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Chapter One“C’mon James, you owe me one,” Spencer said.
“How long are you going to hold that over me?” I argued. “It was one time. You saved my ass one time.”
“Yeah, but I did save your ass.”
Spencer would never be mistaken for tall, dark, and handsome. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent light, but his smile was generous, and he had a good heart. It was hard to find, but it was there.
I turned away from him and walked over to the window. I pulled the string, drawing the blinds up, letting the early morning sun filter in to light up my cramped office.
“Listen, the skip’s an easy one. I need her brought in fast though. It’s a simple job, in and out, easy cash.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but I could detect the underlying current of anxiety running through it.
I turned to him and just stared, not saying anything, letting him squirm.
“How many times, how many times have I heard that?”
“Just take a look for yourself, before you make up your mind.”
He tossed a file onto my desk. On the cover was a black and white mug shot of a young woman, in her twenties maybe. Her face was full of pain and anguish. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a while, and her eyes had dark circles under them. Black hair hung limply, and she stared ahead in a drug-induced haze, but beyond all that, there was something about her that bled through. Deep within her dead gaze was strength, a thread of something better.
“You know I don’t do low-level skips,” I said as I flipped through the file.
Twenty-two years old with a few run-ins with the police, but nothing serious. A couple of previously known addresses and contact numbers, and then an arrest for possession. Most likely would have resulted in probation for a first-time offense. Skipping on bail, and failing to appear at her court date, just bumped it up a bit.
“I know, I know, but her bail was huge for a small offense. C’mon, man. I’ve got the insurance company breathing down my neck. I can’t afford to not bring her in. Like I said, she’s a young kid, probably ran home to her parents. You should be able to bring her in by dinner,” Spencer tried. “Unless you’re getting soft. You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
I poured some water on my struggling herb garden by the window. It wasn’t much, just a few things planted in a large planter. I never managed to keep any alive long enough to use, but I was determined to fix that.
“It’s not her you need to worry about,” I said, looking up at him. “It’s her boyfriends or pimp. A girl like her is never alone.”
“A big tough guy like you can handle some stoned-out kids.”
I was still unconvinced.
“How about this; you get this one for me and I wipe our slate clean?” he offered.
I thought about it for a few seconds. I really didn’t owe him that much, but I couldn’t tell him that. He didn’t know I wasn’t just a normal bounty hunter. That I also picked up demons that happened to escape into our world as well. He had no idea that the guy he thought he had saved me from was as capable of hurting me as a kitten.
But if doing this made him think we were even then it might just be worth it.
“Clean? No more bringing it up for favors, or throwing it in my face?”
He shook his head, wiping his hands together.
“Yeah, yeah. Do this and we’re good, even-steven.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, making him wait a few seconds for my answer. “Alright, I’ll do it. Now get out of here, I’ve got things to do.”
“Woohoo! Thanks, James! And don’t worry, this will be a piece of cake. By the way, you never asked how much her bail was.”
I looked down, scanned her file, and saw the amount.
I turned my head back up at Spencer in shock.
“Damn right, buddy, damn right. Bring her back and we can all go on a nice vacation,” he said, turning to leave my office.
I stared at the number again, knowing I had just agreed to do something I was going to regret. There had to be a very good reason a girl with no priors and one arrest had bail set at ten million dollars. A hard knot began to form in the pit of my stomach.
“Why is her bail so big?” I asked.
Spencer shook his head. “I’m not really sure, but I do know the insurance adjuster who put up the money for her bail put a big ole fat bonus to get her
brought in. They’re freaking out about it.”
Why do I allow myself to get into these situations?
I sighed deeply, knowing the sooner I started the better. Hopefully, my instincts were wrong, and this wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as I thought.
Yeah, right.
A few hours later I had a place to start.
Rainah had a surprisingly small footprint on the world. She had no credit cards to track, no record of employment or phone number. All she had was one semester in the Phoenix Community College and an email account attributed to the college. Nothing in the emails but school-related stuff, campus police reports, and announcements for college activities, stuff like that.
She did have an account on a popular social media site that showed she was friends with three people, which for a person under fifty was almost unheard of. She was a member of a few groups; most were closed and dealt with matters of the occult and religious-based topics.
In a group called “Cthulhu, fact or fiction?” one of her three friends, Jasmine, posted about how she was worried about Rain and hoped when they got together tonight at Hell Below that she would be able to help her.
A quick Internet search showed Hell Below was a club catering to the goth/punk crowd, heavy on noise and lights, and light on social interaction. Devil Spit was headlining tonight; sounded great.
My stomach grumbled, so I jotted down the club’s address and then got up. I headed towards the door, intending on grabbing a bite to eat when I smelled brimstone a second before the demon opened my front door and walked across the threshold.
For a moment I saw her in her true form. Her glamour was thrown aside as she passed through the doorway’s threshold, a threshold built up over years of living here. Places can hold power, power imbued to them by people that either visited or lived there. This creates a barrier around the place that makes it hard for demons to enter without being invited, giving a person a sanctuary from the evil in the world, at least the supernatural kind of evil. It does nothing against normal human evil.
She had to tuck her wings in tight to her body to pass through the doorway. They were membranous things stretched tight over a bat-like frame. Her red skin covered a lithe, yet powerful body, and shone with a metallic hue. Her dark black pits for eyes, not a bit of iris showing, devoured everything with a glance. Her sharp nose sat above a large mouth, full of murderous-looking teeth. She had to bend low to enter and her muscular frame moved with a fluidity of stealth. Her strong legs hinged backward and ended in cloven hooves and her tail swished back and forth.
There in a second, then gone. A woman took the demon’s place.
“Leaving so soon?” she asked, her voice sensuous in its tenor, seductive in its quality.
The demon’s glamour was of a beautiful woman, standing just an inch taller than me. She had blond hair that fell in waves just below her shoulders, skin that glowed with a healthy tan, and a body built like an athlete that exuded pure sexual desire. She wore a light blue sundress that flowed as she moved, swaying back and forth in time with her hips, drawing the eyes toward her perfectly sized breasts. Her entire outfit was designed to tempt, while at the same time presenting a sense of wholesomeness that was utterly confusing and enticing.
“What do you want?” I asked, keeping still. She wasn’t here to attack, at least not physically. If she had been, it would have been much harder for her to pass through my door. My barrier would have pushed back at her, allowing me to prepare.
“My, my, such hostility. Tsk, tsk, that is no way to treat a guest,” she teased. She took a few more steps into my office.
She smelled of honey and lemons, sunshine and desire, but under the glamour, there was still the sharp acidic hint of brimstone, something only I could smell. She would have enraptured anyone else, her demonic aura hidden behind a façade.
“I don’t have time to banter back and forth. I assume you are here for a reason Dalsheen. Your kind doesn’t do social calls,” I said, keeping my guard up.
Demons usually come in two different categories; those that are summoned and those that are inhabitants. A person who is skilled enough, strong enough, and knowledgeable enough can summon a demon. When a demon is summoned, they are usually called to accomplish a specific task, one of an undoubtedly nefarious nature. If their summoner is strong enough to control the demon, they will do what they were brought from Hell to do. If not, they turn on their summoner, destroying them while trying to gain a foothold in our realm. Most of the time they fail and are sucked back to Hell, leaving one hell of a mess behind.
Inhabitants are demons allowed to possess a person by an act of free will. If a human is dumb enough, or desperate enough, to allow such a thing then a demon can latch onto their soul, giving them immortality, but with tons of baggage. Depending on the strength of the demon, the human vessel is altered, forever living with the demon’s curse, which can manifest in many ways. Vampires, werewolves, and ghouls are the most common demonic/human offshoots, but there are many others.
Some are far more dangerous; some are less so.
Dalsheen was unique, neither summoned nor an inhabitant. Most loose demons created tons of carnage before they were sent back, having been freed from their hellish prisons. Inhabitants lived much more civilized lives, at least civilized according to Hell’s standards. I think Dalsheen wanted to keep loose demons from doing too much damage, so they didn’t screw up her existence.
It was a theory, anyway. Her true motives were her own. I had worked with her a few other times, each time eliminating a very dangerous demon, something I was happy to do.
“Now what have I ever done to garner such scorn, such abject distrust?” she purred, as she took one step closer, her hips swaying slightly, allowing her ample bosom to accommodate the movement.
She walked over towards the window, looking at my herbs. The angelic power residing within me screamed at me to destroy this thing, to wipe the demon from existence and I wanted to, I really did, but I didn’t like others telling me what to do, even angels.
“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s who you are. I might allow a rattlesnake to live, doesn’t mean I’m gonna let one sit next to me while I watch TV,” I said.
She turned from my ‘garden’ and smiled up at me, trying her best to hypnotize. “Are you saying you trust me? Not even you would be so foolish.”
“Hardly,” I answered, trying not to stare at her shapely figure.
Yes, she was a demon from Hell, smelled of brimstone and fire, but with a body like hers, most men would gladly give their soul to spend a night in her bed. I was a demon bounty hunter, able to track and kill the most dangerous beings, but it had been a while since I had anyone sleep beside me, and the effects of that were painfully obvious.
Her smile deepened, knowing the effect she was having on my libido. “We have gotten along fine in the past. There is no reason we can’t come together again, for our mutual benefit, of course.” The sexual desire in her voice was maddening.
Hard Skip
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1 – How And What Kid’s Are We Teaching In 2020+?Unique Groups of Children
Every group of children is unique, depending on their surroundings, their age and the place they live. We know that children can master different things at different ages. We have to remind ourselves that we are not just working with children who have a specific background, there is also an actual situation and there is the universal access to any human being.
Let’s just try to forget how the kids look and where they come from and what set of values you might think the children have and consider the fact that: We are actually working with bodies and brains that come with their feelings and their rights. I will talk more about the brain in another chapter, and for now, drag attention to observing what the children in our surroundings are stimulated by.
In The Old Days
In the old days, let me just cut it out in soft terms, most children lived in homes where they had to be quiet, disciplined, work in the house and there was a big gap between being a child and an adult. The child had to obey the adults, sleep early and make up their own games. So where did all the fun come from? Where was the place they got excited, what was it they thought about and looked forward to doing the next day? Going to school!
Why? Because they were free without adults when they walked to school and could make all kind of plans, walking with friends, bullying other kids, making groups and adventure trips. In the classroom, there were books with pictures, and they gained information they did not have access to from home. There was group work, and projects to plan and planches to create, there was art and paint and clay to experiment with, there were colourful pictures on the wall, stuffed animals and big gyms and tools to play with, which they didn’t have access to from home.
After the camera and pictures in picture viewers became available, and the television and film making, it became a revolution in making film and pictures for education, again information gained in ways that were not possible from home.
Today
Now if you think about it everything has turned around, but the teaching methods stay the same. The school and teachers are not the main sources of knowledge anymore and lots of teachers and parents don’t understand what’s wrong.
Why don’t the children learn what is intended after 9 years, why do so many multilanguage children in the schools end up without the exam and why is the kid’s daily schooldays filled with conflicts and wasting of time? Because they are pressuring the child to crawl before he walks… not noticing, he is already running but complain of the sound running shoes make. Metaphorical speaking.
After observing children for 30+ years, I have noticed that children have totally lost their disciplinary zone and skills. I’m not talking about recreating the black school, but I’m talking about the fact that every human being has to learn some disciplinary skills if they should be able to learn anything all.
In this time the majority of children have seen all the films from home, read lots of books, made lots of adventures and when they come to school. They don’t need this as they did before they need something else, and they want to learn under disciplined predetermined frames. Many times the students themselves crave it from the teachers. They want peace in their minds, and very quickly judge a teacher and the teaching quality from unstructured teachings and the sound level in the classroom.
The School’s Role Today
I use a modern term to describe this which I think covers pretty well what I’m trying to explain here: They are “spammed” with info and pictures and adventures, so how can the school compete with that, and should it?
I will say, yes and no. Yes, that we have to give the children examples that are exemplary in our context. And we as the school environment and teachers should give the children other experiences which they cannot get from home or from outside. One of the things I will return to several times, is ex. their own process of learning, as their project and plans.
The feeling of cooperating, focus, patience in practice, balance, planning, defining problems and solutions, being a team and solving our missions together. Not by just telling them, ordering them, but by practising what we preach and facilitate this environment in our interaction with the children in the learning process. So we have moved on from the ”What we do.” to the ”Why we do it.”
Self-Discipline to Prepare For Their Future
Also the area of disciplining themselves, through experiencing the advantages of being free while progressing. By using methods that need self-discipline which enables them to enter a process where time and engagement and producing creates the value of the result more than to be fast, correct and strong or loud and rebellious. The process itself is the result and where the success criteria are to be found.
By encouraging the kids to set small goals and achieve them in small steps their self-esteem increase and make them feel they can stand independently and be the captain in their own learning process. The children express they have greater courage, a feeling of security and that the future is to be dealt with. Not to fear or worry about, but to prepare for and they now know how to empower themself.
Use Their Knowledge As Content To Teach Basic Skills
The unexplored advantage we have in this urban time is to use the kid’s knowledge gained from home and environment, to teach them the methods of how to handle and analyze all that content they have been spammed with. To be critical thinkers that can talk, exchange information and express themselves about ex. ethics, source critique and mastering simple methods as reading, designing, drawing, writing, conflict prevention and calculating.
These areas are often neglected in favour of massive value related content often prepared for with an actual political agenda, which is completely irrelevant to the child’s learning process while furthermore polluting the atmosphere.
"Our responsibility towards our common future is too serious to waste any time on not teaching every child the most basic tools to encounter and deal with the challenges life has in store for them after school." - Helene Larsen
How To Teach Kid's to Read in 2020+
The ebook can be downloaded for FREE in PDF, ePub or Mobi format here with the coupon code:
"1pen VIP"
https://1pen-epublish.com/product/how...
I hope you will find it interesting, have a lovely day
Kind regards Helene Larsen
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My friendship theory lasts until one hot July day, when we find ourselves in an amusement park eating ice-cream – coffee and chocolate. It is melting so quickly that it drips out of the cone and covers Danny’s face, hands and even shorts in brown smears. On any other day this would make me upset and angry, but not today. We are laughing and joking around so much that life seems happy, the day magnificent, and dirty shorts unimportant. I laugh uncontrollably, with absolutely no fear of seeming inadequate, and, between these bursts of pure, unadulterated joy, I am aware of two brown eyes locked onto me. It is the gaze of a child staring at an expensive toy in a shop that he desperately wants and can look at, but is not allowed to touch and is definitely not allowed to play with. I like it. It wraps me in its honey-sweet caress, forcing me to lose all sense of reality, dive into the waters of desire and drown in euphoria.
It is on this day that I experience the most delicious and exciting moment of my life, one of those that remains a cherished memory and fills our existence with meaning, the kind that will flash through our mind as we depart this world – my first real kiss.
My ice-cream is melting just as quickly as Danny’s and is dripping down my chin, across my wrist, and onto my thigh. I laugh, throwing my head back and covering my eyes so as not to be blinded by happiness, and it is in this moment of weightlessness that I am suddenly aware of the lightest touch on my skin, like the wings of a butterfly. It flutters against my thigh then lingers on my wrist, but before its delicate wings reach my face, I force my eyes open and see only fragments: pink lips, a tanned cheek, the features and lines of a face silhouetted against the bright sunlight. My nostrils draw in his scent for the very first time and it is so strong that he is not just next to me but intimately close. His smell instantly takes me prisoner, overpowering me to such an extent that I have forgotten who and where I am.
I know that, moments before, Alex was using his lips and tongue to clean the melted ice-cream off my thigh and wrist and inadvertently treating me to the most ecstatic experience of my life. My body and mind are adrift in a sea of bliss, the sounds of the park suddenly fade away, and the world and everyone in it cease to exist. All I can see is a blindingly bright light and all I can feel are a man’s moist lips touching mine. Alex’s hot, passionate mouth is kissing me greedily as if there is finally enough air; as if he had been suffocating, but now he can breathe.
I know that a kiss like this is neither flirting nor dating and can sense with every fibre of my being that it was a sudden impulse, unplanned and impetuous.
When Alex comes to his senses and realises what he has done, I am already staring meaningfully into his eyes. He pulls away slowly and starts to apologise, but I assure him there is no need, just not to do it again. He replies that he won’t, but his eyes say otherwise: he looks as overwhelmed as I feel.
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Good to know 😃😃😃 Looking forward to your opinion!
Hi Everyone, I'm a bit new here and I just self-published my first work. As you can imagine I'm pretty anxious about it all so reviews of how I write are like crack to me. Here's an excerpt is taken from the book, The main things I'm looking for is whether or not it is engaging, pacing, verbiage, etc. Anyway, please:Michelle swung open a rickety wooden door. The house was abandoned, and dust particles fluttered through the air. Each floorboard creaked with every step, and the only sound to be heard else was her cloak dragging on the sandy wood beneath her. As she walked through the house, she ran her fingers along the wall next to her. A pungent aroma filled the air, she had recognized it as an aroma she had become quite familiar with in this life of hers. The smell of death. She turned the corner to the homeowner’s bed chambers to find the corpse of a man, his throat slit, and face peeled off, sitting in a chair centered in the room. Behind him the words “Your Death” were smeared on the wall in his own blood. Her expression didn’t change, instead she continued to scrutinize the house. In the basement, hidden amongst a plethora of junk, she found a book written in a dead language. The pages were made of human skin, a truly horrible sensation to the touch. She walked up the steps and out the front door. Two soldiers waited for her there. She nodded nonchalantly as she mounted her horse and the soldiers lit the house aflame.
She rode back towards Rathhild with the book in hand. It took her until nightfall to reach the great city. As she walked toward the castle, she immediately took notice of the empty streets. It took her a moment to remember the curfew and disregarded the ominous feeling of walking down a dark street alone in the night. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling. She turned to look behind her, her expression ever emotionless. Nothing but shadow. As she continued to walk down the street the shadows on the walls followed her, until they were just behind her.
Without missing a beat, she unsheathed her sword and broke a lantern to her side setting a small fire next to her. The shadowy tendrils that had followed her retreated into the distance. She stood, her broadsword stuck in the ground, waiting for whatever was out there to come forward. When she heard the first steps, uncadenced, foreboding and slow, her face hardened. The steps got closer and closer, until they were just out of sight in the darkness.
“Evil, such a relative term doesn’t you think” A dark modified voice called out from the dark
“I don’t expect you to answer, no, not you. I know you too well. You are the good, or so you think. A creature that clings to light, only ever knowing what lay there, cannot possibly consider itself good though can it. You only know the half of it.” He snarled
“Haggardly holding on to the hope that your heroism heralds a bright future. But I know your secret. That darkness deep inside you. How can anything you put your hand to do, produce anything but? Oh right, no questions” He continued as the light from the fire grew dimmer
“I'm gonna take that darkness from the world, from you. You’ve been keeping it at bay, but its growing isn’t it. That fear.” The fire grew dimmer
“Can you feel it yet…sinking in” The light was almost out
“As if it could touch.” He started
A lantern crashed in the middle of the street, but there was no man in sight. Michelle looked to the rooftops quickly, a bead of sweat trailing down her forehead. Jay sat, one leg tucked under him, the other swinging off the ledge of the rooftop he was watching from.
“It seems we have a bigger problem than we thought.” Jay chimed in dropping off the side and landing in the street across from her
“I thought the curfew would only fuel the paranoia, but it seems the king is king for a reason.” He continued
Michelle stared at him from across the road. One could never quite tell what was going through her head, though Jay seemed to get her more than most.
“You know, don’t you?” He asked staring into the darkness at the end of the road
“This is just the beginning” He finished
First of all I think this is a great idea for a post. Thank you for the opportunity. Here is an excerpt from my book "Just Two Strangers In The Crowd" https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/5...
Iris has never felt so happy or so in love before and for once it looks like they're finally living the happy life they've always wanted and the life they both deserve. But Iris should know by now that happiness and good luck doesn't stay around her and Dean for very long, which she discovers when she receives an unexpected call while at work from the local police station. Her colleagues ask her if everything's alright after she's hung up, looking far too pale, but she can't find her voice to answer them.
The moment Iris steps into the visiting room she's immediately taken back to the day when she had gone with Dean to see his dad in prison. It's a different prison but has the same horrible coloured walls and smell, and she feels a little nauseous as she's shown over to a far end table where an all too familiar prisoner sits. He doesn't look up at her when she sits down in the uncomfortable plastic chair.
'Hi, darling,' she says softly but she doesn't receive a response. 'How are you?' Again silence and she feels her heart twist painfully. He no doubt expects her to be angry at him or severely disappointed and though it's true she is disappointed that he joined Mickey in his drug dealing business, she's far from angry with him. He had only played a minor role in Mickey's drug ring and she was somewhat pleased when she heard this. If only because it means he won't receive a harsh sentence. Mickey on the other hand, who was also caught in the raid, will no doubt be receiving the longest sentence possible, not for just being the main man and boss in the drug ring, but also because of his many past crimes and previous sentences.
But what Iris really wants to know is why Dean joined Mickey's drug dealing ring in the first place after vowing over a year ago that he would never become a dealer like his dad.
'Why did you do it, Dean?' she asks him. 'Why take Mickey's offer?'
'We needed the money,' he mutters while continuing to look down at his hands. His voice sounds hoarse but it's a response.
'But you're looking at seven. . . maybe even nine years in prison,' she reminds him.
His dull green eyes immediately narrow as he looks up at her. 'Don't you think I know that?' he says sharply before his gaze drops back down to his clasped hands.
Not knowing what else to say Iris chances a glance around at the other prisoners and their familial visitors. All of them are waiting for their trials just like Dean. She wishes she could say something more to him. Something comforting and reassuring but words fail her. She tries to divert talk away from his upcoming trial and instead tells him about her day at work and the many annoying customers she keeps on getting in her section.
'I swear they sit them in my section on purpose,' she jokes with a smile at him, but there's no reaction from him and she doubts he's listened to anything she's been telling him for the past hour. Because he's still waiting for his trial she's been told she can visit him for an hour three times a week up until his court date, which she's going to try to do.
When the hour is up she reaches for his hand and gives him a reassuring and loving smile.
'I'll see you later, my darling,' she says. 'Okay? And remember. . . I love you. I love you so much.' He remains silent and pulls his hand away from hers long before a guard comes over to escort him back to his cell. And he doesn't look up once as she watches him be led away from her.
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Thanks for sharing Jabari. Marked your book to read 👍
Hello! I'm Hayleigh and I've recently published a new novel in the romantic fiction genre, Book Review. It’s available on Kindle Unlimited but I would also be happy to send a free copy in pdf, epub or mobi formats in exchange for an honest review on Goodreads and Amazon (and anywhere else you might post). Thanks!The link here: Book Review
On Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08...
Cover: https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/5...
**Link to Review on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/review/create-...
Synopsis (not an excerpt because I don't want to give any spoilers):
Dr. Sophie Grimaldi, successful and happy in her career, if not in love, is contentedly single and plans to remain that way. Books have always been her escape and the only place she still allows herself to believe men are decent and true love exists.
Author Jax Rowland is writing the first book of his next spy thriller series, struggling to forge a deeper connection between his protagonist and not-another-Bond-girl to appease the disenchanted female portion of his audience.
When Sophie finds a sheet of Jax’s notes in a library book, she’s appalled by his attempt at writing a love scene and critiques it, never imagining the author will read her review. Ashamed to view his work through a mystery critic’s eyes, he recognizes her talent and hires her to edit the love scenes of his next novel. As they get to know each other through the work, discovering all they share in common, a desire for more than a working relationship, more than friendship grows. But, after a series of missed connections, it seems fate has other plans.
Will they continue to play it safe and single or will they risk another heartbreak for a chance at love?
Note: Book Review is a full-length standalone romance with some adult language. The end of this book is not a cliffhanger but, if you prefer a tidy conclusion, this may not be the book for you. Reader discretion is advised.
Hi Hayleigh. We actually have authors post only book excerpts here so that we get a whiff of their writing! We offer them a chance to be featured in our group in return. The book promotion folder is the place you are looking for.
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall . . . Where Does My Self-Love Fall?Introduction
What Ya Got for Me?
Welcome! Life throws many curves into one’s pathway. How one handles those curves creates the beauty of the journey. This guide is meant for all ethnicities and genders. Anyone eager to satisfy their hunger and thirst to find self-love and remove toxic relationships will benefit from its use.
The guide has a dual purpose: developing self-love and creating awareness of toxic relationships. To direct you toward those purposes, this guide is equipped with information and activities that require daily thought and participation. You’ll discover there is a lot to absorb and focus on. Consider taking frequent breaks to get recharged and energized for the coming of a new you! All chapters contain information as well as activities that help you apply what you’ve learned. Don’t dismiss or shy away from the information sections. Knowledge is power, especially when that knowledge gives you the freedom to engage and empower yourself. This guide’s information is part of a
discovery for finding self-love and exposing the ugliness of toxicity. Embrace it, remember it, and practice it! Internalizing the information and participating in the activities outlined will maximize your success.
There aren’t right or wrong answers for this guide. What’s important is the opportunity to flush out your thoughts, realize the makeup of your relationship(s), discover toxicity with its many faces in your life, decide how you will react to the toxicity, and embrace the pure self-love you deserve. Once you’ve acknowledged the truth about “self,” there should be no turning back. With these goals in mind, there was no need to insert an answer key for any of the working activities. The “master key” lies within you.
Alexis, Yes, Sorry, I didn't place the link for Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall . . .Where does My Self-Love Fall? https://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Wall-Wh...
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Here's an excerpt from my first novel, The Truth about Tomorrow.It was a dull morning on November 8th when Kyle stepped out of the car, and yet the daylight seemed to hurt his eyes. He squinted at the whitish-grey sky and thanked the Garda who had given him a lift home.
He stepped onto the gravel path leading up to the house. He had thought, for that brief moment on Saturday night, that he would never see the house again. It was an ugly house on the outside, a big brick and glass thing that was modern when it was built in the early ’90s. The rusty-coloured landscape behind it almost camouflaged the house at this time of year. Kyle had always been glad of it, and that morning he hoped that the house with its contents could simply blend into the surrounding nature altogether so that nobody could come looking for them.
As it was, though, he pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket and walked up to the looming front porch. He pushed the door open and was met with the warm, cosy smell of an open fire and freshly made toast. He could hear his sister’s voice on the telephone out in the hall, spelling out her name for what sounded like approximately the thirteenth time.
“No, Cassandra DAHLIA French. Yes, that’s right, like the flower, followed by the nationality.”
Kyle pushed the door closed behind him. He could tell that his arrival had been noticed. The phone call ended soon after.
Kyle had just entered the kitchen when his sister showed up at the other doorway.
“Hi,” she said with a worried-looking smile. Kyle nodded and sat down at the end of the long oak table.
“Do you want tea? Coffee?” Cassie asked, stretching the sleeves of her grey, woolly jumper.
“Coffee,” Kyle replied, reaching out for the newspaper on the table.
“Toast?”
“No.”
“Kyle, you know you need to eat…”
He let out a big sigh. “Fine. Cereal then.”
Cassie hurried over to the press to sort out his breakfast.
Kyle turned over the newspaper to see the front page. “Psychic’s son survives fatal crash,” it said in big letters on the front.
“Why did you get this?” he asked, looking up at his older sister.
Cassie turned around at the fridge and brushed her long fringe off her face. “They gave it to me on the plane.”
“When did you get here?” Kyle said, glancing through the article.
“Yesterday afternoon. As soon as I could. It still cost me a fortune.”
Cassie put a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee in front of Kyle and sat down at the table too.
“Where’s Ciara?”
“She took Wanda for a walk,” Cassie replied.
“That article is a load of bollocks, you know,” she continued.
“They only make a big deal out of it because of mum. They wouldn’t give a shit otherwise,” Kyle said, pushing the paper away from him across the table. “How do they even know?”
“It was in the local papers yesterday,” Cassie said. Kyle knew that she was tense around him, as if he was going to blame her for it or something.
“Bastards,” Kyle said, dropping his spoon into the cereal. He had no appetite, but he knew that Cassie was right; he had to eat. If he didn’t, Cassie would lose it altogether, even though she seemed calm at the moment.
The front door opened and closed, bringing with it a touch of cool air. Ciara appeared at the kitchen door in a grey hoodie. Wanda ran into the kitchen and sat down at Kyle’s feet, glancing up at him with her big, bulgy eyes.
“Hi,” Ciara said. Kyle could see that she had been crying. She probably hadn’t taken the dog for a walk but for a cry instead. Kyle nodded at her and realised, for what felt like the first time, how alike his sisters were. They were both wary around him, ready to catch him if he was to fall or to put him out if he was to go on fire. They had the same expression on their faces. The only differences were the eight years between them and the different manufactured hair colours, Cassie’s blonde and Ciara’s dark.
Cassie hurried to turn on the kettle and make herself and Ciara a cup of tea.
“So, you got home all right?” Ciara said, sitting down.
“Why not?” Kyle said, pushing the empty cereal bowl away from him.
“So, what’s gonna happen next?”
Ciara was pulling her hoodie off over her head and thanked Cassie for the fresh cuppa.
“I’ve spoken to the funeral home… I think it will be on Friday.”
“Friday? What the fuck for?” Kyle glared at his sister.
“It’s the soonest they can do it. It will take… a lot of cleaning up,” Cassie said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
“I don’t wanna see them. I don’t,” Ciara said, glancing at the two of them.
“You won’t have to, pet,” Cassie said, reaching out to touch her hand.
“Can they not clean up a bit faster?”
“Don’t be so harsh, Kyle. They’re doing their best.”
“Whatever,” Kyle breathed into his coffee.
“I spoke to the lawyers too. I’ll see them later in the week.”
“We won’t have to move, will we?” Ciara looked worried.
“No. I’m sure the house is safe. You can stay here. You might need somebody to stay with you though.”
“Can’t you stay, Cassie?”
“I don’t know, Ciara. I can’t just up and leave and move back home. I need to have a job… And there’s Rob too.”
“Yeah, but… I’m 18 next month, it’s not like I need a nanny or anything. I’d rather we were all together.”
“How do you think we would live?” Kyle said sarcastically.
“Mum and dad had money…”
“Yeah, THEY had money. What about inheritance tax and all that shite? You’re a student, I’m a student, and Cassie’s hardly gonna be able to give us much from London.”
“Kyle…” Cassie tried to stop him.
“Yeah, well, it’s just not gonna work, is it? I’ll get some shitty job in McDonald’s or something just to keep us going, will I? As if that’s gonna work.”
“Kyle, it will all be fine. We’ll get money.”
“Sure.” He pushed his chair back from the table. He saw tears in Ciara’s eyes now too, but he didn’t care.
“Where are you going?” Cassie shouted after him.
“To the bathroom, if you must know,” he muttered.
Kyle walked to the downstairs bathroom, next to the only downstairs bedroom and his father’s study. He walked over to the sink, turned on the cold tap and splashed his face, over and over again, even though it hurt and stung and the coldness of the water made him think his face and hands were going to go numb.
He dried himself off, and then wiped the splashes off the mirror. He put the towel back on the chrome towel warmer and looked in the mirror. His mousey-brown hair with the blond highlights that he had only got done a couple of weeks earlier was now shaved off in two points on the right-hand side of his head. The bald patches were covered in little bandages. The nurse had told him in the morning that the hair would grow back quickly once the cuts were healed, but it looked horrible. He’d have to get his whole head shaved now.
And his face wasn’t much better. There was a big, ugly gash right under the hairline on his forehead and two smaller cuts on his right cheek, one of them getting dangerously close to the corner of his eye. “You’re lucky to be alive,” they’d all said. What exactly was lucky about being 20 and losing both parents in a car crash? More so, he would now have to look after two hysterical sisters as well as the funeral and a whole pile of legal matters that meant nothing to him… What the hell would happen to his father’s business, too?
Kyle heard the doorbell outside, followed by a couple of stifled barks from Wanda. That would start now too, now that it was in the papers. People would come over with flowers and other useless things and offer their condolences...
Still, he couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. He unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. He heard another female voice in the kitchen. Iris.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” Cassie exclaimed just as Kyle walked back into the kitchen.
“It’s the least I could do,” Iris said, wrapping her arms around the oldest French daughter.
“Thank you so much, Iris.” Tears were running down Cassie’s cheeks again.
Kyle was annoyed with the buddy-buddy attitude of his sister’s. Yes, he knew that Cassie had done some work experience at their father’s business during her college years and become friendly with Iris, who was only five years older than her. Still, Iris was only an employee of their father’s.
Ciara had spotted him in the doorway.
“Iris brought over some groceries. Isn’t that good of her?” Ciara said, encouraging him to say something polite.
Iris had separated herself from Cassie and looked at Kyle. He only nodded. Groceries were the last thing on his mind.
“Look at you, Kyle. You really were lucky.” Iris stepped closer to him to inspect the cuts on his face and head, but Kyle turned away. Iris sensed his reluctance and changed the subject.
“Is there anything else I can do for you guys? Anything at all? Do you want to stay somewhere else or call someone to stay here with you?”
“No, thanks, that won’t be necessary. We’re all adults,” Cassie said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Are you sure? It’s a bad time…”
“We’ll be fine,” Kyle interrupted. Ciara had started unpacking the groceries – pizzas, lettuce, chocolate chip cookies, a loaf of bread, fresh milk, chicken breasts, pasta, tissues… Bloody tissues, like she was trying to be thoughtful.
“Sure, if there’s nothing else you want me to do, I better head back… It’s mental at the office… Although I’m sure that’s the least of your worries.” Iris stuck her hands in the pockets of her smart-looking black jacket.
“Can you bring me into town?” Kyle asked abruptly, much to his sisters’ dismay.
“Kyle… What do you want to go into town for?” Cassie asked with a look of horror on her face.
“I’ve things to do,” Kyle said, checking his pockets for his keys.
“Yeah, sure,” Iris said, glancing at the two other women as if looking for back-up.
“I think we should stick together,” Cassie said, crossing her arms.
“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” Kyle said so quietly that nobody heard him. “Like I said, I have some things to do.” He walked into the hall with Iris right behind him.
He sat down in the passenger seat of Iris’s little red Tigra. She reversed out of the driveway and turned the car towards town.
“Where am I taking you?”
“Anywhere in town,” Kyle replied. It was too early to ask, they were still a 15-minute drive away.
He sat in silence the whole way into town, and Iris gave up after a couple of attempts. She pulled in to a bus stop on the main street once they got into town and asked if it was OK. Kyle nodded, thanked her and got out.
Hi!From my new book:
Meeting Laura – A novel loosely and partially inspired by the life of...
by Anna "Annina" Lorenzi
"...dedicated to those minds wanting to think, to those hearts wanting to beat, to the brave and the crazy."
Excerpt:
Intro
“So you’re really leaving?”
“Yeah, it sure seems like it. Everything’s ready. Tomorrow, the alarm clock’s set for dawn and off I go...”
“Life is sure strange, sometimes... I mean, who would have said that it could really have happened? It’s crazy. But when you set your heart on something...”
“You know my motto, don’t you? Insist, resist, achieve and conquer! I wanted to try, I tried, and it went well. Call it chance, destiny, a stroke of luck... call it whatever you want, but I just had to accept this challenge, even if it meant taking a risk; and now more than ever I can’t give up, I have to see it through to the end. What happens then, we’ll see. If worse comes to worse, at least I’ll have gone on a new trip... It’s been a long time since I’ve been to America. And anyway, I’m tellin’ ya’, all things considered, I could have predicted it!”
They both smiled, lit up by the glow of the perfect full moon at the beginning of fall.
Looking each other in the eye knowingly and with true affection and respect, they raised to the sky their two bottles of beer, by now almost empty, clanking them in a toast, wordless, but full of enthusiasm.
“Here’s to you! And... however it goes, it’ll be a success! Only... don’t get a big head about it, OK? You don’t want to come back here all changed, do you?!”
“Ha! Get real! And when is that likely to happen? You know that I don’t let myself get sucked in by that kind of thing... Being, not seeming, my friend, being... You know what, though? I really do have to go, now... I have to.”
He quickly tossed down the last drop.
“Hey, look at that, what a moon! Tomorrow’ll be a nice day. A great day.”
1. The beginning of the journey
"There isn’t a cloud, it won’t bounce around, today, when it takes off, lighter than air..."
The alarm clock went off exactly on time: 30 minutes after the sand man had come during an almost sleepless night. A classic. Every time he had to jump on a plane, or simply and for whatever reason he had to wake up earlier than usual, and despite all his efforts, he was never able to fall asleep; then, suddenly, a half hour before the deafening jingle of his smartphone began to penetrate his ear drums, he fell asleep, deeply asleep. And then, inevitably, jolted himself awake with a pounding head, accompanied by a bit of random swearing.
“Oh well,” he thought, “maybe it’s better, I’ll sleep on the plane... and if not, at least I woke up!”
With a clouded mind and a creased face, he looked quickly at the gash of blue visible from his window; the day’s dawn foretold an incredibly limpid and clear sky for a morning in early autumn.
“Fantastic. Today, there’ll be no bouncing around.”
A few minutes to revive himself with a good espresso and some freezing water splashed on his face, to gather the last minute things - computer, passport, mobile phone, suitcase, keys, cigarettes, electronic ticket - and lock up the house, and he was already seated in the backseat of the taxi that would take him to the airport.
The journey could finally begin.
...
From the official press release:
Milan, Italy, May 19, 2020 –
Anna "Annina" Lorenzi makes her KDP debut with a much awaited self-publication: a new short novel that is a page-turner. The protagonist? A young writer with a dream to follow and a challenge that he can’t not accept. The ending? A surprise for many readers. The blurb intrigues: “An unusual trip, seemingly simple,... narrated among thoughts, memories, emotions, and clear images depicting her, Laura, really that same Laura that the whole world knows and acclaims... (or maybe not?)." Giovanna Vitale, professor at Milan’s Politecnico university, author, and a proofreader of the Italian version, commented, “Compelling work, original, well written and formatted. It’s really worth it.”
Information about the book:
Original title:
Incontrando Laura - Un romanzo liberamente e in parte ispirato alla vita di...
English version title:
Meeting Laura – A novel loosely and partially inspired by the life of...
professionally translated from Italian by Starleen K. Meyer
Formats available:
eBook, ASIN code: B08768MLW9 (IT ASIN code: B08769SN7X);
paperback, ASIN code: B088LH21J7 / ISBN 9798617201088 (IT ASIN code: 1653218169 / ISBN 9781653218165)
Number of pages: 124 (IT) / 140 (ENG)
Release date of the first edition: May 19, 2020
Audiobooks: coming soon
Publisher: independent
Market: global - Sold by: Amazon
Price: $2.99 / €2,99 (eBook, available also via Kindle Unlimited), $9.99 / €9,99 (paperback)
Additional information:
Interview with the author: Q&A with followers (on annina19.com)
Author Page (amazon.com)
Press Area: interview, articles, reviews...
Translator Page
An “A19” project – Copyright ©2019-2020 Anna Lorenzi
All rights reserved.
Although the novel is loosely – and only partially – inspired by the life of Laura Prepon, this is a work of fiction, and this book is not authorized and/or endorsed by L. H. Prepon. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, names, characters, businesses, places, locales, and incidents are purely coincidental, produced by the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Mod
Mod
Grasshopper wrote: "Thanks for sharing the excerpt Anna. The narrative has a very relaxed pace and the reader knows he can expect a classic. Well done. Have marked it for reading."Thank you so much! :-)
From the Prologue of Dagger Path. Book One of Gaiadon Lore. SFF/Dark Fantasy/Epic Fantasy :)
It was Katharos, a place he had barely had time to explore where the water beasts called Makara took him. Amhran Laiste, which meant Lark’s Song in the common tongue; jewel green and shining like the sun does on emerald water. A winged horse atop and a sea-serpent below.
Lark was followed by Croilar-Athas, called Heart of Joy in the common tongue. A large but gentle, tawny-gold doe. She had small wings of gold and the body of a sea-serpent below; for that is what Makara are, creatures of the sea, land, fire, and sky. Both Makara were twice the size of lumbering blubbery Sea Elephants, but sleek as a rudder through the bright blue waves.
Worried for their friends, Lark and Joy swept him across the Lonely Ocean with the wind called Gaia’s Howl nipping at their back. Pushing through the shallow sea that rippled with furrows like a ploughed field, they set their hearts, and their minds to the direction of the setting Sun. A heart full of love thudded in his slat ribbed chest, as they raced against time. Aware that they would probably lose, while time slipped away, a victim of the shadow, that had stirred from its lair in the North.
With his hands around her neck and his sea bag strapped behind, Snot whooped with joy when they took to the air on wings of silver and emerald green. They snapped shut with a crack, like two flags in the face of a strong wind, and down beneath the surface of the ocean the Makara would go. Snot held his breath, a thing he was very good at, until he heeled Lark firmly in the sides. Then up from the deep they rose. A spume of salty water fanned like crystal wings in sunlight - when Lark tossed her mane free of seafoam and brine. A joyful thing, even though his heart was sometimes worried, sometimes dark.
He was a long way from home already. And not counting his journey from slavery to The Spiral Isles, this was the farthest he had ever been. Burdened with a message that he had volunteered to carry. Though that act should have made it lighter; it did not. The message like his heart was heavier than a cart full of wet sand. He held on tightly to the Makara, while the Spiral Isles disappeared into his past and, his fear thudded erratically in his chest. He gulped seafoam and salt, as it made its way into his mouth.
‘Make haste Lark,’ he shouted above the sound of the wind and the sea. ‘We must deliver this message to Marama Rawa or die trying.’ Lark whinnied enthusiastically; the boy continued, ‘Marama will be able to find Mordeana Never Dead…Lords of the Light Flame, let it be so,’ he prayed.
Dagger Path: Gaiadon Lore. Book One
It was Katharos, a place he had barely had time to explore where the water beasts called Makara took him. Amhran Laiste, which meant Lark’s Song in the common tongue; jewel green and shining like the sun does on emerald water. A winged horse atop and a sea-serpent below.
Lark was followed by Croilar-Athas, called Heart of Joy in the common tongue. A large but gentle, tawny-gold doe. She had small wings of gold and the body of a sea-serpent below; for that is what Makara are, creatures of the sea, land, fire, and sky. Both Makara were twice the size of lumbering blubbery Sea Elephants, but sleek as a rudder through the bright blue waves.
Worried for their friends, Lark and Joy swept him across the Lonely Ocean with the wind called Gaia’s Howl nipping at their back. Pushing through the shallow sea that rippled with furrows like a ploughed field, they set their hearts, and their minds to the direction of the setting Sun. A heart full of love thudded in his slat ribbed chest, as they raced against time. Aware that they would probably lose, while time slipped away, a victim of the shadow, that had stirred from its lair in the North.
With his hands around her neck and his sea bag strapped behind, Snot whooped with joy when they took to the air on wings of silver and emerald green. They snapped shut with a crack, like two flags in the face of a strong wind, and down beneath the surface of the ocean the Makara would go. Snot held his breath, a thing he was very good at, until he heeled Lark firmly in the sides. Then up from the deep they rose. A spume of salty water fanned like crystal wings in sunlight - when Lark tossed her mane free of seafoam and brine. A joyful thing, even though his heart was sometimes worried, sometimes dark.
He was a long way from home already. And not counting his journey from slavery to The Spiral Isles, this was the farthest he had ever been. Burdened with a message that he had volunteered to carry. Though that act should have made it lighter; it did not. The message like his heart was heavier than a cart full of wet sand. He held on tightly to the Makara, while the Spiral Isles disappeared into his past and, his fear thudded erratically in his chest. He gulped seafoam and salt, as it made its way into his mouth.
‘Make haste Lark,’ he shouted above the sound of the wind and the sea. ‘We must deliver this message to Marama Rawa or die trying.’ Lark whinnied enthusiastically; the boy continued, ‘Marama will be able to find Mordeana Never Dead…Lords of the Light Flame, let it be so,’ he prayed.
Dagger Path: Gaiadon Lore. Book One
Thanks for posting your book excerpt MT Ceres. The fantasy seems so real. Would certainly like to read more.
The plot of your book sounds very intriguing Bruce. Makes one wonder what happens next.
Beatrice wrote: "Thanks for posting your book excerpt MT Ceres. The fantasy seems so real. Would certainly like to read more."
Thank you for your lovely response.
I'm being interviewed on The Fantasy Hive on July 30th - there are giveaways on the day and price promos that week.
If you or anyone you know would be interested.
Thank you for your lovely response.
I'm being interviewed on The Fantasy Hive on July 30th - there are giveaways on the day and price promos that week.
If you or anyone you know would be interested.
Hi everyone...here is an extract from my book'The Funny Thing About Being a Widow?' which is available on Amazon.
The answer to the question posed in this title might seem obvious? Read on...the following was written when I joined several dating sites in order to highlight the potential pitfalls for widows who used them.
In the book, I categorised my contacts in the following way.
The scammers
The barely breathers
The perverts
The ifs, buts & maybes
The serial winkers
For clarity 'winking' at someone on a dating site is a way of expressing interest.
Ooookay people...I do not like the term winking, for me, it has a very Lesley Philips 'ding dong' type of connotation to it which seems a little strange in the context of its use on a dating site aimed at those of us of a more mature vintage. Whilst I understand that the act of winking has an immediacy about it, it is the act of winking habitually that remains a mystery to me.
Often winkers will do so several times a day, on most days of the week which when you add it up over the period of a month amounts to a seriously exhausting amount of winking.
On the occasions that I have tried to respond to this type of winter with a message, I am usually ignored though they continue to wink away at a furious pace whilst steadfastly refusing to engage beyond this. I have no option but to presume that maybe winkers like this are so sufficiently by the act of winking alone, that they have no actual need to proceed further than a wink do you think?
Sandra E Manning
Ooh! A very grim picture. Almost feels like one was there. I'll definitely mark this one to read.
Mod
Recently released my second book (and my first novel), so here's a short excerpt from the first couple pages of the opening chapter of Three Knights, a Wizard, and a Doorway. I hope you enjoy it! Chapter 1
Those four unlikely adventurers stepped forth and beheld an unfathomable sight. With sunlight beaming overhead, they were momentarily blinded by the radiance of their new surroundings.
The wizard of their party raised his arm to block the sun’s unobstructed rays. The sleeve of his robe hung loose, casting shade across his thoughtful features. He pondered the distance they traveled in not but the blink of an eye. In the back of his mind, he withheld the knowledge that their feet were now planted in the soil of an entirely foreign world—such knowledge was more than his accompaniment could fathom at present.
This infinitely timeless wizard once served as an advisor to the most feared warrior king. Yet he was powerless to do anything as his friend and comrade lay slain before his eyes…This provided the necessary motivation to set forth on his quest for self-discovery. The initial leg of this journey saw him venturing beyond the veil of the known universe, where he would lay claim to the spring of youth personified; it afforded him a sort of immortality. Still, no one can live forever, and he would spend his every waking hour dreading the omen of a price still unpaid.
“Merlin?” one of his three traveling companions raised his voice in consideration for the wizard’s wondering gaze. Merlin turned his eyes to them and found them waiting on his guidance with bated breath.
Most recently, Merlin and these three brothers—each a knight of unmatched bravery in their own right—stilled the corruption of a basilisk in a far-off realm known to the locals as Earthshire. They freed the once cursed forest from the clutches of that monstrosity and restored the life-bringing magic that once sought to enrich all who called that world their home. From there, the three brothers pledged their service to Merlin’s continued pursuit of righteous intent, allowing themselves to step through an impossible door embedded within the bark of an ancient tree.
Merlin turned now and saw the ghostly vision of that door lingering at their backs. It stood out in the open, disassociated with its surroundings, as it slowly faded until it was only a distant memory.
“What do we do now?” asked Arthur, the youngest of the three brothers. He spoke in somber concern for the disappearance of their sole means of transport.
“Worry not.” Merlin turned to them, not in the least concerned by this turn of events. “There are other doors out there. I’ve traveled through many in my day, and they always seem to appear when you need them most.” He smiled. This exchange seemed somehow more light-hearted than all previous lines of discourse.
Arthur returned Merlin’s sentiment. His smile reminded Merlin of the king that shared his namesake, yet he also recognized the gulf of difference standing between this young knight and the king who sought to unite the world beneath his banner.
The wind spread its fingers through Arthur’s crisp brown hair; it billowed against the nape of his neck. The young knight’s once lustrous scarlet armor was scratched and tarnished now. Their journey through the cursed forest and the battle with the basilisk paid a heavy toll on his equipment, but his most valued possession never escaped his grasp. Even now, he held the nearly translucent blade at his side, reassured by its weighted presence.
The two elder brothers were worse for wear. They took the brunt of the basilisk’s death throes, and it nearly cost them their lives in the process.
Hayden, the often-silent middle brother, left his oversized weapon on the floor of the basilisk’s nest, not wanting to return to the site of their battle for the sake of an instrument he hoped to cast aside. His armor was beginning to crack and crumble at the seams, and a patch of his bare back lay exposed by a torrential downpour of acid, spewed forth from the basilisk’s angry maw.
Now, Hayden appeared altogether exhausted. He stood with broad shoulders slumped, and he walked with the limp that would follow him into old age. His dark brown hair lay in clumps, slathered in sweat and plastered to his slightly bulbous scalp. His squat and muscular build made him the most brutish of the three brothers.
Reynold, the eldest, seemed altogether untroubled by all that befell them. He pushed his honey brown hair back from his brow, admiring the new world laid before them.
Upon their first meeting, Merlin gifted Reynold a piece of forbidden fruit, which allowed for the conceptualization of magic. With that penchant, Reynold could see the interwoven tapestry of the natural balance flowing in and out of every facet of reality. Merlin utilized this same force as the genesis for all magic born from his every performance, and as Reynold looked upon their ageless guide, he found his form concealed behind a uniquely exuberant melding of energies. This display portrayed itself through the presence of light and color—some of which were like nothing Reynold had ever seen in all his years.
Spreading before them, as far as the eye could see, a bountiful field of sunflowers wavered against a gentle summer breeze. A sky of pristine blue, without so much as a cloud in sight, hung overhead. They looked upon its unmatched beauty and felt at peace in the calm that settled in the wake of triumph.
Even surrounded by such prosperity, an uneasiness continued to linger in Merlin’s mind. He knew such splendor often proved too good to be true.
Shortly after those glum thoughts took up residence in his mind, a bolt of rage-filled lightning split the unmarked sky. It fell to earth, piercing a section of unsuspecting sunflowers some thirty yards from where they emerged. The jagged stroke vanished back into the ether, leaving a ring of fire spinning outwards from the point of impact.
The brothers were stunned by the sudden shift in the balance. Each looked to the sky, expecting to see some sign of the point of origination, but no storm clouds were lingering on the horizon.
“What do you make of that?” Arthur asked, mouth hanging slightly agape. He found himself clinging more tightly to his trusty blade.
Reynold noted an unnatural tinge in the color of that downward stroke. Where the others observed only a momentary flash of blue, he and Merlin both detected a hint of some darker hue intermingled at its core.
“Something unnatural,” Merlin spoke in a muted tone, putting words to Reynold’s silent observation. “We’d best take a look.”
They marched forward, embarking into the tangle of stalky
flowers. Each sunflower stood nearly four feet tall. Merlin led their procession, shouldering his way through the massive floral arrangement, while the brother’s heeded his every step.
They arrived at ground zero. A smoldering crater stood at the point-of-impact. Tufts of thick black smoke wafted upwards. The damage stayed self-contained within a ten-foot diameter. The three brothers and Merlin stood shoulder to shoulder, peering down into a small, rounded trench of scorched earth. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary about it.
Mod
Orphans of an Angel by Jay Aston.Here is an excerpt from the book,
Chapter 3
Two hours passed by quicker than they realised. Beads of sweat filled the sheets. Steamy windows gave diffused lighting to the bedroom, fogged-up by fantasy and passion.
“You gotta be back tonight?” Asked Roxy.
“Ought to,” said dad. “I could say that snow blocked the roads, making it impossible to get up Whiston Hill. Get home later than expected,” dad continued, conjuring excuses for mum.
Dad had not arrived back from his part-time evening job. Mum became worried as the weather worsened. She feared dad could have had an accident on the treacherous roads leading to outlying districts. Dad always arrived back by midnight. Mum was at home with me, aged ten and Glenn, aged five; Alex, aged twelve, had a sleepover with mum’s parents, grandma and grandad Cooper. The dramatic turnaround in our lives began in the bleak, snowy winter of 1962. Roxy had sealed mum’s fate, ‘aided and abetted’ by dad.
The clock chimed three, like a death knell. Blurry eyed, his back was as stiff as a long shift at the coal face. Dad extricated himself from her sheets, Roxy slept like a contented baby. He sneaked down the creaky stairs and dressed into his motorbike leathers for the fifteen-minute ride back home. He freewheeled down the hill, in neutral, so as not to wake the neighbours. Roxy had ignored social etiquette and gave them a rude and loud awakening BEFORE she fell asleep.
Snow sprinkled gently like pillow feathers and blanketed the ground, the first snow of the Winter of 1962. By three o’clock in the morning, the streets outside Roxy’s house looked like a Christmas card setting. Roxy was sound asleep. Dad had awakened, racked by a guilty conscience. His motorbike, tucked away in the club car park, meant he wouldn’t wake any neighbours in the early hours. Dad left Roxy to sleep off the late night drinks and sneaked downstairs. He donned his leathers and walked in the soft snow to his motorbike. Dad hoped the weather could be his ‘saving grace,’ his best alibi for being late home. Twenty minutes later, in atrocious weather conditions, dad arrived home. To avoid waking mum, he switched off the engine, and freewheeled downhill for the final hundred metres. He hoped she would be asleep. But woeful cries emanated from the lounge as dad turned the key of the front door, then placed his heavy, leather motorbike gear in the outhouse.
“And?……..” Shouted mum.
“Thought you were asleep, love.”
“You mean you hoped I would be asleep. Where have you been until now? It’s nearly four.”
“My motorbike broke down love, on the way home. Must be the snowy weather and the bitter wind.”
Mum’s eyes were blood red with tears, her face blotched by anger and torment. She had laid in the chair sobbing and alone, daring not to believe the inevitable excuses that dad would conjure up. Gripped in knots, her stomach churned with anguish and pain, for two different reasons.
“Don’t lie to me, you ba***rd.” Hot tears pooled in her eyes, her throat became coarse.
“I swear. The bike broke down. Couldn’t just leave it in the middle of nowhere. Could I?”
“Yes, you could? Couldn’t you walk?”
“Not at three in the morning. No.”
“The bike can’t have broken down at three o’clock. Can it? I’m not a fool.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, what were you doing between midnight and three?…. You’re home by twelve.
Always. You could have walked home in that time. Then I might have believed you.”
Mum snivelled through a lull in explanations. She opened another box of Kleenex and dried her eyes and face. The wicker bin overflowed with wet tissues and weak excuses.
“Don’t mean to be funny, but you don’t smell,” said mum.
“What?”
“Had you been at work, your clothes, your skin and your hair would have wreaked of smelly fish. If you had been messing with your bike, you’d smell of petrol and oily rags.”
Another stony silence filled the hallway as mum glared at dad. He couldn’t muster any answers, let alone the right ones. He could only offer excuses. Mum’s life began spiralling down a vortex. Her suspicions yielded inevitable whitewash, as female instinct prevailed.
“We need to talk a hell of a lot more tomorrow.,” said mum.“You can sleep with what’s left of the night, on the settee,” said mum. “Don’t want you in my sight. Let alone in my bed. Did you bring the crisps and Vimto for Jeff?”
“Sugar! I forgot.”
“You disappointed him, not taking him with you last night. It devastated him when you didn’t come home by midnight. He’ll be heartbroken when he wakes up and finds out you haven’t brought them.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Being sorry is not enough, is it? You’ve lost so much tonight. I hope she was worth it.”
Mum struggled up the stairs dejected and slammed the doors behind her. Picture frames rattled on the wall. She needed to find out if dad’s new flame was just a one-night stand or something more serious. Dawn was breaking with too many questions unanswered. Mum couldn’t sleep. Her stomach churned with anger and pain.
A few hours later, mum ambled down the stairs into the lounge. Dad groaned his discomfort from the lumpy sofa as he struggled to lift his head from the shame and guilt of his night of passion.
“When did all this start?” Said mum with a raised voice.
“Look. It meant nothing,” said dad, agitated.
“How long did you say? I didn’t catch that.”
“It was just a fling. That’s all.”
“How long?”
“Best part of three months, I guess,” said dad.
“I don’t want to hear about the best part of anything. You’re having an affair, then coming home. And sharing my bed? That’s disgusting,” she said with anger, her voice getting louder.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Proud of yourself?” Said mum.
“I am so, so sorry,” said dad.
“Why lie to me? That’s what hurts more.”
“I didn’t mean it to happen. Honest.”
“You didn’t mean it to happen?”
“That’s right, love.”
“You mean she forced you to stay the night? Then forced you to have sex? You must be desperate; forced into bed with a wench that offers everything on a plate? No questions asked? How often does that happen?”
“I’ve told you. It didn’t happen like that.”
“Look. She hasn’t jumped into bed with you for your money. A cockle seller? She didn’t go with you for your Ferrari, you’ve only got a motorbike and sidecar. She didn’t jump on you because of sparkling wit and conversation, you’re a cheapskate coal miner with a shovel.”
“Come on, love. We can sort it.”
“Oh, I forgot the obvious reason. It just happened, didn’t it? What kind of excuse is that? How can you break the hearts of our boys? You know, Jeff’s upstairs asleep now. You hurt him when you didn’t take him with you. And why was that?”
“I had lots more deliveries last night.”
“It happened ‘cos you finished your round early and spent some time with an out-and-out floozy. Don’t come near me. I don’t want to catch anything.”
“I had a few drinks. That’s all,” said dad.
“You had more than a few drinks. You’re a liar.”
“We can sort this out. I know we can,” said dad.
“Jeff will be heartbroken. You couldn’t even remember to get his Vimto and favourite crisps.”
“We can sort this out. Can’t we? Whimpered dad with naïve optimism.
“WE? WE can sort it out?” Said mum, exasperated and a decibel louder.
“I can make it up to you. We can get back to where we were, can’t we? It’s not too late.”
“You’ve always smelt of oily rags from working on your stupid bike. Now, you smell of a tart.
“Where did I go wrong? Said mum. “Oh, I forgot, I had three kids, a husband who plays darts every other night and provides not enough food to feed three blind mice.”
“Let’s talk about things. We need to give it another try.”
“You still smell of cheap perfume. Women can smell cheap perfume. Another woman’s cheap perfume is not a pleasant smell.”
From my debut sword & sorcery title, here is an except from Chapter 8 of The Lost PrincessThe first steps into that small hallway made it quite clear that this was a place beyond reality. Instead of the familiar stone of Castle Cagliostro, the party walked along a gilded bridge which sung with a metallic ringing. All around them was a black void decorated with stars and planets and comets and ever more celestial entities beyond the scope of imagination to all but the most practiced astrologians. The bridge led to a dais of carved stone and similar gilded trimmings, no doubt the place Queen Alessandra once called 'sanctuary.'
Pierre and Selene's jaws had dropped in awe at this point. Jerrod kept a hand on his sword, unsure of what to think. Vera was of a similar state to the former, and Nuntius emitted fearful whirrs and ticks, the little clockwork butterfly clutching Vera's clothing tightly as if in fear of falling. When Vera was about to take the first step into the sanctum, strange things started to occur: The sanctum slipped away into the distance, and the bridge elongated to compensate.
The bridge began to take twisted shapes, no longer leading straight to the sanctum. Two circular stone 'islands' appeared in the void, and the bridge deigned to lead the party to those instead. A voice once confined to Vera played on everyone's minds...
“I should be glad that my dear daughter has reached this place, but nay, for the Brass Empire's pestilence follows her like a shadow.” Queen Alessandra's voice said scornfully, “T'is a pity then that she will have to be tested instead of welcomed, prevailing not because of her allies, but despite them.”
Selene protested, “Despite them, you say?! Lay out your damned 'tests,' then. I'll make a mockery of them, and do so in the emperor's name just to spite you!”
“Be glad I was a merciful queen, girl, else I would have cast you into the blackest parts of my mind already.” Alessandra's voice condemned.
Jerrod drew his sword, Retributor, and unslung his shield as he placed himself in front of Vera.
“This oblivion be’est the erstwhile queen's own mind?” Jerrod pondered, “Or perhaps a construct of it? In any case, we must needs proceed with utmost caution.”
Jerrod beckoned to Selene, “Princess, Selene and I shall taketh point; keepeth behind us with the scholar.”
Vera drew her rapier and insisted, “No, whatever comes, I would be at the front beside you. Besides, we wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me.”
“Princess, if I may be true, I don't believe any of us could hast assumed we would wander into a vision of the queen's mind...” Jerrod retorted, “...But I doth digress. I would be interested to see thy hand with a blade.”
Pierre said nothing, still in awe of his current predicament. He began to try and recollect each reference to the constellations from his research on Cagliostro...Perhaps in the anticipation they might soon become relevant.
The party moved along the gilded bridge, and came to the first of the circular islands. Pierre noticed the stars in the void had all vanished, save for one small collection of stars. While he pondered what constellation they might form, the others pondered the nature of the tests. It was clear that something was here, for there was no bridge that went to the second island.
“What are these tests supposed to be? A riddle or puzzle? This dais gives no indication...” Vera wondered.
Pierre chimed in as he identified the constellation, “Look up there!” He called out, “That constellation is Radulfr, The Hunter, which depicts a man holding a bow in his hands with his two wolf companions beside him. See them?”
“I'm not on enough joyflower to be able to tell.” Selene jabbed, making a pinching gesture near her face, “It's just a bunch of stars, to me.”
“The scholar has the right of it,” Alessandra's voice confirmed, the stars connected to form the constellation, and an image of a bowman and two wolves appeared around it, “Radulfr the Hunter and his wolves, Geri and Freki, eternally prowl the skies for prey only they can know. They are an omen of death, and to see them is an ill portent, for it means their prey is nearby...”
The bowman seemed to look down upon the party, and the picture changed: Radulfr had drawn his bow!
“Look out!” Pierre shouted, he drew his straight sword and pointed it to the constellation, “The stars have come alive!”
“Selene, protect the princess! Scholar, get thee behind me!” Jerrod called out as he bought up his shield, took to a knee and braced himself with Pierre ducking behind him.
Selene placed herself in front of Vera and Nuntius and conjured a wall of ice to shield all three of them. Now it was a matter of waiting for whom Radulfr's prey was...
Radulfr loosed an arrow of solid starlight to the baying of his wolves. Selene's ice wall was smashed apart by the arrow, the impact missing Vera but throwing both her and Selene off their feet. Nuntius made panicked whirrs, and it scrambled about Vera's person as it tried to rouse her from the daze she had been knocked into.
“Vera...Augh!!” Pierre tried to call before Freki was upon him. A massive wolf of white-specked pitch dark fur and pin-prick eyes of gleaming starlight had torn itself from the night sky and tackled both Pierre and Jerrod to the ground. Pierre rolled on his back and managed to catch Freki's jaws with his straight sword, but he felt the wolf's strength and knew he wouldn't last long.
Selene held her staff outward with both hands as Freki's twin, Geri, circled around her and Vera, as it measured itself against the woman who conjured winter.
“This is your test, then?” Selene quipped, “An addled vision of a man and his stupid beasts?”
Geri snarled at the insult, and lunged for Selene. The magus brought her staff down, and then quickly followed with an upward motion, a massive pillar of ice following where she pointed her staff. The pillar smashed into Geri's underside, his lunge thrown awry as he was sent careening to the stone floor. Selene was merciless, and poured a howling gale onto the wolf before it could stand, freezing it in place. The wolf let out a pathetic whimper before it was silenced by creeping ice that encased its head. Geri's head shattered to a swift kick from Selene, frozen chunks of star-wolf thrown into the void.
Vera shook herself from her daze, much to Nuntius' joy, but the little butterfly grew panicked again when it pointed its proboscis at Radulfr, who observed the battle unfolding. He stared at Vera, and reached for another arrow...
Pierre was saved with a timely bullrush from Jerrod, Freki knocked off of its quarry, but now Freki was upon Jerrod. Pierre grit his teeth, and anger took fear's place as he worked his magic upon his sword. He drew the rune of Blade, and his sword’s fuller glowed with the blue light of aether. Pierre lay into the distracted Freki, and soon enough, the blades of Jerrod and Pierre rose and fell as they butchered Freki.
Vera dodged arrow after arrow as Radulfr made it apparent who his true prey was. Unlike the wolves, Radulfr was much less inclined to engage the invaders in hand-to-hand, keeping to the safety of the night sky that he might rain arrows upon his foes with impunity.
“We have to get him down from there, somehow!” Vera reckoned.
Selene smiled, “Let's see him shoot what he can't see...”
Selene deeply inhaled and brought the tip of her staff up to her lips. She blew over the end of her staff, her magic causing the air she exhaled to become a frigid wind. Vera was confused at the point of this spell, but then noticed the cloud cover Selene's magic was causing.
“Clouds always ruin a starry night.” Selene taunted.
With Radulfr so obscured, no more arrows came down, but the hunter wasn't finished yet...Vera brought on her rapier before the hunter came down; he charged through the clouds with a sturdy sword in his hand. Like the wolves, Radulfr was a construct of the heavens, a living silhouette with stars where his limbs and eyes should be. Vera knocked aside Radulfr's first swing with her blade before the two of them clashed; a hunter desperate to finish his prey against the fencer-princess who sought to lead him into an unfamiliar dance of death. None dared intervene, lest they themselves be caught.
Radulfr was stronger than he seemed, but Vera could use that to her advantage. The hunter, visibly frustrated, took his sword in both hands as he sought to end the duel with one great swing of his blade. Vera anticipated the strike, and stepped backward and readied her rapier. With Radulfr left wide open, Vera ended their duel with a fell thrust through the hunter's eye.
Radulfr collapsed; he fell through Vera's blade as his form dissipated into the void matter that had shaped him. The mangled bodies of the wolves followed suit, and all three were back in the void, nothing more than a collection of stars. The ill portent thwarted this day, Radulfr the Hunter would be denied his prey.
“Is everyone alright?” Vera asked.
“Well fought, princess! I am duly impressed at thine display of skill!” Jerrod cajoled, “At the hour we have a moment's respite, we ought to take the opportunity to spar!”
“Look, the bridge!” Pierre exclaimed, pointing to a new gilded bridge that connected this first stone island to the next one.
“Marvellously done, Radulfr was mighty alongside his companions, but denied the wolves, he was but a Man of Aesir who bled. His doom came when he did clash with Lann-Alainn, a Vanir whose elegance proved mightier than Radulfr's instinct.” Alessandra's voice explained, “Perhaps I would have you face her next, if only to test your wits after seeing your apparent strength?”
Selene sighed, “What a bother.”
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Excerpt of the Savate Book
The essential Savate historical journal recommended for all Historical European Martial arts enthusiast, savateurs, savateusse, martial arts aficionado,martial arts instructors,students,athletes and rare martial arts book collectors. This little journal covers the complete historical timeline of the evolution of Savate. Savate can be described as elegant as ballet,scientifically designed,yet deceptively basic. Expressive yet efficient. It is a highly-effective and aesthetically-pleasing form of kick-boxing. Savate combined every known Western fighting forms - boxing, pankration, fencing, street brawling, gymnastics and cane fighting. A sophisticated art practiced by nobles and the bourgeois in the 19th century France. This Journal contains rare photographs of the development of Savate. This journal also contains rare photographs from the 19th and early 20th century, modern photographs of Savate techniques, grading system, and how to appreciate the modern rules of Assaut, combat and combat PRO. Savate is definitively a sports of contrast, but a sport deservedly on the rise. With the efforts of Fédération internationale de savate with 63 member countries, Savate is on the way to the road back to the Olympics. "Art is beauty, the perpetual invention of detail, the choice of words, the exquisite care of execution "- Theophile Gautier.Savate is unique but basic. Elegant but effective. There is no doubt about it. Savate is definitely a sport of contrast, but a sport deservedly on the rise, just the same.
Get the book at this link
https://www.amazon.com/SAVATE-Histori...
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Would you be interested in being featured on our site for free in February 2021? Please message me for more details.
Hi Here is an excerpt from Witchcraft, Premonitions & the Emerald Globe Caper “The title page has an author’s name! Maybe this is our mysterious woman,” Cassandra blurted out, while she strained to see what was on the page.
“Would you like to read this manuscript for both of us?” He asked handing her the large leather-bound book with cursive writing.
“No, you’re doing great. Please continue,” Cassandra apologized sheepishly as she backed away.
“You could put on your glasses. You may be able to see better,” Max suggested, turning to look at his sixteen-year-old friend.
“No. I don’t really need them,” Cassandra lied, hiding the fact that she felt self-conscious wearing them.
Max turned toward Cassandra, their faces only six inches apart. He studied her face and their eyes met. Max felt more content than he had ever in his life. “I think your glasses make you look more, more—” Max hesitated. He knew he had gone too far too fast. He could see how eagerly Cassandra was looking at him, almost imploring him to say some magic words she wished to hear. The anticipation on her face was obvious. His next few words could doom their relationship. He wanted to say that she was pretty, glasses or no, but he was too afraid of rejection or ridicule. Max’s temperature began to rise, but then he said, “I think your glasses make you look more mature.”
“Oh—gee —thanks,” replied Cassandra, lowering her head pretending to look at the floor and noticeably disappointed.
“I also think that you look pretty with your glasses on—but that doesn’t mean you don’t look nice without them on,” Max stammered, trying to recover, cursing his clumsiness.
Cassandra glanced up at him. Her face registering gratitude as she replied, “You’ve been a good friend, Max. Thanks for the kind words.”
He could tell that she didn’t believe that he was sincere but had merely said what he thought she wanted to hear. The only positive aspect of her reply was that she wouldn’t hold her perception of his feelings toward her against him. Max had a sudden impulse to kiss her, but successfully resisted it. Before he could say another word, he thought he heard someone whisper, “Fool!”
Hello Everyone,
My first full-length novel is entitled 'Thirty Years from Now'. It's a dystopian thriller with an element of black humour.
One of the themes centers around people driven mad through excessive reliance on their cellphones/ mobile phones. They are sent to 'restrooms' to recover from this mental illness, which is known as 'withdrawal'.
Here's an excerpt from the book, describing the main protagonist's visit to a restroom...
‘Rimsha, it’s Mohammed. Please speak to me. I just want to know that you’re okay. Tell me that you can hear me. Tell me what you’d like me to do. I can go, if you want to be left alone. Just tell me that everything is alright.’
‘Come closer, Mohammed.’ It was a pitiful whisper but the unexpected sound made him start.
He scolded himself for this show of nerves. Get a grip of yourself, man, she’s your little sister.
‘Rimsha, it’s so lovely to hear your voice, but I need to stay here. We can still talk.’
He heard a whimpering sound coming from the shadow. ‘Please come here, Mohammed. It hurts me to move into the light.’
How could he refuse little Rimsha, especially when she was so poorly and in need of help? He resolved to explain the situation with the light to Leah, stood up and tentatively made his way towards his sister.
He came to a stop about a foot before he reached the shadow.
She was curled up in the corner.
He could make out her long dark hair and the outline of her slender frame now, but her arms covered her face, so it was hidden from his view.
‘Here I am, Rimsha. Please look at me,’ he whispered.
She started to sob. ‘Crouch down, Mohammed. I need you to come closer to me.’
He adjusted his trouser legs slightly, to avoid creasing them, and eased himself down beside her. But, at the very moment his knees touched the cold restroom floor, a feeling of horror shot from his head to every sinew of his body.
The phone! The old handset which he had bought for Callum that very morning; it was still in his pocket.
He was too late.
The shadow vanished and Rimsha pounced. Her long, straggly hair might have covered most of her face, but it couldn’t conceal her eyes, which were blazing with excitement and fire.
Mohammed desperately tried to get to his feet but she knocked him to the floor. He tried to push her off but her grip was too strong.
She had probably sensed the phone from the moment he had entered the room and now her desire for it had given her an almost inhuman strength. The energy coming from it had heightened her senses too and she sniffed hungrily as she desperately ran a hand over Mohammed’s jacket to try and ascertain in which pocket the phone was concealed.
Mohammed gripped her wrist and, summoning up all of his strength, forced her hand away from his jacket and pinned it to the floor. He looked up at her face, but recoiled in horror from her grotesquely contorted features.
‘Please, please, Rimsha, I’m so sorry. Let me turn it off. Don’t do this. Please!’ he implored, looking back up at her.
But there was no pleading with someone in a state of withdrawal when they sensed data. There was hatred in her eyes. She hissed and sank her teeth into his neck.
He squealed with pain and involuntarily loosened his grip on her wrists.
With lightning speed, she reacted to her newfound freedom and deftly reached inside his jacket pocket for the phone.
She had it!
Her eyes lit up in a crazed lust as she began pressing its buttons, struggling without success to find a reception.
She jumped to her feet and rushed around the room desperately trying to find some way of accessing PERM* (*a future internet), little realising that her room was a carefully designated black spot.
Mohammed staggered back over to his seat and, with a heavy heart, pressed the red button on its arm.
A bright light immediately illuminated the room, whilst smaller red lights intermittently flashed above the door.
Rimsha cowered back into a corner, covering her face with her hands.
Seconds later, Leah was inside.
If you'd like to review 'Thirty Years from Now', please get in touch with me via goodreads and I'll send you a free copy.
My first full-length novel is entitled 'Thirty Years from Now'. It's a dystopian thriller with an element of black humour.
One of the themes centers around people driven mad through excessive reliance on their cellphones/ mobile phones. They are sent to 'restrooms' to recover from this mental illness, which is known as 'withdrawal'.
Here's an excerpt from the book, describing the main protagonist's visit to a restroom...
‘Rimsha, it’s Mohammed. Please speak to me. I just want to know that you’re okay. Tell me that you can hear me. Tell me what you’d like me to do. I can go, if you want to be left alone. Just tell me that everything is alright.’
‘Come closer, Mohammed.’ It was a pitiful whisper but the unexpected sound made him start.
He scolded himself for this show of nerves. Get a grip of yourself, man, she’s your little sister.
‘Rimsha, it’s so lovely to hear your voice, but I need to stay here. We can still talk.’
He heard a whimpering sound coming from the shadow. ‘Please come here, Mohammed. It hurts me to move into the light.’
How could he refuse little Rimsha, especially when she was so poorly and in need of help? He resolved to explain the situation with the light to Leah, stood up and tentatively made his way towards his sister.
He came to a stop about a foot before he reached the shadow.
She was curled up in the corner.
He could make out her long dark hair and the outline of her slender frame now, but her arms covered her face, so it was hidden from his view.
‘Here I am, Rimsha. Please look at me,’ he whispered.
She started to sob. ‘Crouch down, Mohammed. I need you to come closer to me.’
He adjusted his trouser legs slightly, to avoid creasing them, and eased himself down beside her. But, at the very moment his knees touched the cold restroom floor, a feeling of horror shot from his head to every sinew of his body.
The phone! The old handset which he had bought for Callum that very morning; it was still in his pocket.
He was too late.
The shadow vanished and Rimsha pounced. Her long, straggly hair might have covered most of her face, but it couldn’t conceal her eyes, which were blazing with excitement and fire.
Mohammed desperately tried to get to his feet but she knocked him to the floor. He tried to push her off but her grip was too strong.
She had probably sensed the phone from the moment he had entered the room and now her desire for it had given her an almost inhuman strength. The energy coming from it had heightened her senses too and she sniffed hungrily as she desperately ran a hand over Mohammed’s jacket to try and ascertain in which pocket the phone was concealed.
Mohammed gripped her wrist and, summoning up all of his strength, forced her hand away from his jacket and pinned it to the floor. He looked up at her face, but recoiled in horror from her grotesquely contorted features.
‘Please, please, Rimsha, I’m so sorry. Let me turn it off. Don’t do this. Please!’ he implored, looking back up at her.
But there was no pleading with someone in a state of withdrawal when they sensed data. There was hatred in her eyes. She hissed and sank her teeth into his neck.
He squealed with pain and involuntarily loosened his grip on her wrists.
With lightning speed, she reacted to her newfound freedom and deftly reached inside his jacket pocket for the phone.
She had it!
Her eyes lit up in a crazed lust as she began pressing its buttons, struggling without success to find a reception.
She jumped to her feet and rushed around the room desperately trying to find some way of accessing PERM* (*a future internet), little realising that her room was a carefully designated black spot.
Mohammed staggered back over to his seat and, with a heavy heart, pressed the red button on its arm.
A bright light immediately illuminated the room, whilst smaller red lights intermittently flashed above the door.
Rimsha cowered back into a corner, covering her face with her hands.
Seconds later, Leah was inside.
If you'd like to review 'Thirty Years from Now', please get in touch with me via goodreads and I'll send you a free copy.
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Definitely want to read more of this. You will be featured on our site in April 2021
Grasshopper wrote: "Wow Bruce! This book is the need of the hour. What a scary future you have painted for the future. I shudder to think it's almost true now.
Definitely want to read more of this. You will be feature..."
Thanks, Grasshopper. I'm really looking forward to that.
If it's okay, I'd just like to quickly add something else which will probably resonate with some of your other members.
I self-published this novel through Amazon KDP about 6 months ago, shortly after releasing my first novella. Being new to the game, I got carried away with the excitement of it all until reality struck...there are millions of other authors who have done exactly the same thing and it's a job to get anybody to read your work.
Anyway, if there are other self-published authors out there who, like me, don't have a marketing budget but haven't given up, get in touch with me via goodreads. I'll happily read and review your book if you'll do the same for me. (I'm particularly interested in thrillers.)
Good luck to all fellow newbies!
Oh, by the way, my first name's Beau :)
Definitely want to read more of this. You will be feature..."
Thanks, Grasshopper. I'm really looking forward to that.
If it's okay, I'd just like to quickly add something else which will probably resonate with some of your other members.
I self-published this novel through Amazon KDP about 6 months ago, shortly after releasing my first novella. Being new to the game, I got carried away with the excitement of it all until reality struck...there are millions of other authors who have done exactly the same thing and it's a job to get anybody to read your work.
Anyway, if there are other self-published authors out there who, like me, don't have a marketing budget but haven't given up, get in touch with me via goodreads. I'll happily read and review your book if you'll do the same for me. (I'm particularly interested in thrillers.)
Good luck to all fellow newbies!
Oh, by the way, my first name's Beau :)
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Grasshopper wrote: "Thanks for sharing the excerpt E.S. The book seems to hold promise for a magical journey. Have marked it to read."Thank you!!!!
Hello! My name is Nicole and I have two new books (both very different) but sadly don't have many reviews yet!A life Beyond the Mirror
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Life-Beyond-...
What if all the myths are real? Monsters, witches, faeries. Well NEWSFLASH! They are. And I’ve been thrown into the deep end.
Before I was a normal girl, well as normal as any 17-year-old can be, but after moving in with my Grandmother everything started to change. She wasn’t as crazy as everyone made her out to be. The friends I made in school were different than the others and I fit right in.
Even weirder, the elusive handsome stranger I have been dreaming about for the past 2 years is here, and he recognizes me too. I just hope that the dreams that plague me don’t come true. Otherwise things won't end well for any of us.
Catching Butterflies
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Catching-But...
Life is all about taking chances. Stepping out of your comfort zone so you can truly live. Well, I liked my comfort zone. It was cozy there, while it lasted. Invisible to those around me. My life as plain Faye was coming to an end and I was loving every minute of it. Well, the less murdery ones at least.
For me, to truly live is to love and be loved and there is plenty of that with my drop dead gorgeous bad boy at my side.
Did I mention he is my brothers best friend? Oops
This book contains mild language and covers topics readers may find distressing.
Thank you!
Beau, wow. Your excerpt reads like a zombie story but where those 'infected' are seeking phones instead of brains, which is a brilliant metaphor. And too true to life, I think! ;)
Thanks for posting your excerpts Nicole. They do sound interesting. Could you please post the Goodreads link to the book too, so that we could mark it for read?Also, we have a few review events listed in the group, they could boost your reviews: Maximum reviews & Audiobook exchange.
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E.S. Hazard (other topics)
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He cursed again. Suddenly, without the slightest warning his ship staggered and rolled from a massive blow that threw him to the deck, as a thunderous boom resounded throughout the ship, as though it were blowing apart. His suit collapsed in on him, squeezing every surface of his body and his breath was sucked from his lungs. In agony he gasped futilely for air, his eyes bulging and his limbs frantically thrashing. In the few seconds it took for that to happen, his visor snapped closed and his air valve flicked fully open, a pump whined as his suit started to reflate and force air into his collapsed lungs. The built-in life support system in his suit took over. His heated blood began to cool. Even in his terror and pain, the last thought in his mind was, that’s a plasma bolt, where the hell did it come from? Slowly the realization came to him that he was breathing again, still in excruciating agony and gasping, but nonetheless breathing. The suit had saved his life. The burst of oxygen enriched air had reflated the suit and his lungs. Over the suit comms unit, amongst the alarms and screams from his crew, he heard a voice bellowing, “Plasma bolt breach in sections eighteen to twenty-four. Shut those sections off now.” Whatever else was said was incomprehensible to his dazed brain. But he was regaining control over his heaving lungs.
As his senses and breathing slowly returned he struggled to get up, a crewman pulled him to his feet and pointed to the fresh foam bulging from what had been the breach in the hull, laboriously he nodded his understanding, the breached hull had sealed itself. Again, he thought, where the hell did that come from? He heard his ship’s computer intone, “Shield at eight per cent, forward torpedo tubes inoperable.”
His next thought was, we’re defenceless! Shaking free from the crewman who’d pulled him to his feet, he hoarsely cried to the conn officer, “Full power, now.” Responsibility for the helm and the ships evasive manoeuvres are with the conn. He didn’t need to be told twice. He had the vessel turn away, the powerful drive accelerating the ship to maximum speed, on a random deviation course set by the ship’s computer, a course that could not be predicted by an attacker. The weapons officer had anticipated his captain’s next command, “Rear plasma canons charged and ready for action, sir.”
“Commence continuous fire into our wake immediately,” Grermott croaked as his voice began to return. The plasma canon pumped out bolt after bolt at high speed in a cacophony of booms and deep thuds that jarred every tooth and bone in his body until the plasma generator could no longer keep up with demand. It then began its automatic cooling and recharge program. Grermott knew whoever had fired on his ship would most likely be chasing somewhere behind. Suddenly, a brief flash flared on the rear viewer. Grermott breathed a sigh of relief, a lucky strike from his plasma canon. Experience told him it was a glancing blow on a ship’s shield, nothing fatal but enough to slow them down.
Captain Grermott couldn’t see the vessel behind him, his detection equipment showed empty space and his companion ships had both disappeared. However, he knew his equipment had probably sustained damage and was unreliable. To be safe he kept his ship at maximum speed, exceeding its design specifications by a large margin. He had the ship alter course again and again.
His number two said, “If we hit anything larger than a pea at this speed, shield or no shield, it’ll pass right through the ship, sir.”
Grermott nodded, his eyes still focused on the forward screen. Suddenly he pointed; there, dead ahead was a star. “Set a course for the centre of the star, it’ll make it more difficult for anyone to detect us.”
A moment later his second in command confirmed the change of course and added, “The ship’s drive is overheating and in the red, sir.”
Grermott, with his eyes still on the screen, nodded again. “Bring the ship back to cruising speed and stay on this course.” Satisfied that his ship had escaped from whoever it was that had knocked out his shield, he took bearings of where they were.
The multi hued blue planet on his forward screen looked spectacular. Grermott, without taking his eyes from the screen said, “Adjust our course to join the blue planet in orbit around its star.” This could be our lucky day, the planet has a moon where we can hide, carry out repairs and have a closer look at the planet itself. This might not be the total disaster that I thought it to be.
Captain Grermott, placed the Corvann in the shadow of the planet’s moon, in a position that allowed him to observe the beautiful planet below, yet keep his ship safe from prying eyes.
His navigation officer confirmed that their current position would be in shadow for some time, explaining, “The moon is rotating around the planet but always shows the planet the same face–”
“Thank you, but save the details for later. I just need to know if we can rest up here unobserved for a while.”
The strike on his ship had taken him completely by surprise and had shaken him; he was not a coward but he saw no point in fighting another vessel when his screens failed to show him the enemy. He reasoned there must have been a second ship that had somehow avoided detection. He would get all the ship’s scanning and detection equipment checked out as soon as possible.