K.J. Chapman's Blog, page 86

EVO Nation Support!

This is a little crimbo promotion post for EVO Nation, a science fiction and urban fantasy eBook. EVO Nation is my debut novel. It is book one in the EVO Nation Series, and I am currently working on book two, EVO Shift. EVO Nation is available from Amazon for just 99p. If you enjoy my short stories and writing exercises, why not take a chance on my novel? Go on, I know you want to.

Buy EVO Nation for just 99p.

EVO Nation blurb:

The government tortures her, her own kind uses her, and she is learning the true meaning of ulterior motives. Teddie Leason has been dragged into the festering underbelly of the secretive world of EVO; a world about to be blown wide apart.

EVO are the next link in evolution, but with that title come the dangers of capture, torture, and experimentation. And with that threat come the need to survive, and a breed of EVO who are set to not only thrive, but rule.

Teddie has the fate of the EVO and Non-EVO world resting on her shoulders, and now, the reclusive teenager who couldn’t get upset without her unruly ability causing destruction, has to somehow embrace her gift to save her new friends and her new love.

Will the actions of one man fuel a suppressed, supremacist cult’s desire for war and vengeance, or will Teddie be strong enough to stop him? Should she stop him?

You can check out the ‘look inside’ feature on Amazon, and/or read reviews left by other readers. If you have read EVO Nation, but haven’t left a review, I would greatly appreciate an Amazon and Goodreads review.

Merry Christmas, Folks.

Prompt Me #7

Today’s prompt is another from Sarina over at Cookie Break. I cannot stress enough how you are missing out if you are not following Cookie Break. You’ve heard it here, folks. I am a huge fan of Sarina’s blog.

Prompt:

Write two prayers for your character: One to be said in private, one to be said in public.

I am going to use this prompt as a little EVO Shift insight exercise. EVO Shift is book two in the EVO Nation series, and my main character, Teddie Leason, is struggling with certain issues and situations. I am still working on EVO Shift, so I hope this exercise will further my progress, and help me take a deeper delve into Teddie’s mindset.

My Public Prayer

You ask me what I pray for at night? But that isn’t the question you should be asking. You should be asking if there is any point bothering to praying at all. I can’t answer that one, but when I look around at the state of the world, at the state of humanity, I want to scream at the heavens to help us.

EVO or Non-EVO shouldn’t be the deciding factor in this war. Wake up and see that humanity is dying. When did we start torturing EVO children in the name of science? When did we start believing we’re superior to the Non-EVO because of an extra chromosome? The planet is spiraling out of control and I want off.

If you feel the need to pray, ask for our humanity to be restored. Perhaps someone up there will take pity, but if it was down to me I’d wash my hands of the lot of us.

My Private Prayer

Are you there? Do you even care? If you can hear me, then hear this- I hate you. I hate you with every ounce of life left in my body! Why are you doing this? Why would you take them from me? They were good people, the best of people. God? Is that what we’re supposed to call you? Tell me what to do. Tell me how to get through this. 

I can’t watch anyone else die. Next time you feel the need to fill your death quota, please do me a favour and knock on my door. I’m done.

Oh, one small side note- I doubt I’d be seeing you either way. After today, I’m probably headed for warmer climes.

I am no longer accepting prompt ideas.

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

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

Buy EVO Nation, book one in the EVO Nation Series for 99p

Write Me: Sixty Word Story

Wow. I thought these exercises would get easier as the word count grew, but if anything, they’re getting harder. I’ve opted for a dialogue sixty word story today, so here it goes:

“Have you ever loved somebody so much that you thought your heart could beat itself right out of your chest? No, me neither.”

“But you said you loved me.”

“And I thought I did for a while. I had the nervous belly, the butterflies, but it turned out to be wind. It must be the effect you have on me.” 

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

 

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

Word Count Weekly #19

I have a five year old daughter.
School Christmas plays and parties have been non-stop.
I’m still recuperating after my wedding on the 11th.
I didn’t start my Christmas shopping until this week.

There you have my list of reasons…*excuses* for my shameful word count this week.

701 Words

It’s okay, though. I’ve been enjoying myself, enjoying family life, and getting in the Christmas spirit. 701 words will do.

I won’t hold out any promises for next week’s word count either. It’s Christmas week, so I shall be eating, drinking, and having a blast. I hope you all do too. Let’s all aim for a festive, merry week and low word counts.

And if you’re not feeling the Christmas spirit…

Excerpt from this week’s W.I.P:

I wear pyjamas. I haven’t worn pyjamas in weeks. They seem pointless, what if we need to run in a hurry? Pink, fluffy pyjamas with unicorns on them aren’t the most practical outlaw attire. I strip them off and chuck them into the corner. Instead, opting for jeans, a grey, knit sweater, and zip up boots. I fill a rucksack with more practical choices before climbing back into bed.

I just want to add a huge thank you to everyone who read my short stories and writing exercises this week. Your comments have been amazing, motivating, and uplifting. Your support is much appreciated.

 

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

GIF sourced from GIPHY.COM

What’s Your Name? Letter A

 

Yesterday, I posted about a new blog post idea that shall last for the next 26 weeks. A writing exercise using one randomly picked name from the first page of each letter in my tatty, but much loved naming book. I shall use the name meaning to spur a story into life.

The first name I chose from the first page of the A section of my naming book is… Abbie.

Abbie is a diminutive form of Abigail. Abigail means ‘my father’s joy’ or ‘hand maid’ in Hebrew.

Abbie

My first memory is of my Dad. There is snow, there is my Dad’s smiling face, my hands ache from the cold, and there is a shadow of a woman stretching out over our snow angels. That shadow was my mother’s. Dad told me that was the day before she left us. I have no memory of her face. I’ve seen pictures, but pictures are not the same as a true recollection. I became motherless at three years old, but I gained much more in my relationship with my father. He was my hero, and I was his pride and joy.

My second memory is of waffles. The day after my mother left, Dad made a mountain of the things. Every year on the anniversary of her abandonment, he’d make waffles. Possibly an attempt to lessen the blow. After a few years, it wasn’t about her anymore, and became our Sunday ritual.

When Dad died I was eighteen. Everyone has a moment in their life when the bottom falls out of their world. That was my moment. I was torn between needing him with me and wanting him to be at peace and free from pain. I went on with my half life as an orphan, not letting anyone in, not wanting another ‘moment’ ever again.

Then she turned up. Geri. A rapping on the door woke me in the early hours. I didn’t recognise the tanned, cropped haired woman stood in skinny jeans and a leather jacket. Fancy having to introduce yourself to your own child?

“I’m your Mum,” she said.

“My mother is dead.”

She half smiles. “Is that what he told you?”

“No, that’s what I told myself. Get the hell off of my property and slither back under the rock you crawled out from. You are a ghost.” I slammed the door in her face, climbed back into bed, and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The next morning she was back again, only this time she had brought me something- a child.  A waif of a girl with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and scuffed knees. She looked just like I did as a child. The girl had nothing but a backpack and a scared look on her face.

“This is your sister,”she said, pulling the girl forward. The girl looked at me through a gap in her fringe. “Well, say hello,” Geri snapped at her

“Hello,” said a tiny, vulnerable voice.

“I’m Lucy. What’s your name?”

“Abbie.”

“Okay, Abbie, do you want to go inside for a minute while I speak to your Mum in private?” Abbie warily stepped through the door and disappeared down the hall.

I turned to Geri with venom on my tongue. “What is all this about?” She was already getting back in her car. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Where the hell do you think you are going?”

“I know you won’t let her get sucked into the system. There are forms in her bag, and here’s the number for my solicitor, so you can apply for custodial rights.” She chucked a card out of the window, and it landed in the dirt at my feet. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

I watched her careen down the street, a sweat trickling down my spine. What do I do? I’m too young to raise a child. Will Geri be back? A million thoughts ran through my head in a millisecond.

Abbie appeared beside me. “Is she gone?”

At least when Geri left me I had Dad. Abbie had no one. Correction- she had me. I wouldn’t let Geri scar my sister anymore than she had already. “Yes, Sweetie, but I promise to look after you, okay?”

Abbie’s solemn face cracked into a smile. “Pinky promise?”

I link my baby finger with hers. “Pinky promise. Right, you look hungry.” She nods. “How about waffles?”

 

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

 

 

A Quirky Writing Exercise Because I can…

As I aforementioned in a post about my My Most Important Tool As A Writer, I treasure my naming book. Dictionary of First Names by Geddes & Grosset is my go to reference for names and their meanings/ origins. I have had the book for many years, even before I ever contemplated having children of my own. It is tatty and adorned with Frozen stickers courtesy of my daughter, but I still love it.

I was perusing the book and a fun blog post idea popped into my head. What if I pick a name featured on the first page of each letter of the alphabet and create a short story for a character inspired by that name? Wham! Bam! I now have a Saturday blog post for the next 26 weeks.

I shall title the post ‘What’s Your Name? A-Z‘, so keep your eyes peeled. The first story shall be posted tomorrow.

Bringing Christmas to my Blog: A short Story exercise.

I feel like I’ve been a blogging Scrooge. Throughout the whole of December I haven’t posted one Christmassy writing exercise post- not one! In every other aspect of my life I’m on that Christmas train, blowing that whistle loud and proud, but my blog has been left out. At least I posted a fairly short, extremely simple  ‘Elf on the Shelf’ post to make up for some of my crimbo failings.

I have spent a little time on a Christmas themed writing exercise especially for this festive period. It’s longer than my usual writing exercises, but it is a sweet tale to warm the cockles of your heart. Let’s bring some festivity to this bah humbug blog.

Bingo

“Is there anyone special in your life right now?” Petra asks. After how are you, it’s usually the first go to question whenever we meet.

“Nope. I went on a blind date on Saturday, though.”

“And?” she asks, expectantly. I make a face. “Mona, you’re too picky. Lower your standards a little and give people a chance.”

“The guy wore a denim jacket,” I say, sucking a Slushie through a twirly straw. I let my niece, Hailee, open her Christmas gift a day early, and the Slushie Maker was a big hit until she gave herself chronic brain freeze.

“Essch. Yeah, I’m with you on that one,” Petra says, laughing. Ben breezes into the kitchen, merry being an understatement. He tips the contents of his wine glass into my Slushie. Petra slides a hand up his chest. “Your sister went on a blind date with a man wearing a denim jacket.”

“Hells Angels denim or Bryan Adams Summer of 69 denim?” Ben asks.

I snort. “The latter.” He scrunches his face and I can’t help by laugh. “I know. I know. My love life is a catastrophe. You don’t call me Mona the loner for nothing.”

Petra drops her spoon. “No one calls you that.” She blushes, and it’s kind of fun to see her squirm.

“Yeah, we do,” Ben grins, ruffling my hair. “Are you sure you’re not a lesbian, sis? You know we are very open minded, you can tell us.” He’s winding me up, and if I let him rile me he’ll never stop.

“I’m thinking it over. I might fair better with the ladies, who knows?”

The doorbell rings and Petra disappears with wine glass in tow. Ben nicks my ‘adult only’ Slushie and downs half in one slurp. I punch his arm, and grapple him into a headlock. We fight like kids, and he screams like a girl as I pull his arms behind his back and pin him to the floor with my knee.

Petra re-emerges with a tall stranger. He looks at me with a bemused look on his rain splattered face. Shaking out his shaggy, black mane, he waves a hello.

“Will you two act your age,” Petra scolds. I jump to my feet and allow Ben to greet his friend. “I apologise in advance for the children, Ryan” Petra says to him.

Ryan waves away her sarcastic apology, returning Ben’s hug.  This must be the Ryan from Ben’s work. Petra never mentioned he was a hottie.

“Ry, this is my sister Mona the Loner,” Ben says, smirking. I could curl up and die. “She was just deciding whether to become a lesbian or not.”

Ryan takes my hand and pulls me in to kiss my cheek. His blue eyes flash on mine briefly before his attention is stolen by Petra brandishing a beer. “I can recommend the ladies. I’m a big fan,” Ryan says. “Hard work though.”

“Ah, let me add that to the con list,” I say, picking up Petra’s notebook from the table.  He smiles, and my knees go a little wobbly.

He refuses Petra’s beer. “Thank you, but I can’t stop. I’ve got my Nana in the car. We’re off to the bingo. I just wanted to drop the pressure washer back as I was passing through.”

Ben takes the washer and thanks him. “I never thought of you as a Bingo type, Ry.”

“My sister usually does the bingo thing, but she’s away for Christmas. I’m not one hundred percent sure how to play.”

“Mona knows how. She used to go with our Mum when she was a teenager. She was a boring kid,” Ben says, nudging me playfully. “Why doesn’t Mona take your Nana? You used to love it, sis. You’d take Ry’s Nana to the bingo, won’t you? Ry could stay for a drink. How long is bingo- an hour, two tops?”

“Umm, well, I don’t-“

Ryan moves to the door. “No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t ask her to do that.”

“No, she’d love to, eh Mona? She’d just be sat in front of the box anyway. Grab your coat, sis.” He pushes me toward the hallway.

“Oh, okay. Let me.. um… I need to grab my purse,” I say, as I’m man handled toward the door. I could throttle Ben sometimes.

He snatches the keys from Ryan’s hand and chucks them at me. “Take Ryan’s car.” Ryan continues to protest, but Ben forces him into the den to show off his latest gismos and gadgets.

Petra mouths an apology as I saunter out of the house to take a stranger’s Nana to bingo. How do I end up in these situations? Oh, yeah it’s because I have a nob head of a brother.

Nana jumps as I open the door to introduce myself, but it’s apparent that she hasn’t got all of her faculties. She doesn’t question my explanation. As long as she gets to the bingo hall, she isn’t fussed who with. I start the ignition and start down the driveway. The passenger door swings open and Ryan jumps into the seat, panting. I slam the brakes on.

“I can’t believe you would really take my Nana to the bingo,” he says, laughing.

I feel ridiculous. “Well, I couldn’t let Nana miss out.”

“Nana, this is Mona,” he says, turning to pat her hand.

“She’s pretty. You picked a pretty wife,” Nana says, playing with my curls from the backseat.

“No, Nana, Mona’s not my wife.”

“Then, you’re a silly boy.” She clouts him around the ear, and we both burst into hysterics.

“You don’t have to go to bingo, well, that is, unless you want to,” Ryan says. “But Nana and I would like you to come.”

I blush, allowing my hair to fall in front of my reddened cheeks. “Okay. Like Ben said, I’d be just sat in front of the box.” We swap seats, and I see Petra giving me the thumbs up from the porch.

***

The bingo hall is like a scene from Cocoon. Age Concern are having their Christmas outing and the Bowls club are in merry spirits. Ryan removes his jacket to reveal a garish Christmas jumper. A tinsel tree with an Angel on the top that edges right up to the collar, so Ryan’s head looks like the Angel’s. Nana brushes his shoulders down, admiring the knit work.

“See, I told you I’d wear it,” he says to her. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes, because you look like a bloody idiot,” Nana says, cackling.

I clasp my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Not one word,” he jokes. 

We queue to buy the tickets and mulled wine. Nana eyes the craft stalls; a jewellery stall with fat price tags.

“These are beautiful,” she tells Ryan, pointing to a pair of turquoise earrings.

“They should be for two hundred and fifty notes,” he replies. 

“Men never appreciate good jewellery,” she moans to me. “I’ll get slippers and a dressing gown from this one tomorrow. Just you watch.”

Ryan blows out his cheeks in exasperation and shrugs at me. I simply laugh. I love the dynamics of their relationship.

We take our seats and Nana goes into the bingo zone, laying out her tickets and markers in a precise, ritualistic way. I stand to remove my coat, and a spotlight falls on me. 

“Well done, young lady. We have a volunteer folks,” says an announcer. I look around in bewilderment. A plump woman with a dead tooth takes my hand and starts leading me to the front.

“Um, no, I wasn’t- I never meant to-“

I can hear Ryan’s laughter from the table. “Whoo. Go, Mona,” he calls after me.

The woman ushers me onto the stage to a round of cheers, and the announcer, wearing a glittery, red bow tie, shoves an elf hat onto my head. “Aren’t you a cutie. Legs eleven, isn’t that right fellas?” The elderly men in the front whoop their agreement. I look back to Ryan. He is creased up in hysterics. He waves, and I shake my head in despair.

“What am I suppose to do?” I whisper to the announcer.

“What is she suppose to do? she asks. You are the kiss’o’gram, my dear,” he says into the microphone. “One pound for a kiss folks. All proceeds go to the local cat sanctuary. For the sake of the old tickers in some of the gents up front, I will have to enforce a no tongues rule.”

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. The woman leads me back down the steps, and hands me a donation bucket and mistletoe. An old guy with no teeth drops a coin into the bucket and puckers up. I allow him a little peck, desperately trying to not get slobbered on. The man sat behind him, drops his coin in and plants a smacker on my mouth. I come up gasping for air. Still Ryan’s laughter echoes throughout the hall.

The cheeky, old git squeezes my bum. “Cough up another quid for that one,” I say to him. He drops two in and has another squeeze.

“Do you think Santa will leave you under my tree tomorrow?” he asks. 

Oh god, this is just all kinds of wrong. “I think you’ll be getting a lump of coal and a bible, Sir,” I say, quickly moving along.

I work my way around the hall, until the announcer calls for the bingo to begin. The woman takes the bucket and hat, and seems rather impressed with the amount of money I have raised. 

“Thank you to Mona our kissing Elf,” the announcer calls.

I wave a hand dismissively. “I hope the cats have a good Christmas,” I call back, flopping into my seat. Ryan desperately tries not to spit his wine everywhere.

“Wow, at least I can tick that off the bucket list- pimped out to the elderly by a bingo caller.”

“You did good,” he says, smiling.  “Some kinky old perves here tonight, isn’t there? Seriously though, I expect a kiss from you made their Christmas.”

“I see you didn’t put any money in, Ryan” Nana states. My face instantly flushes beetroot. “Not only did you insult your wife, but you didn’t give a second thought to those poor cats.”

Ryan shifts awkwardly, spinning his glass in his fingers. “Mona is not my wife, Nana, and I thought I’d let those old boys have their fun.”

“Quite right,” I say, diffusing the tension. 

Nana shushes me as the first numbers are called. Ryan is pretty slow on the uptake, but I help him by marking any numbers he’s missed. Nana is head down, smoke flying from her pen, with nine tickets on the go. Apparently, the prize is three hundred pounds which is pretty decent considering how small the town is.

Mine and Ryan’s luck isn’t in our favour, but Nana furiously marks away, grunting to herself occasionally, and then she screams bingo. I jump out of my skin, and Ryan catches her wine glass before she scats it from the table.

“Bingo, over here. That’s right,” she shouts to the announcer. “Cough up, cough up.”

The woman with the dead tooth rushes over to check the tickets, and she gives the announcer a quick nod. He saunters over with a wad of cash tied in a festive bow.

“Congratulations to…”

“Merylle,” Nana replies, snatching the money out of his hand. 

“Mona the kissing elf has brought you good luck.” Another round of whoops fill the hall, and I hang my head in utter embarrassment. “Time for an interval ladies and gents.”

Nana sits with a smug look on her face, counting her winnings. She pops a ten pound note into her bra and separates the rest into two piles. She slides one to me and the other to Ryan. “You two may as well enjoy it.”

“No, I can’t take this,” I say, pushing the money back to her.

“Nana, these are your winnings,” Ryan adds. He too hands her back the money.

“When will I need this sort of money living in that nursing home. No, you two can spend it on whatever you want, go somewhere for your anniversary, perhaps.” She practically throws the money back at us.

“I’m not Ryan’s wife. I can’t accept this, Nana.”

“Just take the damn money,” she snaps.

Ryan looks at a loss for words. I nudge him under the table and give him a wink. 

“Thank you, Nana. I’m just going to get us some more mulled wine. I won’t be a minute.” I pick up both wads of cash and head back to the stalls. I buy three glasses of wine and the turquoise earrings. I leave the box on the tray as I place it down at the table. Nana eyes it suspiciously. “You said we could spend it on whatever we wanted, so we spent it on you.”

She opens the box, her hands trembling. “The earrings. The ones I liked.” She hugs me tight, and then Ryan. “But two hundred and fifty pounds is a lot for earrings, don’t you think?”

“It’s okay to treat yourself, Nana,” Ryan says.

She taps his hands affectionately, and scurries off to the bathroom to try them on. 

“Thank you for that,” Ryan says to me. “Did you see how made up she was. She’d never have spent that kind of money on herself. You’re quite the Christmas elf today.” His fingers brush against my hand. My stomach fizzes and my arms goose-pimple.

“Hey there,” interrupts the woman with the dead tooth. I curse her under my breath. “I’ve just counted the proceeds and I thought you’d like to know that you raised exactly seventy pounds as our kiss ‘o’ gram. That’s the most we have ever raised at these events. The cat sanctuary will be overwhelmed.”

Ryan opens his wallet and drops thirty pounds into the bucket. “There you go, let’s make it a round hundred.” He steps closer to me and kisses me. My body is pressed against his, and my head is a little fuzzy from the mulled wine, but I don’t resist him. I just met this man two hours ago and now he’s kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before.

As we break away, I giggle like a school girl. The woman gawps at us, the bucket hanging at her side.

Nana taps her on the shoulder and throws a ten pound note into the bucket. “Here, take this. I definitely saw tongues.”

 

All works are the property of K.J.Chapman

 

 

My Thursday Poetry Muse

I love it when a poem captivates my attention so fully that I can feel my brain firing with inspiration whether for my personal life, my current work in progress, or a future novel idea.

My poetry muse for the day is perfect for my current work in progress:

A Poison Tree by William Blake (1757-1827)

I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears

Night & morning with my tears;

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright.

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole,

When the night had veiled the pole;

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Prompt Me #6

Today’s prompt was provided by Charlotte over at Upon My Desk. Please, check out her blog. Charlotte is an avid reader, writer, and just like me, a Harry Potter fan! Upon My Desk is definitely worth a follow.

The Prompt:

He didn’t know how to say goodbye; he’d only just said hello.

A laser narrowly missed Marko’s head as he dived into the courier shuttle. He hadn’t flown a shuttle since his days transporting prison laundry from The Camp to the Space Station. A daily ritual for five years, under armed guard, that taught him some of his most impressive manoeuvres. He jumped into the pilots seat and prayed he could remember half of them. Tarik fell into the shuttle behind him, shooting at Stellar Rangers through the closing air lock.

“I thought you were dead, Dude.”

Tarik laughed. “As if. I escaped this hell hole once, I ain’t dying here now. Did you get it?”

Marko strapped his belt, and guided the shuttle out of its port. “Do you even need to ask?” He patted his top pocket where he concealed the chip.

“Hurry the hell up,” said Tarik, as he glanced out of the cabin window.

Marko simply grinned.  They won’t be going anywhere. I disabled their shuttles, but Stellar Fleet will be arriving in five. Here, do your thing,” he said, and handed Tarik the chip.

Tarik brushed his long fringe from his eyes, and studied the chip thoughtfully. “What is this?”

“Eh? It’s the chip. It was in the digi-safe just like you said.”

“This isn’t a code chip, this is a comm chip, dickhead. Shit the bed! We’ve stolen some convict’s message from home. Are you sure there wasn’t another chip in the digi-safe?”

Marko slammed his hands against the controls. “If you’re having me on for shits and giggles this is not the damn time, Dude. That was the only chip in the digi-safe.”

Tarik flopped into the passenger seat and shoved the chip into the reader. The screen above their heads flashed with a sporadic green light, and the image of the Space Medic Centre’s patient bay. Zen’s sweating, scared face filled the screen as she clicked at buttons on the comm system. Her jet black hair slick to her forehead and her eyes puffy from crying.

“Sis,” Tarik whispered.

Marko’s heart had stopped beating and nausea ate at his gut. The sight of Zen flooded his veins with stone cold fear for her safety. He had left her with the Sandine people, they said they would keep her and the baby safe from the humans. His unborn son, Tarik’s unborn nephew, would be born a mixed species baby; half human, and half Sandine, and not allowed to take his first breath if Stellar had their way. Every recorded mixed species birth ended in infanticide at the hands of Stellar. Humans were scum. They were happy to dictate to the universe, but never to interbreed. Marko was disgusted at his own race.

“Help us, Marko. We’re at Medic Centre 10. They’re not killing the Sandine babies, they’re taking them for something. We have twelve hours from his birth before they take him. It could be any day now. If you find this it means Dagan was right. Please, let him be right.”

Before his brain had registered what his heart was doing, Marko set the shuttle into Stellar speed. Only Stellar craft were programmed to move at such a speed, but if Zen said Dagan had something to do with them finding the comm chip, then it was to Dagan they would head. 

“Dagan would never betray Stellar,” said Tarik, his voice cracked around the edges. 

Marko agreed that on normal circumstance Dagan was Stellar Ranger through and through, but this was different. “Dagan fathered a mixed species baby girl. She was taken after birth and murdered. I think he knew about our job, and he knew the safest way to contact us was to remove the code chip and replace it with Zen’s. I believe Dagan cares about what happens to my son.”

“Okay, let’s hope you’re right because Dagan is one of the only people who can get us into Medic Centre 10 without hiccup,” Tarik said, and he played Zen’s message over again.

***

“I will get you in on the catering shuttle, but then it’s up to you. If I see you on that Medic Centre I will have to arrest you. If you get caught by anyone and give up my name, not only will I deny knowledge and get away with it because my hands are squeaky clean, but I will also kill you. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, kill us. When is the shuttle due?” asked Marko as he slid into a tell tale blue catering overall. Tarik was already dressed and chomping at the bit.

“It’s coming now. Take a tray, play the part, and then get that baby far away from Stellar.”

“Thank you for this, Dagan.”

Dagan just shrugged and turned on his heels. Marko watched as his royal blue, Stellar jacket blew out behind him. He looked back over his shoulder and offered Marko a curt nod. The man who put him in The Camp seven years before was now helping him to save the life of his unborn son.

The shuttle docked, and a stout, greying man ushered them on board, counting the food trays before he closed the air lock. As the man sat down, Tarik wrapped a tray around the back of his head, knocking him out cold. Marko took his place in the pilot seat, gripped the comm chip tightly in his palm, and flew the short distance to the looming Medic Centre. 

The corridors were brilliant white with the same green lighting associated with all Stellar Medic Centres. Tarik pushed the food supplies in a wheeled trolley, keeping his face down. Marko pretended to be running over the inventory list whilst studying the layout, and most importantly, the exits.

A crying baby drew his attention to the door at the far end of the second corridor. The soft hum of a lullaby soothed the cries to nothing. Both he and Tarik peered through the window, and there sat Zen, huddled in the corner, crying and humming to a mound of blankets tucked against her chest.  Marko unlocked the door from the outside and Zen screamed. The bundle started bawling once more.

“Please, not yet. Let me have a little more time,” she cried.

“Zen, it’s us, Marko and Tarik.”

“Marko?” asked Zen, as she scrambled to her feet. “It’s you, you’ve come for us.” Her words poured out amidst a torrent of sobs. “We need to go now. They’re coming for Sienne in ten minutes.” Sienne? She had used the name they had spoken about before he left her on Sandine. “Your Daddy has come to rescue us, Sienne,” she said to the bundle.

Marko edged closer, a fear like nothing he had known gripped at his chest. Zen moved the blanket slightly and the pink, fresh skin of newborn took his breath away. The tiny, blinking eyes, unaware of the peril they faced. “He’s beautiful.”

“He looks just like you, ” cooed Zen. “He’s special, Marko. I know why they want him and the other Human- Sandine babies. They have telepathy. I know it sounds weird, but I’ve felt it. He’s tuned in to me.”

Tarik opened the trolley door. “Then we need to get the hell out of here.”

Marko gingerly took Sienne, surprised by how light the boy felt in his arms. The vulnerable, special creation wrapped a little hand around his pinky. A feeling of familiarity and pure love fluttered in Marko’s mind. His son was telepathic. Marko coughed back tears and waited for Zen to climb into the trolley, and then begrudgingly handed Sienne to her.

A siren sounded throughout the center and a rumble of feet grew louder with every passing second.

“They must know,” Tarik gasped. 

“Take them to the shuttle and go. I’ll hold them off. Just remember what I taught you about Stellar speed and you’ll be fine,” said Marko. The colour drained for Tarik’s face. “Tarik, I trust you, Dude.”

Marko crouched to take a final glance into the trolley. Zen was sobbing into Sienne. “Please come with us. Sienne knows, he knows, Marko, and he wants you with us.”

He stroked his son’s cheek for what might be the first and last time. “I will die for you, my boy.”

 

If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

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

Write Me: Fifty Word Story

We’re at the half way mark in my ‘Write Me’ posts. These past five weeks have flown by. This week, I have fifty words to play with, so here goes nothing:

She is the most beautiful evil I have ever seen. The blood that runs in her veins must be black and cold, the heart in her chest withered and decaying, but I love her darkness. I love how it merges with mine. We are one. Together we are the night.

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

 

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