Aug 18, 2014

Won't Win

I had a bad night last week,
*Language warning



You won't win.

Those words echo through my head and I know they're right.

I won't win.

It always comes down to the same thing.

So I unlock the door, the worn metal slippery between my fingers as I unhook the latch and let the weathered wood swing open.

The piercing gold of the sun drenched horizon filters through the grime covered windows, blinding me with its glory as I hear them moan, the shattered glass and debris shifting under their crooked steps as they crawl for me.

I wait for a sob but my face feels as bone dry as the desert surrounding this condemned place, this is the end but I'm so exhausted I just let it come, limb by gruesome limb they drag themselves forward with frenzy.

There's no point in resistance, when you end up so blind-sighted by grief and rage you may as well be one of them.

Bony fingers dig into my ankle, startling my shuddering body that something almost like fear shoots through me; followed by a pain so ragged and drawn out I think I'm being amputated by the blunt end of a hammer.  The scream that cries from my lungs is like sweet release for the both of us, the thing gazing up at me, a bit of me hanging from its teeth.

And its like its laughing at me, like this has always been their plan, to drive down civilisation with oppression and futility until we lay on our back with some rosemary by our side.

Those filthy fucking eyes were laughing at me.

Fuck this.

My head swam as I tore my boot from its feeble grip and kicked its rotting skull in until I had erased the triumph from its flesh.  I wiped furiously at my shirt, trying to rid my hands of the gore that had stained every crease, its like I mauled a blood bank as part of my morning routine.  Stooping for my broken bat a racking cough cracks through my chest, throwing me against the lavatory walls.

Jamming the lock into place I'm back at the start, and I can't avoid how weak I feel, my stomach turning at what state I might be in beneath my shredded trousers.  I don't know if its blood or phlegm that's choking me right now, all I know is, as I slide down next to a still warm corpse, that spike of fear is back. I'm glad I'm not alone in this.

I gently rest my head on its shoulder, staring at the brains that cover my bat.

"I miss you Petey".


Tunes
Won't Win - Fractures
It turned to zombie fiction,
from sjp.

Aug 6, 2014

Groundhog


Eat.

Drive.

Work.

Drive.

Home.

Work.

Study.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Craving the day I can smash out some #amwriting's.

I think I talk to my work laptop more than my family.

Got access to sun for thirty minutes today, is it summer yet?

I'm 73% sure it's Wednesday, an increase of 23% since seeing all the IWSG posts.

My constant insecurity is that responsibilities are preventing me from fully getting this thing off the ground, every time I make progress I get pulled aside.  Those are my choices though, but I keep looking to the future and waiting for when I can write again.

No facade,
Just sleepy.


Jul 22, 2014

Quest of the Artisan by Donna Hosie


THE CHILDREN OF CAMELOT series continues in...



Six months ago, seventeen-year-old Rustin Hall thought he knew what he wanted. Then he travelled back in time with his best friend, Mila, to the world of Camelot, knights and magic, and everything changed.

Now Rustin is the artisan, and he knows his future because it's written in the past.

But Rustin's plan to build the first temple for the Gorian druids is cut down like the trees he talks to when the Round Table reveals the name of the newest knight of Camelot: a name that carves fear and unrest into the other knights. With Mila now in danger, Rustin, along with his friends, James and Jalaya, goes on a quest to find her before a new malevolent evil gets there first. A necromancer is building an army of the dead, and they are coming for Arthur's daughter.

Rustin will join forces with a young would-be knight called Galahad, as his quest takes him into the very heart of the Arthurian legends he grew up reading. A quest that could be the end of the artisan's life, not just in Logres, but for good.


Due for release 2015.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Donna-Hosie/e/B00A49AN7M/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Check out the first in the series!



Jul 20, 2014

Prayer

Daybreak


Part I Daybreak
Part II - Vacant

The evening air began to cool her skin as it was ushered across the bare earth, a light breath compared to the humidity that seemed to be building the past few days.  She looked to where Channer stood, talking to some old woman, helping her set up chairs for prayer.  He had become surprisingly gaunt in the few days they had roamed the hills, searching for anything, as though the anxiety that shone like fever in his eyes was consuming him from the inside.  Or maybe everything was so empty and dark and heavy with sorrow she had forgotten what things used to be.

The bell for prayer clanged discordantly in the distance making her frown.  Staring back up the hill she threw her feet under her, scrambling up the slick grass towards the frantic crowd in time to hear a sharp crack as it tore through the silence of the valley, echoing like an old rifle before it was drowned out by screams.  People ran frantically, as she struggled to where she had last spotted Channer, almost collapsing as a wave of nausea hit her like lead.

-   -   -

A rosy pool soaked through the abdomen of the old woman's dress as she lay in shock, holding onto Channer as he desperately tried to save her, preparing to haul her into his arms and carry her from the open.

"Boy..." He froze in the face of her glassy eyed stare as she raised a hand painted scarlet. "It's time for prayer."  Chest heaving he couldn't process her words, she had been as sceptical of false hope as he had, her keen eyes assessing every person like a patient rather than committing to wishful thinking.  Propping her up against a dusted chair he watched her slump, those same hopeless tears he had seen too much of falling through his fingers as he brushed the dirt from her face, and saw through the growing fear how young she truly was.

Looking up he saw Madison, rooted to the ground with her eyes fixed on the dying woman, shaking with each bullet that ripped through the air.  Leaping up he grabbed her arm, ignoring her horror as she tried to pull away from his blood soaked hands, and dragging her to a sprint.  He wouldn't let her stop until the night was so deep and their legs so tired they were stumbling mindlessly across uprooted trees.  Eventually the adrenaline and fear wore off and and sense set in.

"We should rest Madi," he said hoarsely, his voice sounding too harsh after hours of silence.  She merely shook her head, pushing away his arms and stumbling forward.  Concerned he reached for her again, worry building as she began crying out in breathless gasps that seemed to rip from her lungs.  Again she pushed away, picking up pace as she tripped further into the woods until he pinned her down.  "Are you okay Madi? Talk to me!" he yelled as she continued to struggle, both brimming with frustration.

"Did they die like that?" she screamed. 

He let her go, taken aback, stuttering under the face of her anger.  "What?"

"How did they die Channer?" she accused, advancing upon him until she could see the whites of his eyes through the terrifying darkness.  "How did my family die?" she whispered.



cliff hanging is an extreme sport,
from sjp

Jul 9, 2014

Book Blast: Vortex by S.J.Kincaid



The impossible was just the beginning. 

Now in their second year as superhuman government weapons-in-training at the Pentagonal Spire, Tom Raines and his friends are mid-level cadets in the elite combat corps known as the Intrasolar Forces. But as training intensifies and a moment arrives that could make or break his entire career, Tom’s loyalties are again put to the test. 

Encouraged to betray his ideals and friendships for the sake of his country, Tom is convinced there must be another way. And the more aware he becomes of the corruption surrounding him, the more determined he becomes to fight it, even if he sabotages his own future in the process.
  
Drawn into a power struggle more dramatic than he has ever faced before, Tom stays a hyper intelligent step ahead of everyone, like the exceptional gamer he is—or so he believes. But when he learns that he and his friends have unwittingly made the most grievous error imaginable, Tom must find a way to outwit an enemy so nefarious that victory seems hopeless. 

Will his idealism and bravado cost him everything—and everyone that matters to him?

Filled with action and intelligence, camaraderie and humour, the second book in S.J. Kincaid’s futuristic World War III Insignia trilogy continues to explore fascinating and timely questions about power, politics, technology, loyalty, and friendship.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    
S.J. Kincaid was born in Alabama, grew up in California, and attended high school in New Hampshire, but it was while living beside a haunted graveyard in Scotland, that she realized that she wanted to be a writer. Her debut, Insignia, came out in July of 2012. The second book in the series, Vortex came out in July of 2013. The final book in the INSIGNIA trilogy will come out in Fall of 2014.

TWITTER: @SJKincaidBooks
FACEBOOK: 
https://www.facebook.com/SJKincaidBooks
WEBSITE: 
http://sjkincaid.com/


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