards. Blood was on his lips… he could taste it. Roach pulled the trigger several times as he fell. In between each loud explosion her could hear them laughing.Then there was a sharp pain in his wrist as the woman grabbed it and Roach could not hold onto the gun. It fell from his hand and he felt it bang against his knee. He searched blindly for it with his free hand.More laughter.Darkness and wickedness can be a source of strength. With dark resolve Roach opened his other eye. The gun was not by his knee, he could not see it.More laughter.Some gurgling, most likely his other shadow was still alive. He looked up to the woman whose claws dug into his wrist. She was regarding him with an evil fascination her eyes deep hollow pools of black water.The light from the bonfire wavered. There was more laughter now, and Roach sensed something darker and more wicked than he. The dealer turned toward the brilliance of the fire and saw a third woman.She was standing in the bonfire.Naked, save for some kind of pendant, the woman stepped out of the flames. Her skin was on fire but did not appear to be burning. Roach blinked his one eye hard not believing what he was seeing. She stepped, flatfooted onto the ground and the dry leaves and twigs under her feet caught fire. Where was that gun?The woman from the fire smiled at him almost sweetly. Roach still saw no burning. She looked briefly at the other shadow and then quickly back to him. Wickedness warned: Pain now.She reached down toward him, her hand toward his face. Roach's hand scrambled through the dirt and snow searching for the gun. Heat poured out from her so intense that he felt his skin begin to blister seconds before she even touched him.The heat was white hot, her burning hand sealed his mouth shut, and he screamed through his nose. Then his mind went black to match his heart.She stood and looked down at her mark on his face. It was good. He would be useful, as well as the other two, although the dead one would only last so long. She turned to the first woman whom still held the limp wrist of the interloper in her hand. With a deliberate slow movement she extended her hand and the woman took it in her own. Steam rose from their touch."You are flame unbounded." the woman said seemingly unharmed by the burning touch. Indeed she was unharmed, as there was a thin layer of ice covering her skin. As it turned to steam at their touch the snow she stood on renewed it. It slid up her legs, over her body, down her arms and covered her against the heat."You are absolute now Embrena. Perfect fire.""We are nearly complete Lavena. We are fire.""We are nearly complete." she answered. "We are water."The other woman looked up at this recitation and then regarded the two men at her feet. The earth there softened beneath the two men. Slowly they began to sink into the earth as if it were quicksand. The dead man was completely consumed, but the other sunk until only his head was above the ground. Then the earth was solid again and she walked to join the others."We are nearly complete." she said. "We are earth.""Where are we lost Terrainna? How are we not whole?" Embrena asked almost formerly."There is no wind. No wind to shape the earth.""There is no wind. No wind to carry the rain.""There is no wind. No wind to fan the flame." then Embrena turned back to the bonfire. "Time is short. We have seen the end of this city in our dreams. A reckoning is coming. The storm shall be upon us within but one turn of the seasons."Terrainna spoke then, her voice deep and strong. "We have seen the paladins as well. Those who will rise against the storm.""I have seen these beings as well you know. But I have not seen them stop the storm. The city will be consumed. The reckoning is coming." Embrena said still staring into the fire."We need to become complete. We need the wind. We must find our Zephrynne. Only then can we see clearly and find an alternate path. Only then can we stay the storm." she regard the small mound of earth that held the dead man."We must send these to find her." and the three moved again to surround the fire. They began an intonation together in latin.The earth softened again and the two buried men were pushed out, moist dirt clumps clinging to them. First the man who was buried to his neck stood then he staggered away from the bonfire and down the hill.Roach opened his eyes. Darkness and wickedness lay deep in his eyes. But there was urgency as well. The wind must be found he knew. The wind must be found and brought here. Roach followed the first man back into the woods.Finally the body of the dead man stirred. Lifeless eyes opened and it stood as well. No longer a man, the dead thing had only one instinct, one drive and that was to capture the wind. It too moved back down the hill leaving the women alone on the hilltop again. They continued their dance around the bonfire, oblivious to the cold, repeating only one word."Reckoning."
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A DVD anthology of strange fiction presented in animation, film noir, and photo/art montage sequencing. Animators and film makers – Submit your completed shorts in AVI format. OR send samples in order that we may consider your tallents for creating new work based on selected short stories.Wirters – Please send only stories which you feel are easily transformable to animation or film. 1000 – 3000 is best – script preferred but not necessary. In the subject line: "arcane".We review all year round with a maximum two month reply time. Upon acceptance of any work we will request first world rights or in some cases non-exclusive permission. If the work you with to submit has been previously published or is in any way comparable to somebody else's work, please query first. We are a royalty publisher.John Varcoe – Submissions Editorsubmissions@crossingchaos.comhttp://anthologynewsandreviews.blogspot.com/2008/07/arcane-distortions.htmlRead more…
