K.J. Chapman's Blog, page 84

Review: Infinity Squad by Shuvom Ghose

Infinity Squad by Shuvom Ghose 3/5

Blurb: 

Second Lieutenant Jonah Forrest is finding out that having infinite lives doesn’t make war any easier. Sure, downloading into a cloned body when you die is better than the alternative, but that doesn’t make a Hell-Spider’s claws hurt any less. Or his General’s orders for suicide missions any more sane.

But when his First Lieutenant gets killed in action, really killed, and when a captured Hell-Spider offers a way to get ‘kills’ without taking on the enemy, Forrest and his Infinity Squad will have to decide how hard they are willing to work to take the easy way out. Especially when the General starts catching on to their schemes. And when their Hell-Spider prisoner starts suggesting more and more dangerous alternative missions. And when they start suspecting that not ALL of their consciousness is transferring into their new cloned bodies.

Did you like the Starship Troopers movie? Well, this novel is similar in nature- Space soldiers, hell-spiders, brain slugs, and massive wasps. The difference is that with the technology in their buffering bands, the soldiers can die and wake up in new clone bodies. What is more efficient than a soldier who can’t die? But what are the consequences?

Infinity Squad was a lot of fun. Perhaps, not my usual type of read, and at times the narrative and plot twists and turns were so fast that I felt like I had been spun three hundred and sixty degrees at light speed, but it was exciting and not at all deep. The ‘who is the real enemy’ story line was an interesting and compelling route to take.

The main character and his two closest sub characters were well developed, and their dialogue read easily. The rest felt a little stilted and hard to differentiate. The hell-spiders almost seemed more believable in many ways- they had their own codes, rules, and hierarchy.

The concept was inventive, and like I already stated, a lot of fun. If you want an easy read with a humourous, yet dark, space colonisation story line, then I would definitely recommend this book to you. I will probably give book two a shot!

 

The opinions expressed here are those of K.J.Chapman and no other parties.

All books reviewed on this blog have been read by K.J.Chapman

K.J.Chapman has not been paid for this review.

 

My Muse-ic of the Week

I have been singing this song all week, and I mean all week. Sometimes, I don’t even realise I’m doing it. I haven’t heard it in a while, and I must have subconsciously heard it somewhere and now can’t shake it.

I love this song. I have had a huge surge of inspiration after fully appreciating the lyrics, and on a side note, I think the actor in the music video, Jesse Williams, has something very Adam ‘esque’ about him- even the green eyes! It must be a sign. EVO Nation readers what do you think?!

Russian Roulette by Rhianna (watch video here)

Take a breath

Take it deep

‘Calm yourself’, He says to me

If you play, you play for keeps

Take the gun and count to three

Im sweating now

Moving slow

No time to think. My turn to go

And you can see my heart beating

You can see it through my chest

Said I’m terrified but I’m not leaving

I know that I must pass this test

So, just pull the trigger

Say a prayer to yourself

He says ‘close your eyes, sometimes it helps’

And then I get a scary thought

That he’s here – means he’s never lost

And you can see my heart beating

No, You can see it through my chest

Said I’m terrified but I’m not leaving

Know that I must pass this test

So, just pull the trigger

As my life flashes before my eyes

I’m wondering will I ever see another sunrise?

So many won’t get the chance to say good-bye

But its too late to think of the value of my life

And you can see my heart beating

No, You can see it through my chest

Said I’m terrified but I’m not leaving no

Know that I must pass this test

You can see my heart beating

Oh, you can see it through my chest

I’m terrified but I’m not leaving no

Know that I must pass this test

So, just pull the trigger

Image is the property of K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompt #2

Okay, I know this is a picture of my pot pourri, but just hear me out. Firstly, isn’t it pretty? It’s so pink and purple, and smelly…*turns down the crazy*. Secondly, my daughter says it looks like leaves from another planet.

Leaves from another planet… That is what I’m going to roll with for this week’s picture prompt inspiration.

A Penny For Your Dreams

“I’m going to bed.”

Mum glances up from her sewing machine. “But it’s only nine, Penny. Are you feeling alright?”

“I think I’m getting a cold,” I lie. “I’ll probably read until I fall asleep.”

“Take some vitamin C,” she calls after me.

Racing up the stairs, I throw off my clothes, pull on some pyjamas and my bed slippers, and snuggle under the covers. I’m properly weird; surely no one over the age of ten should be as desperate as I am to go to bed, and hopefully get back to a dream they’ve been having night after night.

Sleep is instantaneous as of late. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out for the count, and I always return to the same dream place. I open my eyes and I’m back. The vivid colours are unlike anything I’ve experienced in real life; a kaleidoscope of tones and hues that at first made me feel a little queasy. Now, the real world seems bland in comparison, even the sharpest of colours cannot compare to this.

The warm breeze blows through my hair, wafting familiar sweet scents from the blanket of leaves that covers the ground. The trees are extraordinary with leaves of blues, purples, and pinks, and are perfumed like flowers. Lying down, I stir up some leaves with my arms, the scent enveloping me, and in honesty, leaving me a little high.

I’m never accompanied. My dream world is my world, and I praise my imagination; I never thought I had any until now. Stretching my arms above my head and pointing my toes, I take a roll down a grassy mound, watching the leaves swirling around me. Kind of childish I know, but it’s my dream and I’ll do what I want in it.

Last night, I went exploring. I have decided to see how far my dream will stretch. I made it to the woods in the distance before the alarm went off for work. I want to venture inside the woods one night, but for tonight, I’m heading for what I assume to be the south, toward the hills and the moon like planet that is ever present. Some times, if I dream it is night time, I see lights on it.

I take in every detail on this side of my dream world. The rocks are covered with some kind of luminescent moss. It’s beautiful, and reminds me of the little, glowing crabs I saw in a cave on holiday with Mum. Perhaps, that’s where this stems from in my subconscious. The hills are still a ways off in the distance, and I don’t think I will get there before it’s time to wake, but if I make a mental note of where I reach, hopefully I can reemerge in that spot tomorrow night. It hasn’t happened that way before, but it’s my dream, right?

The night starts to draw in, and the rocks glow brighter and more spectacularly than before. It doesn’t phase me. No, I haven’t ventured from the leafy area in the dark, but it’s not pitch black, and the moon planet starts to glow with lights once again. Wow. It still never fails to stun me in all its glory. The lights spread out like fireworks over the surface. I definitely want to go there.

There’s a creak in some trees to my left. The wind has picked up a notch, but still I wait to discern any movement. The idea of people or animals intrigues me, but I don’t want a dream version of my Mum to come traipsing along with me. A shadow darts  between the trees, and my breath catches.

“Hello?” I call. It moves again. “I can see you.”

The night air is filled with an almighty screeching sound, and a boar bursts from the trees. I say a boar, but it’s the size of a baby elephant, with razored edges on it’s tusks, and spine like needles sticking from it’s back like fencing swords. The boar screeches again, bounding toward me with crazy fast speed. I run in the other direction toward the surrounding trees, and duck behind the first thick trunk I find. The creature slams into it. The crack of the wood splintering sends bird like creatures soaring from the trees. I sprawl forward, scrambling on hands and knees to escape the falling tree’s path. The boar huffs, and starts stamping it’s foot against the ground in a continuous, rhythmic thumping.

I sit behind another tree, trying to rein in my breathing, and adjust my eyes to the darkness of the woods. More screeches sound from further out, more thumping and trees cracking. I let out a whimper. Why is my mind creating mammoth boars hell bent on eating me? If I just let it get me I’ll wake up, won’t I? Mum told me that we always wake up before we die in dreams. I’ve fallen in my dreams many times and I always wake before I hit the bottom.

Taking a calming breath, I make my way back to the open space I was just exploring. I can hear the boar, but I can’t see him. “He’s not real. He’s not real,” I say out loud to myself. “He can’t hurt you, Penny.”

Then, I see him. His breath floats from his mouth like smoke in the cooling air, and he’s drooling foam. I stand still, head raised, shoulders back, willing myself to be brave. He scuffs at the ground with his hoof, and springs toward me once more. I can’t stand and do nothing; instinct won’t let me give in. There is a small opening in between two moss covered rocks and if I can get to it before he gets me, I might stand a chance. He can’t break rocks, surely.

I run full pelt. I can hear him behind me, the ground shaking under his footfall, and his grunting breaths gaining with every step. I can make it. I can do this. Then, I’m soaring through the air, my slipper torn from my foot by a rogue root. I smash into the rocks,  my head ringing from the impact. Spores of moss float around my face, and I can’t help but inhale them. The boar charges me as my mind drifts and the world warbles.

I clench my eyes shut, waiting for impact, but he stops, lets out a screeching cry, and topples onto his side. I see the red of blood seeping from his under belly, but my eyes won’t fully focus. What has that moss done to me?

Voices carry in the wind around me. “We’ll take that back with us. Slit its throat and drain the blood before you bring it on board.”

I loll my head in an attempt to see the talker. A group of men stand around the boar, wrestling with it’s huge weight. Two men break away from the pack and start walking to me. I can only see outlines, they’re features are indiscernible.

“She has inhaled the light spores,” a different voice says. “She could be affected for hours. We can’t leave her here, but I didn’t bring a spare suit. You said to travel light.”

Hands scoop under my back and legs, lifting me. “You and the lads take the ship back, get that meat unloaded, and I’ll message when I need a lift. I’ll take her back to worm point and wait with her until she’s gone,” says the original voice.

“Do you reckon she’s from Earth like the last guy?”

The man holding me, jumps me into his arms a little tighter. “Probably. That’s where most of the wormholes seem to stem from.”

“She could be the one, Keate.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that bullshit? That’s just a fairy tale parents told their kids when the worms started appearing. I’ll prove it to you.” He shakes me lightly. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Dream.” I don’t know why I said dream. My brain isn’t functioning like it should. I feel like I’m off my face.

“There, you see,  she’s called Dream. Weird name, but hey.”

The other guy starts to laugh, and I hear his footsteps trail off. I want to wake up now- right now.

“Not real,” I say to the man holding me.

He kind of grunts, and starts walking. “It’s a real inconvenience is what it is.”

“Home.”

He keeps walking. “Yep, you’ll be going home soon.”

I hear the roar of what sounds like a plane engine, and then silence once more, except mystery dream man’s shoes crunching on leaves. Keate? Where would I have come up with that name?

He lowers me onto a bed of leaves, and the fragrance once again soothes my aching, distorted mind. I desperately try to focus on him. I know he sits with his back against a tree, one knee bent, and the other leg outstretched. I think his hair is dark and short, but his face is a blur.

“Dream,” I say again. I’m not even sure why I’m talking, yet when I do it’s incoherent.

“I know, I know, you’re called Dream.”

I giggle to myself, and his body shifts a little in my direction. “No Dream.”

“I’m not sure if it’s that bump or the light spores, but you’re pretty delusional, aren’t you?” He comes a little closer. I will him further, I want to see his face.

“I feel funny,” I say. The first correct sentence I have made since practically knocking myself unconscious.

“Whoa, that was quick,” he says, jumping to his feet, and backing away. “It usually takes hours before they can be sent home.”

“I’m usually here for hours,” I say, rolling on to my stomach like a drunk.

He takes a step closer. “You’ve been here before?”

I hold up my fingers, having to squint to make sure I’ve held up seven. “I still feel funny.”

“It’s the worm hole,” he calls as a whooshing noise fills my ears. I’ve never experienced this before. I wake up at home every time. This is just a dream. This is just a dream.

“Dream, have you been here seven times?” Keate shouts over the noise. He sounds confused, a little concerned even.

“My name isn’t Dream, its Penny.”

His face bursts into perfect clarity. The last thing I see is his open-mouthed expression, and brilliant blue eyes. Then, I feel like I’m being sucked down a plug hole.

I wake up on my bedroom floor. Car alarms sound outside, and Mum’s footsteps pound up the stairs.

“Did you hear that? The electricity is out for the whole village,” she says, bursting into my room, shining a torch. “Must have been an explosion? I’m going to check the news on my phone. Get on your Facebook, and see if anyone has posted anything.”

I push myself to my knees, still groggy, and feeling tipsy.

“You’ve banged your head, Pen,” Mum says touching my tender forehead. “I’ll get a compress.” She helps me on to the bed. My brain aches. That bump could have happened when I fell out of the bed. That’s the only logical reasoning. “What’s that?” she asks, pulling something from my hair. “Mmm, that smells beautiful.”

She bustles out of the room with her torch, and I stare at the pink leaf she has placed in my palm.

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

 

Write Me: Ninety Word Story

Here I am at the penultimate week of my ‘Write Me’ posts. I hope my last two posts hold promise because as of next week, I will not be replacing these posts with another writing exercise regular. I have two other writing exercise posts on the go, and two is plenty for my current schedule.

Speaking to him was surreal. He didn’t sound evil, he was, he just didn’t sound it. I arranged a drop for seven that evening. He would bring the drugs and I would bring the cash. I would stash the knife up my sleeve, and when he walked away, I would reach around him and slit his throat. I wondered if he’d notice the similarities before his blood drained from him. I hoped he would know that I knew what he did to her. No one kills my sister and lives.

Feel free to join in with your own ninety word stories, and let me know what you come up with.

 

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

What’s Your Name? Letter D

Today’s name that I randomly selected from the first D page of the name book is:

Dáire: (pronounced darr-ya) a masculine first name meaning ‘fruitful’ or ‘fertile’ (Irish Gaelic).

Dáire

Pulling her jumper over her head, and scrunching her hair back into a ponytail, Eva runs down the garden path, and volts the wall into the neighbouring field. The moon is fat in the sky, illuminating everything with clear brilliance. With one final glance at the dark windows to make sure her Papa is none the wiser, she races on through the long grass.

Her rucksack, as usual during these midnight escapades, is full of blankets, food, drink, and Papa’s clothes. The earth is boggy underfoot, and the breeze cuts through her jumper and jeans, but nothing can dampen her spirits tonight.

At the edge of the field she climbs the gate into Mr O’Hara’s field that borders the woods. A security light flashes on, and she shrinks into the hedgerow. She can’t be seen; not by a soul. Keeping low and avoiding the nettles, she skirts the field in ten seconds flat, and sprints into the woods.

She makes it to the clearing in less than ten minutes. Slumping down on the fallen tree to catch her breath, she admires the moon in all its glory. She had never appreciated the moon before all of this started. Now, she has the lunar cycles meticulously noted on her calendar. Her Papa made a joke about her being a werewolf, which amused her greatly. If only he knew.

It has been exactly twenty nine days since the last full moon. The longest twenty nine days in human history, or so it felt to Eva. Impatiently drumming her fingers against the tree bark, she nervously jiggles her legs. The excitement never dissipated, if anything it only grew with each full moon.

Then she felt it- the change in the air as if charged with electricity, the eerie silence that always fell over the woods, the pulsating, humming noise, and finally, the beam of light.

The light stretches from the sky, illuminating the clearing in beautiful green rays. The floating shape gives her goose bumps, and she holds her breath as the figure slowly tumbles through the light toward earth. The light disappears as quickly as it arrived, and she blinks away the dots in her eyes, allowing them to acclimatise to the sudden darkness.

He lies on the ground, pale skin and silver white hair aglow in the moonlight. He always arrives naked. It was part and parcel with the port ship; only organic matter could go through the port, or at least that was what she understood from his explanations.

He stands uneasily, straightening himself out, and getting re-accustomed to the increased gravity. “Eva?” he asks, blinking through unfocused eyes.

Eva rushes him, jumping into his arms. “I’ve missed you, Dáire,” she whispers.

He strokes her hair out of her face, and kisses her. “Not as much as I have missed you,” he says against her lips.

Dáire’s gold irises sparkle in the moonlight making her tummy swoop. “How long can you stay for this time?” she asks, scared of his reply.

“Five minutes.” He judges her reaction, gripping a little tighter to her waist. “They know, Eva. They know what I’ve been doing, and have threatened your life. I can’t stay, and neither can you. You’ve got to come with me- right now.”

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

Promo Quotes

It has happened! I’m on the promo quotes band wagon. Not only are they a practical, visual way to promote EVO Nation on social media, they also highlight some of the more poignant quotes from my book.

Keep your eyes peeled for my promo visuals and many more to come on my Twitter and Facebook pages.

Buy EVO Nation from Amazon Kindle

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman

Picture Prompts: #1

As it’s the new year, I have created a new writing exercise post that will last for six months. The idea is for me to photograph something that inspires me each week, and use that picture as a prompt for a writing exercise post each Tuesday. The picture can be anything. I’m not limiting myself, so whereas one week a landscape shot may hold inspiration for me, the next week it could be a funny shaped vegetable- who knows?

This week’s picture was taken during a ramble through local woodland with my family. We had to jump a creek, try not to lose our wellies in thick mud, and get back to the car park before it got dark and we got well and truly lost. There was something so magical about the wildness of this particular woodland. Ideas kept springing to mind, and I had to take a plethora of pictures. I have opted for the following:

It’s a panoramic photo of a particularly beautiful area on our walk. As night started to fall, the area took on a eerie,magical quality, and that is what has inspired this story. It’s longer than my usual short stories, but I felt it necessary.

The Man in the Woods

“You said you knew the way back,” Libby whispered. Every creak, bird call, and whistle of wind puts her on edge.

“I said, I’m sure we’d find our way back, but that was in the daylight. You were the one who wanted to stay and get those last few pictures.”She huffs ahead of me, no wiser of the path we’re taking. “Do you have any signal?

She laughs out loud. “Of course I don’t have signal. We’re lost in the woods, Fiona. Have you never watched a horror film?”

I roll my eyes, and opt for silence. If we keep heading in this direction we’ll stumble across some kind of civilisation soon. When Libby has subconsciously blamed you for something, there is no changing her mind. It’s a good job that I don’t pay her much heed. If she wasn’t Davey’s girlfriend, I doubt we’d hang out, like ever.

Libby stops, holding a hand just inches from my face. “Do you hear that?”

I swat her hand away, barging passed her, but then I too hear it. “That’s an engine,” I whisper. Headlights filter through the trees up ahead, and swing to the left. The car continues on out of sight. “There must be a road, a house, something,” I say, racing on.

Libby holds her camera to her chest, and jogs behind me. The road is more of a mud strewn dirt track, and on first glance, looks like it heads into deeper woodland. “There has to be something up there,” Libby surmises. Once again she takes the lead, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she does so.

I pull out my phone again- still no signal. Thrusting it back into my pocket, I plough through the mud, my wellies lagged up to my ankles. Libby lets out a little ‘ooo’ noise, and quickens her pace. A building sits nestled in dense trees. We could have missed it, if not for the silver car parked outside, reflecting the moonlight.

Libby’s already at the door. “This place is derelict. Do you reckon someone actually lives here,” she says, knocking.

The house is dying if not dead. Both upstairs windows are cracked, the roof bows in, and the white paintwork is tinged green with algae. The whole place smells boggy, but the car is fancy. I peer in the car window as the front door opens.

A man answers with a candle in hand. His features stretch in the flickering light, appearing demonic. He steps out, his face one of confusion and irritation.

“Oh, thank god,” Libby exclaims. “My friend has got us lost out here. Please, please could you show us the way to the real world.”

The man takes another step, the moonlight exposing him. I’m struck by his appearance- green eyes, dark hair back in a ponytail, and a symmetry to his face that surpasses that of Greek Gods.”

Libby makes a strange noise. She too must be seeing what I’m seeing, but up close. “Sorry, I’m- um- I’m Libby,” she says, holding out her hand. The man looks at her hand, and then giving it a shake, he looks passed her to me. “Oh, that’s Fiona,” she adds with a flick of her wrist. The action irritates me. She always acts like I’m a  nuisance, an annoying wasp that could be wafted away. The truth she wont admit, is that I’m her only friend, if you can call us that.

I offer a quick wave.

“So, directions would be fantastic,” Libby continues.

“Would you like to come inside a minute,” he asks. His smooth voice stirs something deep in my tummy.

Libby is already heading into the house. How has this girl survived this long. One minute she’s talking about horror movies, and the next she is stepping into a strangers house in the woods.

“No, we’re happy to wait out here, thank you,” I say, grabbing her arm.

The man’s lips purse as if he’s hiding a smile, but he nods, and heads inside closing the door behind him.

“Fiona, could you be anymore rude? I’m freezing, and he was being polite.”

“We are lost in the woods, Lib. He could be a serial killer for all we know.”

“She’s right,” says the smooth voice. He has appeared from the back of the house, wearing a coat, and carrying a torch. “I’m not, but I could have been.” He heads down a narrow footpath, shining the torch at his feet. “It’s this way on foot.”

Libby lets out a flirty laugh. “Ignore her. I could tell you were a good man as soon as I saw you. Thank you for helping us.”

“A good man, well, that’s a new one.”

“Excuse me?” I say. Both Libby and Greek God turn toward me. “Did you say something?”

He raises an eyebrow. “No.”

“I just thought I heard something.” I walk at least ten paces behind them. Libby desperately tries to keep up with our escort, but he moves quickly. He glances at me, his mouth turns down in contemplation, and then he turns his attention back to the footpath.

“You haven’t even asked us why we were out here,” Libby says. I roll my eyes. Here we go. “I’m a photography student. I needed some natural images for an assignment I’m doing. Would you like to see?”

She doesn’t let him reply, just starts flicking through her pictures. He nods politely, glancing down just enough to feign interest, and then something draws his attention.

“Oh, I was just checking the exposure on that one.”

“Beautiful,” he says.

“What one is beautiful?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. “Even though Libby enjoys photography, and scrapes by in all her assignments, she doesn’t have a natural talent like Davey does.

His head jerks in my direction, his eyes locking mine. I feel exposed in his glare, and look to my feet. Why is he so intense? Why do I like it?

Libby notices his interest in me; she can’t deal with that. Libby always has the male attention, not boring, weird Fiona. “Alright, Miss Bighead. No one said anything about beautiful.” She whispers something to Greek God, and giggles like a school girl. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“You went pretty far out to get those pictures,” he says, then he stops, turn to face me, and shines the torch at my feet. “It can be dangerous that deep in the woods. Please, don’t go down there again.”

His words seep into me like honey absorbing into my skin. Despite myself, I nod, not able to look away from him. He smiles, and my tummy swoops.

Libby steps in front of me, breaking whatever that tension was. “We won’t be coming back here again,”she says, laughing. “Fiona, doesn’t know her left from her right.”

“Well, she seems much more sensible than you.” The fiery tones in his voice catch me off guard, but I grin to myself as Libby stumbles over her own tongue. “How are you two even friends?” he asks.

“Libby dates my brother,” I say. Libby glares at me. What was she expecting? ‘Oh, how could I ever not be friends with such a talented, friendly, selfless person such as Libby?’

Greek God laughs, the sound rolls around me like thunder. Shit! Did I just say that out loud? Libby appears just as confused by his outburst as I am, so I rein myself in, and concentrate on my own feet. He slows his pace, not much, but enough to allow me to catch up. Libby glares ahead with a face like a slapped ass. Greek God looks to my hand twirling my necklace, but averts his gaze when he realises I’m looking. What is happening here?

Street lights appear up ahead, twinkling through the blowing trees. He points his torch toward a stile. “There you go, ladies- the car park.”

“Thank Christ,” Libby says, sighing. She checks her watch and quickens her pace. “I’m supposed to be at work in ten minutes.” Jumping the stile, she straightens her jacket, and fixes her hair. “Are you okay to get a taxi home, Fiona? Otherwise, I’m going fifteen minutes out of my way.” She’s running to her car before I can even answer, and without so much as a fuck you very much to our rescuer.

I can’t leave it like that. “Thank you for helping us,” I say, turning to face him. He has Libby’s camera, flicking through the images. “How did you-”

“I wanted to show you the image I thought was beautiful,” he says, not looking up from the camera. “That self- absorbed, bimbo of a girl would have deleted it, otherwise.”

“I knew I heard you.”

“I didn’t say it, l thought it.”

He hands me the camera, and my breath catches a little. The image is slightly out of focus giving it a soft quality. I sit on the river bank, leaning back on my wrists. I’m oblivious to the camera, and twirl a yellow leaf in my fingers.

“What do you mean, you thought it?”

His fingers dance over my shoulder, leaving a coursing energy behind them. “Do you feel this?” he asks, centimeters from my ear. I nod. “Impossible.”

“Who are you? What is this?” I step away from him, drawing my arms around myself.

He backs up, holding his palms in the air. “Don’t fear me. I don’t know what this is, but it’s important. Come on, I’ll drive you home. Your idiotic friend thinks it’s okay for you to get a taxi alone, but I don’t. I would also like to have a word with your brother about his taste in women.”

I smile, instantly regretting it as one spreads over his own face. Wow, he is stunning. “No, I’m fine. I can walk it in less than five minutes, and anyway, I can look after myself.”

“Oh, is that so,” says a strange voice. A hand clamps over my mouth, and Greek God’s face falls in shock. In the next instant, he’s launched from his feet, hitting into a tree trunk with such force that the creak echoes throughout the woods.

“Hello, Anneka,” the voice whispers in my ear. He knows my birth name. Not even Libby knows my birth name. Greek God’s eyes meet mine if only briefly. My birth name means something to him too.

Okay, Fiona, think this through. His hand is big enough to cover my mouth and nose easily, I can feel his insane muscles pressed against my back, he’s about two heads taller than me, and there is a weapon of some kind in his waist band.

Inhaling through my nose, I stamp on his foot, and bring an elbow back into his ribs. He drops slightly, releasing his grip on me a little. Spinning in his arms, I bring my knee up to meet his manhood, and as he falls into a crouch, I grab his head, using the same knee to smash his face. Blood spurts from his mouth and nose, and as he topples, I kick him in the ribs, and unsheathe his knife; an ornate, silver blade that looks as old as life itself.

Greek God snatches the knife from me and plunges it into my attackers chest. An eerie hiss emits from the wound, and the man withers in front of my eyes until he’s nothing but dust.

“You can fight,” Greek God pants, nursing a deep cut to his forehead.

I don’t reply. I just stare at the pile of dust on the floor.

 

Images are the property of K.J.Chapman

Written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

 

 

 

Write Me: Eighty Word Story

This post is a sneaky one because I am killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. I never got around to the final prompt offered to me by Al over at Hyperactive Pandemonium for my ‘Prompt Me’ posts that came to an end on Tuesday. As this prompt was created for me, I felt like I had a loose end.

Today’s eighty word story is inspired by the following prompt:

Embers rained down on the City of Hope. The night of enlightenment and conversion had begun.

It was our time. The young ones were to take what was ours by birth right, but denied to us by the old and obsolete. The conversion was a mesh of magical forces looking for fresh, strong hosts. We had planned this all along. We were the Magic Embodied; a group assigned in secret and meticulously hand picked by the Enlightened Resistance. They believed in us, and they too wanted a new world of magic. Our bodies were their vessels.

Feel free to join in with your own eighty word stories, and let me know what you come up with.

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt featured in this post.

Well, That’s A Novel Surprise

Well, it has happened again, folks. A surprise character has arrived in the world of EVO Shift; a surprise character, but a highly important one who now has an important role in book three. Let’s just say their appearance in the narrative has only gone and reshaped MY WHOLE ENDING!

Why does this always happen? When you think you’re on the home straight, something crops up to throw a spanner in the works. I can’t just skirt over this character until a later date. I need to give them and their story more attention.

I can’t stress how important they are going to be to my main character. It’s a relationship that is going to last, so I best crack on, and reassess everything I thought was going to happen…

 

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What’s Your Name? Letter C

 

Let’s kick off my first writing exercise of the new year. I am on letter C this week, and the name randomly selected from the first ‘C’ page of my naming book is:

Cadence: a feminine first name meaning rhythmic.

Not only do I love this name, but the meaning has offered me some intriguing inspiration…

Cadence

Grandfather slams his hands on the table. “For the last two hundred and fifty years, each generation of this family has birthed a Dancer. Where is our Dancer?” His voice is almost at ear splitting volume. “One of you should have received your markings by now. My mother was thirteen when she was blessed, and I was fourteen when I took my turn.” He turns to me. “Your mother was fifteen when she first felt her fate. You are seventeen, Cadence.”

“Who says it should be me? It could be Lyall or Ivanna. Just because Mum is a Dancer, it doesn’t give me privilege. It can happen to anyone in the new blood line.”

I was told the story of our family destiny many times as a child. The kingdom’s elders were all blessed, or cursed depending on how you see it, by Goddess Irina with the power of magic through dance. The magic kept the kingdom alive and was essential during the rituals. The elders would pass the gift onto a member of each new generation, or new blood line as we call it. My ancestor, whom we call Grandmother Dance, birthed the first of our blood line over two hundred and fifty years ago. She was a married woman with six children to a humble farmer. If she hadn’t allowed Elder Cohl to bed her, who knows where our family would be? In the gutters, fighting for scraps no doubt. When that child came of age, the kingdom knew of her infidelity, and that of Elder Cohl, but the child was worshiped for that child meant life.

My mother was the last to be blessed as a Dancer. Just like myself and my cousins, she and her sisters were vigorously trained from a young age in the art of dance  in preparation for a possible marking. Grandfather was a dictator of dance; a cruel tutor.

Over the past year, all five Dancers from the other bloodlines have gained there markings; intricate, black patterns that cover their entire bodies. The kingdom is surviving, but without the sixth Dancer the magic will only last so long. This length of time without a sixth Dancer taking the markings is unprecedented.

“I have no idea what this could mean. The kingdom needs a Dancer and you are all of age. If you bring disgrace to this family I shall disown you all. I shall ensure your own mothers spurn you, and you shall be cast out into the gutters.”

Ivanna starts to cry. At thirteen, she is too young to deal with this pressure. We’ve all felt Grandfather’s wrath, but lately he’s focused on her. He never really had her pegged as the next Dancer, but now that it is a real possibility, he is training her for at least twelve hours a day. Her toe nails were bleeding last night and I had to tend to them.

“I shall be happy to leave this house,” I blurt. “You make out that it is our doing. We are not marked, but that is the will of the Goddess.”

His hand meets my face with a resounding slap, and I clutch at my tender cheek. “How dare you blaspheme in this house. You, child, better hope you are marked, because if not, you will be cast out- you and your mother. She never wanted the markings anyway, perhaps that’s why we have been cursed with this shame.”

“Mother didn’t want to be marked because she wanted an escape from you,” I scream at him. I’ve never stood up to Grandfather before, and now, I can’t control myself.

Another blow to my head sends me toppling from my chair. The air is knocked from my lungs, and I splutter through the blood spilling from my lip. “You are an ill-tempered man with a loose fist. If anyone is to blame it is you. It is your sickening behaviour that has cursed this family. The Goddess is ashamed of you.”

With that, a light bursts from my chest. Grandfather and my cousins shield their eyes with their forearms. My body soars into the air, hanging like a rag doll in a child’s hand. My hands sear with an intense heat as more light emits from my finger tips. Black and gold scrawl appears on my palms and stretches the length of my arms. The power coursing through my veins is all consuming and I could burst with the energy.

I drop to my feet, examining my new markings. I have never seen anything so beautiful. No one has been marked in such a way. Grandfather snatches my wrist, his nose just centimeters from my skin as he studies me. I wrench my arm free. “Do not touch me,” I snarl.

A scream outside cuts through the tension. I rush into the street to see Matteo on the ground, his mother screaming his name over and over. Matteo was the fourth Dancer marked. At just thirteen he is the youngest of the new bloodlines. I race closer, the blood seeping like tears from his eyes is horrific, but that’s not what stops me- his markings have disappeared.  When his mother sees me she recoils. Other passers by stare at me with both fear and wonder etched on their faces.

“What is she?” calls one man. “What has happened to the boy Dancer?”

Another man runs towards us, flailing his arms in the air. He’s the one they call ‘The Seeing Eye’. “Two Dancers dead! Two Dancers dead! Vaughn and Taya have perished.” His screams stop when he sees Matteo’s lifeless body. “It has begun,” he whispers.

“What has?” I ask.

As soon as he sees me, he clasps a hand to his mouth, and drops into a low bow.  “Goddess,” he announces.

“No, I’m Cadence. The sixth Dancer marked.”

The Seeing Eye, gingerly approaches me, taking my hands like I’m made of the most precious metal. “You have been marked, my dear one, but not as a Dancer. The Goddess herself has made you a deity. You are the living Goddess written about in the old texts. You must dance, my dear one. Quickly, quickly.”

I don’t question him; the fear in his eyes speaks volumes. As I extend my arm, spindles of light reach from my fingers.  Each move feels blessed, magical. The onlookers gasp as the light envelops them, and I dance until I can feel the softness of their souls. What a glorious sensation.

Matteo takes a deep, gulping breath. I watch his mother cradle him in her arms, and still I dance. I dance until I can feel all the souls of the fallen Dancers return to their bodies. This is the will of Irina. The people bow to me for I have given life.

“Life is not easily given,” says a melodic voice in my head. “One must be sacrificed.”  I don’t say a word. My choice was made when I stood up to the cruel man that called himself my Grandfather.  “Wise choice,” says the voice, Irina’s voice, and Grandfather drops down dead.

I don’t feel sorrow for the wicked soul Irina has claimed. All I feel is power.

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman