Ray Stone's Blog: A blog for everyone, page 4

Moonlight – Written by: Tulika Saha

Ray Stone comments:

This is a beautiful piece of work by one of our Indian writers. Although Tulika writes English with a graceful flair, one can hear that faint Indian tone in the narrative, giving it a refreshing ‘new’ but colonial flavour. The descriptive passages are eloquent and I liked the strong Indian sense of family values that is part of their culture. All in all, this is a well written preface that had me wishing Tulika was writing the whole serial as a project. I really liked this.

 

The evening had been sultry and the night air was humid and oppressive, not unusual for a summer night in Mumbai. The Bhai Pratap complex, despite being an upscale project with all facilities, could not escape the weather. Nor could Chetna. She woke with a start and, after several glasses of water, she was still unable to fall asleep again. Not that her apartment lacked air conditioning. It was just that she did not use it often as it caused her limbs to ache in the morning and it was difficult to get through the subsequent day. The flat was still as she was all alone. So she walked through the large bedroom to the living room and then to the children’s bedroom. As she entered the children’s bedroom, the moving curtains reminded her of days when the room had a loving occupant. She had hardly changed things since Ashok, her adopted son had left home to work in a software company in Bangalore.

She heaved a sigh and walked back to the living room. She could not remember when she had last asked him to turn down the volume of his favourite music channel. Suddenly she could not stand the house any more. She wanted to feel the cool light of the moon that shone through her bedroom window. Chetna hesitated. Was it safe? Then she decided she had nothing to lose. So she picked up the key and walked out of her apartment. She locked the door carefully and took the lift down and walked towards the garden seat. It occurred to her that she had not really felt the night air on her skin for an awfully long time. She stared at the sky. The stars seemed distant through the thick air. The watchman called out to her. “Can’t sleep,” she replied.

“Don’t worry, I am here. You may sit as long as you like,” replied the watchman.

She observed the twinkling stars for a while. Her thoughts drifted back to when she was young. She remembered the huge quarrel she had with her father for insisting on taking up a job in the prestigious Hong Kong Bank. She moved to the quarters when she became eligible, much to her father’s chagrin. As if that were not enough, she firmly refused to consider marriage. Her mother, though a stalwart supporter of her independence, could not agree with her on this issue. But Chetna stood strongly independent. It was only after her father passed on leaving two school age children behind that her mother began to appreciate her daughter’s decision. She saw how she could commit to her career and how she rose quickly in the organisation, unhindered by the fetters that would have been fashioned by a husband and children. Once she satisfied her career ambitions she had adopted Ashok.

Her younger two siblings grew up, were married and settled down. Chetna’s mother had spent some time living in their homes too. But she always come back to Chetna.

Follow this serial that will start soon. – http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/moonlight

Chapter 5 – Retribution – written by: Anna Zhigareva

 

Ray Stone comments.

Anna Zhigareva is a young lady with bags of potential as a writer. She regularly writes chapters for the Story Mint serials and is now considered one of the most experienced writers. It is her attention to detail amongst other attributes that marks her work as exceptional, in my opinion. ‘Lips spouting saliva’ and ‘His usually hazy, almost blind eyes stared as clear as the moon lighting a night trail, scorching Freso’s own eyes with their intensity, so that the boy took a step back.’  Excellent!

The serial is four chapters in and Anna has taken a new direction by introducing a different point of view from a second character written into a sub plot. The tale now begins to take on a three dimensional look. There is meat on the bones for us to chew. Anna has also cleverly avoided telling the old story twice by inviting the reader to turn the pages back if they forgot the plot. Remember, each author has no knowledge of what the previous writer will produce and when it is published, the next writer has seven days to produce the next chapter. This is really good writing that has me waiting for the next episode. I can’t wait.

 

Chapter 5 – Seven leagues away from Dilara’s camp, the witchdoctor sat in his gnarled old rocking chair, the wood twisted grotesquely as was the old man’s face. Contorted in a permanent grimace, his mouth twisted up, lips pouting forth as if ready to spout more endless delirious knowledge the doctor was known for in the village of Otakun.

“A storm is brewing, Freso.”

“Is it a bad one?” The young apprentice sat hunched by the fire in the middle of the hut, warming his ice-cold hands against the licking orange flames.

“The worst.” The elder pushed himself out of his chair and hobbled towards the cauldron, which boiled hot water over the fire. “It is the worst in generations, my boy. Decades ago, our chief of-”

“I know the story, wise one,” the youngster interrupted.

“Ah, Freso.” The old witchdoctor did not seem phased by the young apprentice’s interruption. “Everyone knows the story. But not everyone understands…”

“What do you mean?” Freso took his hands away from the fire and helped his teacher place the cauldron onto a thick wooden board on the ground.

The elder did not reply for he was too staring intently into the depths of the gurgling water. Freso worried about what he saw there. He also worried about whether he would ever be able to see things like that. His teacher had sight. Freso was still a boy. Were such people born with sight or did they learn it?

Once the water had subsided into little ripples and then finally stilled, the witchdoctor painfully leaned away from the cauldron and shuffled back to his rocking chair. Freso moved to assist when his teacher suddenly stopped by the wooden wall of the hut and stood there as if staring into nothingness. Just as Freso was about to speak, the witchdoctor slowly moved his hand towards a crevasse in the wall and from there pulled out a tiny grey fabric parcel – an ancient fabric, surely more than a century old.

“How old are you, Freso?” the witchdoctor inquired in his gravely voice, the lips spouting saliva as he formed the word Freso, as if taking extra care to emphasise who he was talking to. There was no need. His usually hazy, almost blind eyes stared as clear as the moon lighting a night trail, scorching Freso’s own eyes with their intensity, so that the boy took a step back.

“I am eight and ten, wise one. Almost. I turn this age tomorrow eve.” Freso looked down respectfully.

“Eight and ten. You are almost a man grown, Freso.” The witchdoctor lifted his free veiny hand and patted Freso heavily on the shoulder, then slid painfully onto his rocking chair. “Almost.”

“Wise one-”

“You have interrupted me before and now it is my turn.” A glimmer of a smile – a sad one – featured on the old man’s crooked mouth. “There is much to learn. Sit down before me now. And listen.”

With that the witchdoctor began unravelling the little faded parcel.

 

If you would like to read more follow the link.  http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/retribution

HAVOC – Chapter 7 Written by: Suraya Dewing

 

Valeri reached for a paper at the same time as Vince. An electric current zinged through them and Vince jerked his hand away.

Valeri picked up the plain brown notebook and scanned the numbers.

“I recognise most of these numbers,” she said, a puzzled frown forming between her eyes. She looked up. Vince and Fiona exchanged questioning glances.  “All these numbers belong to lawyers and judges.” She became thoughtful as her gaze drifted past Vince’s shoulder out into the garden where steadily hissing irrigation hoses sprayed water over beds of pink and blue violets.

“John had many secrets,” she muttered. “I never got involved with his business affairs but….”

Vince laughed bitterly.

“Not like when we were married then?”

“I’m a lawyer. We naturally shared cases,” she sharply responded.

She seemed dazed as she slowly shook her head. “But John…?”

“I thought he was a really famous international trader,” he mocked.

Valeri became distracted as she weighed this up. “He’d never say what in.”

“Pretty dodgy, I expect.”

She stood abruptly. “If you’re going to be like this, I think it best I leave.”

Vince impatiently waved a hand at the chair. “No, no, sit down. I’m sorry.”

She perched on the edge of the crimson leather chair and the border of her blue and green sari swept the polished wooden floorboards.

As Fiona paced, her Nikes softly padded. She plunged her hands into her pockets and Vince saw his daughter, the lawyer in training, with fresh eyes. She would be indomitable in the courtroom. Meanwhile, Fiona was running the night over in her mind.

“What was the licence plate of the car that rammed the SUV?”

Fiona stabbed at a number HGB459.

“That’s it,” she said.

Vince was instantly alert.

“It’s Amy Johns’ sedan.”

 

An astonished sigh breathed out of them like a released storm.

Confused, Valeri looked from Vince to her daughter with neatly curved eyebrows raised. “Who is Amy Johns?”

“Dad’s new PA and…” she held her hands palm up to encourage her father to elaborate.

“When you left me….” Vince sucked in air, “for that fellow, I needed someone to look after everything.” The room became very still. His voice lifted defensively. “She was stuck for somewhere to live and needed a job.”

Valeri and Fiona shared a knowing smile.

“She was a godsend.”

“Of course,” Valeri said.

But then his voice dropped, filled with anger. “But I plan to send her on her way because I caught her looking at confidential files this morning. She couldn’t explain why so I did some asking around and found out she has a boyfriend.”

He sent Valeri a look of pity. “Her boyfriend is no…” he corrected himself, “was John.” Valeri looked at him sharply.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what the accident was all about but I think whoever was driving Amy’s car was trying to get away before John and your son were discovered.”

Want to read more? – go to  http://www.thestorymint.com/serials/havoc

Comments – Ray Stone

Well, follow that – as they say in the movies. This reads like it could be a scene from a thriller movie. Very expressive dialogue and a real Americano I loved – “An electric current zinged through them.” I think Suraya should be a script writer. This is a good example of breaking up essential dialogue with just enough narrative to keep the readers attention and letting the story flow forward. Liked this very much. I wonder what will happen next?

Immortal Written by: Jasmine Groves

 

The leaves crunched gently underfoot, the whiff of the doe across the moonlight meadow gently arouses Vicki’s senses.

Her pulse started to race, her ears twitched. She was so hungry for blood; she would take the doe unaware, feed a little and let it go.

Her life was so busy, and for the undead she felt weary. Since the change, she had tried to stay as normal as possible. What a laugh! How normal could a vamp be?

She was one of the luckier ones though; at least she could walk in the day, thanks to the Talisman, passed down to her from her great grandmother. Just thinking about it made it feel her chest warm, weighted against her neck.

After the she turned, she couldn’t give up her job in the city, she loved the thrill of the courtroom, was passionate about the status and glamour that came with being one of the best lawyers in the city; even before becoming a vamp

Now, with her overdeveloped senses, it was a complete doddle. She could smell lies and fear on those she prosecuted like their own personal aroma. If she had been undefeatable before, she was invincible now.

Immortal, beautiful and strong, her lithe body had always been fit and well defined, her long black hair falling to her waist like a satin cloak, her piercing ice blue eyes cold enough to freeze a person’s soul.

She was ruthless in the courtroom, but she wasn’t a natural killer. She had no desire to live the life of her fellow vamps. To the disgust of many, she was far too human in many ways.

Vicki could still feel love, pity and loss, all weaknesses as far as others were concerned.

Her great grandmother had ruled the city with an iron fist, people and vamps were even a decade after her death too afraid to so much as whisper her name. She had made Vicki a vamp, her last gift to her human granddaughter, her legacy, the one to take it all over.

What a joke and what had Vicki achieved in return; she was revered in the human world and shunned by her kind.  Here she was on the outskirts of the city, dressed in head to toe black leather, black sneakers and on the hunt.

Her giggle echoed as it escaped her throat, what a joke she was, all invincible, all powerful and hunting a baby deer. The doe’s ears turned from right to left, its nose puffed open as oxygen escaped it, trying to get its bearings, trying to find the predator after her.

Vicki’s thigh tensed, she stretched her back and leaped forward into a run, over dead tree trunks she leapt, her arms pumped, she was like a cheetah to watch. Just metres from the doe, thunk.

It felt like she had hit a tree, that wasn’t possible, there hadn’t been one. She rubbed her forehead, lifted her head and looked straight into Sebastian’s laughing eyes.

Retribution – Chapter 4 Written by: Ray Stone

Thin columns of black smoke drifted lazily into the cloudless sky from dozens of charred circles that were once the homes of the Otunga villagers. Dilara peered cautiously from the safety of the tall waving grass that skirted the river behind the main long meeting hut. The hut, an open thatched area with a raised floor built on wooden stilts, had survived the ferocious attack. From within it a wailing chorus of mourning women rent the still air, chilling Dilara’s heart and hardening her resolve. The feud that had plagued the two villages for many years had to be resolved. Whether the dream was a sign or not, it was time to follow the old sage’s guidance and find the strength and courage to fight the evil curse and restore peace.

***

“This apathy and wailing has to stop,” said Dilara, waving a finger in the air. “We will mourn our families’ deaths but there is work to do, and sitting around will not get it done.”

Fifteen women in all, including five who had been hiding in the grass, sat cross-legged in front of Dilara. A hunting spear lay on the floor at her feet. Dilara bent and picked it up.

“We must train to hunt like the men!” she shouted, raising the spear above her head. “We must fight like the men and, if we have to, we must kill like the men!”

“But we are women. How can we fight many men from the other village?” asked Sashid, a teenager.

Dilara’s chest rose with pounding heart. She could hear the old woman’s words. “By carrying a vision of our fathers and brothers before us as we train, equip and prepare for battle. We will not be afraid. We will not run away.” A loud angry cry came from deep inside her as she felt the strength of the old woman wrap itself around her.  “Women of Otunga, follow me and fight for what is ours by right…fight for freedom!”

The women rose as one, each one shouting and cheering Dilara, their new leader.

“We must find a place away from here where we can prepare, not escape to. It will be many days and months before we are ready to avenge. First, we will make weapons, spears and arrows that fly straight and true, strong staffs that will break bone and, most of all, shields of deerskin that will protect us.”

For ten days and nights, Dilara led the women to a place of safety in the foothills many miles from the village. There they built huts and learned to hunt, make weapons, and grow food to eat.

One night, around the fire, months later, Dilara was sure the women were ready and spoke to them.

“It should not be our wish to simply kill. We need to take the witchdoctor alive and banish him into the plains, for without his evil influence the villages will know peace again. We must do this in front of everyone.”

History’s Secret (author only serial) Written by: Dan Oliver

A RUDE AWAKENING

John drummed his fingers agitatedly on his armrest. After thirty-six hours of flying since he left his base camp near the Bolivia-Peru border he was understandably eager to disembark.

A sense of relief flooded through him as he strode briskly through the last of the quarantine stations. He left the busy airport and hailed a taxi. He handed a slip of paper to the driver with the address to his hotel in Gloucester scrawled on it as he loaded his baggage into the boot. It started to rain as he climbed into the passenger seat.

He barely finished showering and shaving when the hotel phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Dr Foster, your driver is waiting for you outside,” said a friendly concierge.

“Already?” John looked at his watch. “OK, please advise I’ll be down in a moment.”

Anxiety enveloped John while driving to the lecture theatre. How would the world receive his discovery? His field of expertise was the ancient civilisation of the Inca, and he felt extremely lucky that his dream of discovering a new site became a reality just six months ago. But the discovery unveiled many surprises in the months that followed. So much that he begged – no, insisted – that he be allowed to present at this year’s British Archaeology conference held at Oxford University.

The evening passed with collegial banter and average wine. A bead of sweat rolled down John’s cheek as he mounted the stage with trepidation. He connected his laptop and tapped the microphone. It was time.

“Good evening fellow archaeologists and enthusiasts of ancient cultures,” he began, pausing. After a deep breath he proceeded to tell everyone of his work unearthing a new dig deep in the Bolivian rainforests.

“And so, friends, this exquisite and unmolested site, which appears to be a tomb or grave, has revealed never before seen styles of artistry, wholly un-Incan burial artefacts, and a stratigraphic date range much, much older than any previous South American archaeological finding. I believe we need to consider that we have discovered a new civilisation.”

An excited murmur rose in the audience as John continued, “I have left the best evidence for this claim until last.” John clicked through to a new slide on his presentation.

“Common among the skeletal remains is these.” He pointed to the screen with a laser. “Perfectly shaped bone prosthetics made of metal that were, so far as we can tell, inserted into the individual bodies well before death.”

He clicked through several slides displaying examples, leaving the silence to create anticipation. A trickle of sweat ran down his nose and dripped onto his notes.

“And these strange and complex objects frequently found in the cranial cavity of the skeletal remains,” he pointed to a picture of a small square plate with ornate patterns on it. “In every single case of this object being present, there was also a precise and perfect incision in the back of the skull that would accommodate the article. We have no other conclusion but that these are neural-enhancement devices of some sort…” the audience went silent, “they may, in fact, be a prehistoric circuit board that was inserted into the brain by this ancient race.”

A thousand opinions burst forth in a raucous cacophony.

Dan Oliver (NZ)

www.thestorymint.com

Comments by Ray Stone

First – congrats on writing a sole author serial. This is the precursor to, I hope, writing a novel and being published. This is an exciting subject to pick and especially as you can tell the whole story as you see it yourself. I would watch out for two things that I picked up in this preface. Leave an extra line between obvious scene breaks like the one from Taxi ride to shaving and between pausing for breath as he starts his lecture and then coming in at the end of it. Without a shown break it causes a slight hic cup in the reader’s mind. Also it would be good to know what John’s surname is and what he looks like. Apart from that this is really well written and has me wondering (which I am supposed to do) as to whether this will be an Indiana Jones adventure of discovery or a Sci Fi story or even a mixture of both. This is cleverly laid out and there is enough mystery and speculation to whet the reader’s appetite. There’s also a nice use of vocabulary that denotes a maturing writer. I’m looking forward to the next chapter. Refreshing new plot idea, Dan.

Silver Sphere – Chapter 5 Written by: Roseyn

 

A thick, cracking sound splintered Emily’s thoughts.

She snapped closed her eyes and pressed her palms hard against her ears. But it only made the sound sharper, heavier. An image of a long, dark whip materialised in her mind. Someone was holding it. She stretched the vision and saw a pot-bellied man, dressed in black pants, a matching top hat and a red, long-tailed coat.

Emily smiled.

He was task number three.

A strong sense of quietude and incredible lightness feathered through her, spiriting her away, so peaceful and gentle.

Until….

Emily opened her eyes.

Crisscrossed before her were tapered sheets of bright, blinding lights. Boisterous laughter blasted from all directions, and a skin-shivering muddle of peculiar smells, some mildly bearable, others so vile, they made her body convulse.

It was if someone had just declared war on her senses.

As her rapidly blinking eyes adjusted, muddied forms began to take shape. Tumbling aimlessly inside a large oval arena, were fuzzy-haired characters in gaudy, oversized clothes. Up above, a slim girl, in a white, sparkling leotard balanced precariously along a thin wire.

What was this place?

This place of arresting colour and obnoxious smells, of brazenly adulating humans. Another thunderous whip cracked Emily back towards the round-bellied man. He was now guiding a march of horses with cerulean blue plumes.

Concentrate, Emily, concentrate on your task.

The world around her fell into a deaf silence and her body into a robotic measure.

She inched closer to the old man, holding her breath.  With all the incongruous smells, they weren’t enough to smother an ‘old man’s’ stench. When she was mere millimetres from him, she popped a silver sphere into the flared, opened pocket of his pants.

She then stepped away.

Take it back.

Emily froze.

Who said that?

She searched, a completely useless task amongst such a swollen conglomerate of alien faces. Nearby, the round-bellied man clutched his chest and then collapsed on his knees, expelling a long, painful groan. He raised his heavily-lidded eyes to the girl on the wire. Emily studied both their facial features, noticed their unique similarities.

What did this mean?

It means for him to survive he has to let his daughter die.

Emily felt her throat constrict.

You need to take back the sphere…now.

She wanted to ask why… who?  But communicating was against the rules.

     Now!

Her head yo-yoed with possibilities of what to do. But it was too late. The girl’s tightly curled foot faltered.

And she fell.

Within seconds, the world became a mass of infectious screams and panicky thuds and crashes. Had Emily caused this with the seemingly innocuous sphere? Something dark and ugly twisted her insides.

It’s not your fault, Emily. They are controlling your mind.

A boy, tall and lean with kind, green eyes and straw-coloured hair appeared. “I can help you,” he said in a warming voice. “Trust me.”

Why should she? He was, after all, human.

The boy smiled sadly. “And once, Emily, so were you.”

Ray Stone comments

We are stepping into another coming of age phase and those writers who are really experienced at this art of serial writing are now at the stage, in my opinion, where they should be taking on a complete 10 chapter serial of their own. Roseyn, it would be great to see one from you. Many other new members and those who are going through the ‘learning about the grid’ can see and learn a lot from fellow members writing a complete work. This chapter not only shows how to maneuver around the grid with carefully thought out lines but gives us an insight into clever and believable story telling. Writing a chapter is not only about getting on the grid – it’s about evoking enthusiasm in the reader by letting your mind run free and producing something special. A winner, Roseyn.

Chapter 5 – Havoc Written by: Donna McT

 

Fiona wanted to run from the car towards her mother but her brain had lost control over her body and she sat frozen while her father slowly parked the car. She could hear his breathing slow and heavy and the hiss of air as it escaped his clenched jaw. He moved like a robot and she leant heavily on his arm as he gently led her into the house.  Her mother followed behind, twisting her hair with her long fingers and muttering softly in a sing-song voice that spoke to the deepest part of Fiona’s being. Something long forgotten stretched its wings and fluttered a little. Briefly, Fiona thought her mother might be mad.

In the kitchen, Vince made a fuss of filling the kettle while Valeri stood awkwardly looking anxiously first at one, then the other. Fiona could see her slow tears dripping onto the cold tiles. He put mugs of hot sweet tea on the table and they sat together for the first time in 10 years, feeling the burden of unanswered questions splinter into a million painful pieces then fly away like dust. Suddenly there was space for talking.

Vince was the first to speak and his voice was calm and reassuring. “What has happened to you, Valeri? What is going on?”

Valeri jerked her head and silenced her fingers but said nothing. Instead, she reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small notebook held together with a red ribbon. She held it in both hands and Fiona watched as she wrestled with her decision. Valeri pushed the book towards Vince and the effort seemed to take the last ounce of her energy.  Her body crumpled and now Fiona leapt from her chair and caught her as she swayed.

Vince desperately wanted something stronger than tea to deal with this situation. Seeing Valeri stirred up the anger that he had pushed away for the sake of Fiona. He remembered the day she had left them.  Fiona was at school camp and Valeri had said she was going to visit a friend and would be back in time for dinner. He had waited for her to return, marking the time by the thickness of the food congealing in the pot. Eventually he had thrown it away and had gone to bed and it was then that he had found the letter tucked under the pillow. He cried himself to sleep and in the morning he had replaced his love for her with vodka and hadn’t stopped drinking since.

He opened the book and started to read. The pages were filled with phone numbers and names that he didn’t recognize.  He flipped through the pages impatiently. Valeri had always been a drama queen and he was beginning to resent her reappearance in their lives.

It was then that he turned to a page splotched with rain. The lettering was faded but unmistakable.   It was his license plate number.

http://www.thestorymint.com/content/chapter-5-47

 

Comments – Ray Stone

I read all the chapters through each time there is a new chapter for a serial and sometimes I read something that can be read without referring to previous work because it is self explanatory, full of human interest and takes a swipe at life, evoking our own memories of similar circumstances and reactions. This was such a joy to read and some of the phraseology – the second paragraph in particular – caused a lump in my throat as I remembered something from my past. So well written Donna and so easy to read.

 

The Bushrangers and Mary by Ray Stone

Chapter 5  – Saul Trevelyan
Written by: Ray Stone

“Saul Trevelyan, at your service ma’am.”

As Mary freed herself from the rope that bound her loosely, a long slender hand gently pulled her to her feet. Embarrassed, she felt his lips on the back of her outstretched hand as he bowed before her. Their eyes met and her curiosity was aroused. An English gentleman in the middle of the outback was a rarity. She stood, undecided, not knowing whether to accept his welcome or slap his face.

“You’re a bushranger then. Where did you escape from, mister?”

Saul grinned broadly and picked up her baggage. “Have mutton dinner with me, such as it is, and enjoy a wonderful bottle of wine I acquired quite legally at the Silverman sheep farm some two days’ ride south from here.”

Mary laughed. She followed Saul into a makeshift shack. Dressed differently to the other two men in a thick black woollen coat with high collar and brown riding breeches, he was tall and with long wavy black hair. His weathered face was pink about the cheeks and the small pointed nose that gave him a regal appearance. Even teeth shone white as he grinned and eyes that seemed to sparkle moved her, such that she could feel her heart start to race.

He waved her to a seat at the small table and poured wine.

“I left some money for the wine and a horse so there was nothing illegal about my acquisitions.” He grinned again.  “That Silverman was bound to a chair at the time is neither here nor there.”

Mary warmed to Saul’s easygoing soft voice and joined him in a glass of red wine. “So tell me how you came to be such a bad man,” she said. “You were once a gentleman and still are by the tone of your voice and the way you treat a girl – not like those two out there?” She turned to the door.

“A sad story,” he replied, placing two plates of mutton and potatoes before them. “I lost a lot of money that I borrowed from a friend and could not pay it back. He tried to possess my London home, which he did – and my wife. She left me for him and I gave him a good hiding. Unfortunately, his father was a judge, and I received fourteen years in servitude. Four years ago, it was, I landed in Botany Bay and for three years suffered the hard labour that was nearly the finish of me. So I escaped. I’m now hoping to find enough money to get a ship from the bay to take me to America. There’s captains that are not too fussy who they transport as long as the money’s good.”

Mary’s heart thumped wildly. A chance to be free from the terrible life that threatened her future beckoned her through his words as he recounted his tale.

“Maybe if you disguised yourself with a wife, it would be easy to get a ship.”

Chapter 4 – Sirius 3 – Written by: Linda Alley

The humming grew louder and more insistent, its pitch increasing in intensity every few seconds. It throbbed in Masterson’s eardrums and pounded dully in his head. A vivid white light suddenly radiated from the walls. He screwed his eyes tightly shut and his pupils burned fiercely. Intense pain rippled through every cell in his body. The pulsations reached a deafening climax, swallowing his screams.

Silence. Darkness. He felt red hot heat close to his face. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, there was something familiar, almost comforting about it. Masterson gingerly opened his eyes and gasped. He was lying among great white sand dunes. Slowly, he moved his head from side to side and stretched his legs. Amazing – no damage! Sitting up, he saw for the first time in his life a great body of blue-green water, glittering under the sun. He’d watched enough simulations to know what it was.

He hurried to its edge, touching the foam as it broke on the sand. He licked his fingers. Salty. Impossible! Yet he knew no other planet had such an asset. So…how?

Masterson turned around. A row of weatherboard buildings lined the beach. He jumped as a rubber ball landed by his foot. A dog with spindly legs bounded up, circling and sniffing him. Masterson stiffened. His hand searched for his taser gun. It was gone!

“Here, Ruffles!” a teenage girl in a sundress scooped up the ball and threw it further along the beach.

The dog immediately abandoned Masterson and tore after it. The girl carried on walking, glancing curiously back at Masterson.

He wiped his palms on the coils of his spacesuit and clambered over the sand dunes. An unfamiliar aroma drifted across to him. His stomach growled and he reached for his packet of nourishocarb pills. Empty. No doubt the final foil enclosing today’s tablet broke during his….What was this? How the hell was this even possible? He’d travelled over 600 million kilometres!

A waiter came out of a restaurant carrying two sizzling slabs of meat which he placed in front of a middle-aged couple. Masterson clamped his jaw shut with embarrassment as he felt a trail of saliva glide slowly down his chin.

“Can I help you?” The waiter arrived at his side.

“Um…I…the same as them,” he murmured, collapsing into the nearest chair.

The waiter nodded, casting a puzzled glance over his shoulder before he disappeared inside. He reappeared within seconds.

Masterson sunk his teeth into the tender steak. Buttery basil exploded in his mouth, mingling with salty juices. He closed his eyes in ecstasy.

As he finished his last mouthful he noticed someone watching him. He looked up. A dark-haired boy sat alone at a table, only his eyes visible over the top of a menu. Masterson knew those eyes. He saw them every morning in the mirror beside his bunk at Moonbase.

They were his own.

Comments – Ray Stone

Well here’s a great example of the impossible being possible. We know this cannot happen today, or can it? If not – then certainly possible in the future. Writers’ imaginations are wonderful. They stretch the readers mind and if written well, convince us we not only have a great story but a believable one. Linda’s chapter has us totally hooked right from the start and even though we are taking a sharp turn, mentally, we are still in tune and everything is understandable and flows. This is great chapter writing. Love this, Linda.