A New Home For Celestria

Boy I don’t write enough on here, but with all my projects I can’t seem to find the time for everything. So what do I do, I rotate them all. Now when my last laptop broke down I lost some of my novel Helix, I guess  I had lost some of my momentum do to that. Then I got another e-mail from Glimmer Train Press about there latest writing contest. The contest is long over now, and no I didn’t submit a short story like I wanted to. I found out about it kind of late because I didn’t always have a computer to use. I started working on a short story for the contest, finally inspired to write again. I started writing it by hand, after writing about three or four pages I was unhappy and rewrote it. It got to be about a week before the deadline, and I realized I couldn’t finish it in time and be happy with the end result. That is when I decided to just write it and put it out there. Now it seems it will be a novella, not a short story. Now I have a new laptop and I am transcribing what I have so far onto the computer, tweaking it as I go. So I thought I would post part one and see what you all think. It has been a long time seance I posted some of my work, so I’m happy I can today.

I haven’t had anyone edit it yet, so here we go.

A New World for Celestria

“ I love you. Be brave my child.” An old gray woman said from the corner of the room, coughing hard as she looked on.

“ I love you too grandma, goodbye. Please don’t cry for me.” A young girl said with tears streaming down her face.

The girl blew her grandmother a kiss before beginning to recite an enchant spell of transportation. She sat in the center of a large cercal, the edge marked with the four elements.  A vile of water taken from the last lake before it dried up, pure and untainted. A potted plant with three frail yellow flowers. A small candle of black wax, burning bright in the dark room. A jar of unpolluted air, the cork sealed with crimson wax. The girl representing the fifth element, spirit.

Her words rise into the air, her vice filling the room. The vile of water began to bubble and rise, popping the lid. Small beads of water float out all around her, spinning and bouncing off each other. The flowers petals drifted through the air, gently resting on her flesh. One by one they lining her arms and legs, her spine and collarbone, the last placing it’s self upon her forehead. The soil from the pot pored out moving across the floor, twisting and weaving into an intricate design, branches curving around to meet roots, creating the tree of life. Little flames danced off the stark black candle, swaying back and forth as they fill the edge of the circle. The jar of air started to bounce and bob until the wax sealed cork burst off, the fresh air rushing around her, lifting her hair as she breathed it in deeply. A glowing light emanated from her as she started the end of her spell, it spread out to fill the circle. The air turned up into the star filled night, swirling the elements around her in a vortex. A numb feeling moved out from the center of her body with every heartbeat, as the swirling magic reaches so high she can no longer see the sky. A little gleam of light caught her eye, sparkles like flakes of gold turning and twisting through the air. She looked down to her hands to see her flesh and bone disintegrating, the shining particles spin high into the vortex and disappear. A soft white light came to fill every corner of her vision.

The driving force transporting her slowed with a rhythmic pulsing. She came to a rest on the soft damp grass of an open field of wild flowers. Her body finally felt whole, but she couldn’t will it to move, or her voice to make a sound.

A loud, and deep rumbling noise came barreling towards her. Then above her she heard a man yell “Men! Over here!”

The man bent down close, brushing the hair from her face, his finger gently dragging against her skin. He spoke softly to her. “You are safe now fair maiden of magic. Rest now, we will take you to safety.”

She fell into a deep sleep, giving into the darkness that surrounded her.

**************

“You must get some rest your highness. It has been three days you have not left the lady’s side.” The voice of an older man came through as the dark fog began to leave her mind. His words reassuring.

“I will not leave her side, not until she wakes.” The voice from before, deep and velvety, making her feel safe.

Her eyelids felt heavy as she forced them to open, blinking her vision clear. The sun shone bright through a tall window beside her bed, blinding her momentarily. Her mouth felt dry, like her tong was mad of sand. Her body ached deep down into the bones, with a throbbing and stinging pain. Her head finally felt calm and clear.

“She wakes Amalric. Send my servant to fetch food and drink at once” His voice changed as he commanded, became deeper, harder then before.

“Ware am I?” She struggled to sit up, pain shooting through every muscle of her body.

“You are in my castle, my lady.” He smiled at her warmly. Everything about him said strength and kindness to her.

“How long have I been sleeping?” She returned his smile with her own, taking in his features.

“Three days my lady.” He said.

His eyes so gentle and kind when he spoke, green as the leaves on the tree outside her window. His hair as dark as a starless night. His face chiseled, as if made of stone, but his skin was smooth and lightly bronzed. She stared at him for a long moment, stunned by his beauty.

Neither of them noticed Amalric leaving the room.

“I have waited to ask sense I found you that day. What is your name? ” He waited with excitement.

“Celestria, Celestria Stroepa. If I may ask, what is your name?” Her insides felt as if they where jumping around as they spoke. So close to each other she could feel the warmth of his skin.

“I am Prince Alderan, of the Kingdome Abalone. Smell the salt in the air, we are atop a cliff by the sea. Celestria, my lady of the stars, I welcome you to our kingdom.” He bowed his head to her, a smile glinting on his face when he said ‘my lady’.

“Lady of the stars? I think I like that, but why do you call me that?” she asked.

“You came to us from the heavens, in a great beam of starlight. I rode out with my best men to find the source, and I found you. So I brought you back here to Amalric. He is our court physician, and miner sorcerer.” He handed her a cup, a foul smelling liquid sloshing around inside. “Go ahead. Amalric said it would help with your pain, and getting you back on your feet sooner.”

She tried not to smell it as she gulped it down, but the smell was nothing compared to the taste, making her stomach heave as she forced it to hold on to it contents.

A servant boy of maybe sixteen years knocked on the doorframe. The prince waved the boy in, behind him entered three bigger men carrying a large round table, and two carved chairs. The boy set the table with several silver plates of food, colorful fruits overflowed one plate, flakey breads and creamy cheeses, meats and eggs. The boy placed two empty plates and goblets on the table, a pitcher of something sweet smelling between them.

“Shall I serve your highness?” He asked in a meek tone.

“You may go. Set out my formal dress.”  He waved the four of them away, and they where alone once more.

He turned to her, his hand outstretched to help her out of her cot. “You must be famished.” He said as he led her to the table, pulling out her chair for her.

He pored some of the sweet smelling drink for the two of them, and sat beside her. The prince watched her as she ran her fingers over the table top, tracing the lines  carved by hand in its dark wood.

Celestria recognized the never ending loops and twists of the Tree of Life carved in the table’s top. She glanced up at the prince, to embarrassed to hold her gaze when she noticed he was watching her. She shifted in her seat a little, she looked at the food before her, food she had never seen in real life.

“What is wrong Celestria? Do you not like the meal? I can send someone to fetch you anything you desire.” He said with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“No, not at all Prince Alderan. Please forgive me. I come from a very different place from this. I am stunned by the beauty of it all, taken back by the differences of our worlds. It makes the life I left behind seem even worse then it had before. I never knew my world in a time of green like this, nor did my grandmother, or her grandmother. All of this is wonderful, thank you Prince Alderan.”  She said with a sheepish grin.

She bowed her head and her cheeks grew worm and flushed red. The prince lifted her gaze to meat his own.

He spoke softly, like the first time she heard his voice. “You, my lady of the stars, can call me Alderan. You my lady are my equal, perhaps even my superior.”

She clasped his hand beneath her chin, sending shivers down his spine. His hole body tingled, as if he had been waiting his hole life to feel her touch. He bent down and gently kissed her hand, caressing it with his lips gently. The prince moved closer to her, still holding her hand he looked deep into her eyes. He couldn’t tear himself away from her sky blue eyes, streaked with violet. It was like seeing the sky meat a field of violet, mixing into purity. Her cream colored skin, soft as silk to his touch. Her black spiral curls falling down around her, glinting with a hint of purple in the sunlight, spiraling down to reach the small of her back. Alderan wanted nothing more then to kiss her lips, lips like the deepest red rose in their garden. He leaned in hoping she wanted the same.

Amalric entered and cleared his throat. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt highness. My lady, you are looking well now. You should eat some, you have lost your strength. King Galvarium has requested you join him in the main hall. When you have eaten and dressed your servant will lead you there. You and I should speak at a later time.” His eyes held  great wisdom. He looked to her like a short little gray man, but she could feel his magic, a caring and healing nature to his sole.

A petite young woman walked in behind him. She bowed to the prince and then to Celestria. More servants walked in behind her, they carried several dresses of different colors and fabrics. Jars of varying sizes containing powders and creams, lotions and oils.

“I am Elinor, my lady. As soon as you are ready I can prepare you for your meeting with the king.” She bowed again to the two of them, and went about her work.

Celestria watched as the girl hurried around the room. She hung the dresses in a row along the wall. She filled a small table with the jars, and brushes made of soft hair in different sizes.

Celestria went back to eating her meal, glancing back at the prince wondering, ‘ why hasn’t he said anything about my strange behavior? My manner of speaking and actions must seem strange to them.’

Celestria stood, feeling more like her self. No, more then she had been before. She whispered to no one but the air. “Everything is so elegant in this time, so bright and full of life. How can I hope to fit in when I come from such a dark world?”

Not once had the prince taken his eyes from her. He watched every graceful movement, listened to every songlike syllable her voice made. “My dear, lovely lady of the stars, you are the most beautiful and magical being in my kingdom. With all my heart I hope for your happiness here. I must take my leave my lady. I will make arrangements for your own chambers before joining you and my father in the great hall.”

He kissed her hand, lingering just a moment. He bowed and turned, walking out with swift, smooth steps. Celestria watched him as he left, her heart skipping a beat when Alderan looked back at her before passing through the door.

The girl’s voice chimed behind her, a little two high pitched. “My lady, your garments are prepared.”

“Thanx. Elinor is your name right?” Celestria felt silly when the girl gave her a funny little look. “I am sorry, I meant thank you. We speak a little differently then you do.”

“If I may ask my lady. What do you mean we, where do you hail from?” She asked sheepishly, cowering.

Celestria gave the girl a kind smile, and brushed the girl’s bangs out of her face. “I’m not going to heart you.” Celestria walked over to the ornate dressing screen, considering how much to tell the girl, or anyone for that matter. “For now lets just say I come from a very different place then this. A place I can never get back to. I’m sorry I can’t say more, but I’m not sure what’s going on yet, or what the king wants from me. I hope you can understand.”

“I do understand my lady. Besides I am only a servant, I have no place to ask.” The girl said, starring at the floor.

Celestria wanted to tell her she was fine with her, but she wasn’t sure how long she would be there. When she learned more she could talk with the girl then. Something had scared this girl down to her core.

Celestria gave the girl a big smile, and went back to the dresses hanging in front of her. Bright colored fabrics she had never seen, fabrics that seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the light. One in particular caught her eye. A ruby red corset embroidered with burgundy flowers and swirling vines. The sleeves a fabric she could see through, hanging off the shoulder, flowing and wide at the bottom like a flower rapped around the arm. The skirt of the dress was made of deep red silk, embroidery matching the corset hemming the bottom. The thought of wearing such a beautiful color for the first time filled her with excitement. Celestria admired it a moment longer before taking it down, and heading for the dressing screen.

“Elinor, Would you give me a hand? I’m not sure how to close the back.” She said a little embarrassed.

“Yes my lady. These garments are meant to be laced by another, like me my lady.” Elinor said.

Elinor weaved the back of the corset with a burgundy cord effortlessly. Elinor adjusted the sleaves, tugging softly at the top. She knelt down, inspecting the bottom of the skirt.  She pulled and turned and fluffed the layers of Celestria’s dress.

“Perfect, now we can do your hair my lady. How would you like it done?” Elinor asked as she had Celestria sit down at the table.

A knock came at the door. Elinor walked over and opened it to find the prince’s servant. He held in his hands a carved box of wood, glinting metal adorned the corners.

“My lady” He bowed. “The prince has sent you a welcoming gift.” He placed the box on the table in front of Celestria. He stepped back bowing to her again and left without another word.

Celestria ran her fingers along the top of the box, tracing vines full of flowers.

Writing a novel : My improvement on Helix

Its been almost a year since I started working on my novel. I don’t have much to show for it, at least on paper, but my mind has expanded. I feel my prologue is done, there may be a little mistake here or there, but its done. The emotions, the imagery, I’m very happy with them. I have been using what I have learned to go over  and over my prologue and first two chapters, applying it as I learn it. I still struggle with fight sequences but its a new area for me.

If you want to reed the other drafts, see the improvement in the writing you can check out these links to my other posts about my novel Helix. I found looking at before and after writing can help in your own, the differences in imagery, character development, so on.

http://artfulhelix.wordpress.com/2012/02/07/prologue-for-helix-first-half-rewrite/

http://artfulhelix.wordpress.com/2012/01/07/rewrite-of-prologue-for-helix/

Her is a post I did with some helpful sites for beginning writers.

http://artfulhelix.wordpress.com/2012/02/06/writing-helpful-sites/

So now my new draft for Helix – Prologue

Prologue : The world as we know it comes to an end

“Mr. President, may I have a moment of your time?” Mrs. Pickett knows he won’t listen, but grace insists on trying one last time.

“Yes, of course. Give me five minutes gentlemen,” the president says to his advisers. “I will meet you in my office.”

The president is very busy these days. Planning a war, making sure as many people as possible are safe in the colonies deep under the earth’s surface. Keeping the peace in a panicked country. His life would take a tole on any man. Mountains of paperwork over run his desk. His food often left uneaten. He would have no time for his family if they were still home, thankful they are safe even if he can’t be with them. Five minutes is a lot to ask of a man in his position.

Mrs. Pickett leads him to an unused office not far from his own.

“It’s Grace. She wouldn’t leave without seeing you.” Mrs. Pickett gave the president a sympathetic smile. She knew how hard of this had to be for him and he didn’t seem pleased.

He opened the door to the cramped office. There she was leaning against the desk, picking at her nails. A nervous habit she had since she was a child. He stood motionless just taking in her beauty. Wearing his favorite color on her, a deep red pant suit accented with black piping. He cleared his throat before speaking, startling her.

“Grace, this isn’t the best time. The Secretary of defense is waiting in my office.”

“I know, that’s why we are here. This office has been empty for months. No one will find us here.”

“Why aren’t you in the Washington colony?” Speaking with authority in his voice.

“I had to come and say good bye, I had to……” Tears welling up in her eyes, her words stop short.

He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, dabbing at the tears tenderly.

In a low soothing voice he tries to comfort her. “I know, I’m going to miss you too. I just can’t go with you, no matter how many times you beg me. My place is here. Our country needs me, we are teetering on the edge of an abyss. I love you with all my hart Grace, but I can’t leave this place. You will be safe in the colony, you will stay in my thoughts and my hart.”

Fighting back tears of his own, trying to be strong for her sake. Holding her close, he presses his lips to hers tenderly. She melts into his arms, both unwilling to let go, wanting this moment to last forever. He can’t help but think of his wife in this fleeting moment, their goodbye wasn’t this sweet and painful even though he loved her once, long ago.

Grace looks at him with deep sorrow in her eyes, she knows whats ahead. With a tear stricken voice she says “If you stay you could die. I don’t want to live in a world without you. I know we may not win the war … I’ll stay here with you. I’ll die, I don’t care as long as we are together.” Desperately she tried to rationalize giving up her life.

Her words ringing in her ears, she realizes she has raised her voice too much. No one is supposed to know she is here. She breaths in slowly, deeply, trying to regain her composer.

“Don’t worry about me Grace, I’ll be fin. We will win the war, and then we can be together again. Just give us some time.”

He lies to her knowing the United States is out matched. Trying to lie to himself, convince himself its true. He will go down fighting, he’s no coward, he’s a leader, a soldier.

“If that’s true why can’t I stay with you?”

Her tears begin to flow black, she can feel them slowly creeping down her face. She doesn’t reach to wipe them. Shunning away from him she doesn’t want to appear week in front of him. That would be worse then dying.

“Grace look at me.” He speaks softly.

He grabs her chin,gently turning her head to face him. Etiquette is not important when the two of them are alone. He can truly be himself with her.

“You know I love you, that is why you can’t stay. Put my mind at ease Grace and get to the Washington colony before the doors close. Time is running out. With you there safe I can concentrate on the task at hand, and when it is all over you can come back to me.”

“I will go my love, just know I leave my heart with you.”

They press into each other, arms locked tight, reluctant to let go. The moment can’t last. He gives her his monogrammed handkerchief to whip the tears from her face. Staring at him, hands shaking she reaches to give it back.

“Hold onto it Grace, you can give it back when I see you again.” A small bitter-sweet smile pierces his lips.

She looks at it for a moment, unable to raise her eyes to meet his. With one finger he lifts her gaze, locking his lips to her’s one more time forceful and wanting, savoring their last kiss. Knowing it’s time they release each other. She pulls down on her jacket, runs her fingers through her hair, and pulls out her little compact and wipes the black smudges from her face. He smooths a stray hair away from her face. She looks at him with eyes full of sorrow and fear, fear for him, for the world. She brushes his cheek with her hand,letting it rest there for just a moment before woefully walking to the door. She pauses for just a moment with her hand on the door knob, but doesn’t look back. She can’t, she knows she has to go. If she hesitates any longer she will stay, no matter how she feels she knows it would be a mistake. She must make it to the colony before it closes; her sister’s family is waiting.

He stands in the hallway watching her leave, his heart pulling at him to fallow. He will never see her again, or his wife and kids, but it’s his duty to stay and fight, to die like a true soldier. walking back to his office he knows it will all be over soon.

*              *              *              *              *              *              *              *              *              *              *              *               *

“Jim, I miss the kids.” Nora said weeping. It seems to Jim like Nora’s crying is never ending these days.

“I know Nora, I do to. But they’re safe with your sister in the colony, we are lucky they got in with her. If it wasn’t for all your sister’s connections they wouldn’t have.”

Jim holds her as they watch the news. Their new routine, watch news about the war as they hold each other, there isn’t much else to do any more but wait. Some call it world war III and all they can do is sit and watch for the end of the world. All factories and businesses have closed, every person left above ground with their loved ones simply waiting and praying the end won’t come.

“Things are worse Jim, I’m afraid we won’t see them again.”

“Maybe not, but it is better for them with Grace. With her we know they will live and have families of their own. If they had stayed with us they wouldn’t be safe. As their parents we had to make the hard choice, make them grow up without us to save their lives.”

“I know. I heard what the President said. What if he is wrong, what happens then? She starts to sob quietly again, without control, covering her face with her hands. She wants her babies home, her life the way it was before the war, her family whole.

“Then they come home and we can be a family again. You should be happier for them Nora, they’re safe. If the President is right our children live!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but coming to terms with their fate, their children’s fate has taken a toll on him.

“And if we die Jim, how is that fair? We won’t be there for them, watch them grow. We will never get the chance to meet our grandchildren. We don’t get to grow old together.”

“Its not fair, Nora. There wasn’t room for us, we are lucky they let your sister take the kids. They will have a chance at some kind of a life, and we get to stay with each other till the end.” his voice wavers a little. He has always been a strong man, but fear fills his hart.

Nora stands and walks to the window, rubbing her locket between her fingers. She opens it to look at the photos of her children. Closing her eyes she can see her daughter dancing and singing into a brush in her room upstairs while pop music plays on the radio. Her son practicing baseball with his father in the back yard, covered from head to toe in dirt by the time he comes inside. For just a moment its almost like they never left, so vivid she opens her eyes thinking they will be there. But it’s only wishful thinking. She feels like her mind is slowly slipping away, wishing it would end one way or another. She absently gazes out the window. Looking at this almost still scenery, Washington DC in the background, the grass and trees, even the clouds move sluggishly. The world in slow motion, she thought to herself.

On the TV reporter Thomas Jones says, “The President gave no comment today when asked about a possible nuclear retaliation after today’s failed negotiation…”

Jim shuts the TV off. He stands to walk over and hold Nora as the ground and walls start to quiver, then shake violently.

“Jim you have to come see……”

Jim and Nora where to close to see anything but a blinding white light, taking their sight. They couldn’t see the smoke rise high into the air in the shape of a massive mushroom, dark and looming. Never saw the gray smoke and fire glowing red, orange, and yellow. Couldn’t see buildings falling as the shock waves hit them. Ruble flying as fires ignite. Jim never made it to his wife’s side. He can hear screams all around him, Nora only feet away. Loudest of all are his own screams ringing in his ears before everything gets quiet, dark, and goes blank.

Jim and Nora are the lucky ones, it was over quickly for them. People further away survive long enough to know what’s happened. Further still, they live to feel their insides die. To get violently sick. Even grow tumors. Watch their skin tern gray as the cells die. But still death comes for them.

The unlucky live for some time their bodies changing horribly before dying. A few small pockets do live, the ones in extremely remote areas. What is to become of them is hard to tell. Radiation seeps deep into the ground tainting everything it comes in contact with. A nuclear winter consumes the planet’s atmosphere. The earth’s future bleak and uncertain.

I haven’t gotten on much

I said before I wouldn’t be able to publish much, some things here and there. So now that things are coming down a little I thought I would give you all a link to my contributor page on yahoo. You can look at all the articals I have written lately, short stories, poems ect. Come by and see me

http://contributor.yahoo.com/user/1598766/maria_wood.html

Stuck In My Head rewrite

This is a rewrite of a poem I did about writers block. If you want to see the first version check through my archives. I am very happy with this rewrite, it says more then it did before. Not only about my writers block, but blending the pain and joys of my life into my writing. Hope you all enjoy. Leave me a comment and tell me what you think!

Stuck In My Head

Stuck in my head, what a sad place to be.

Words run round yet they elude me.

Images flash by, some real some only mine.

Sweet and colorful, terrifying and dark.

A mix of emotion blending to paint a picture of my being.

The mind of a tormented soul, both light and dark.

I stomp, I scream, I let it all out, no one hears me alone in the dark.

Dust rolls up, desert all about, no oasis to satisfy my thirst.

I wish for peace but my mind scrambles about.

Thoughts of dark times, past but still here tainting the joys of my life.

Am I to stay for all time, to run round desperate to fly.

If only you’d come lift me to the sky I could catch those thoughts that fly by.

I sit and I wait, wish for only you, hands full of desperate tears as they pool.

Mind full of hurt and love, joy and pain, yet my hands sit idly by with nothing to say.

How long shall I roam this desolate plain my mind calls home, unable to return.

Where have you gone, I beg wont you come save me from this depressing fate.

Still I sit and wait for your return, knight in shining armor won’t you come, return me to a life outside this dark and hurt filled hole.

Hands held high I will wait for the touch that brings me to life once more.

Absent

I know lately I have been absent. I never seem to find the time to do all the projects I have in the works. Sometimes something fall to the wayside, left to wait until I have the time to get back to it. I feel bad about not posting for so long.

I have been up to some new endeavors. I started writing for Yahoo!voices. So far I have published two articles, and one is waiting for approval. I don’t get paid a lot, but I’m not doing it to get rich. Why am I doing it, well it gets my name, my voice out there. Here are the links to the two articles I have done.

This is an article I did on David J Rodger, simply a combo of the blog posts I did on my blog: http://voices.yahoo.com/dark-writer-david-j-rodger-11430790.html?cat=44

This is a poem about summer : http://voices.yahoo.com/first-summer-day-11430124.html?cat=47

This is the link to my profile on yahoo!voices, here you can check out articles I have posted and become a fan : http://voices.yahoo.com/first-summer-day-11430124.html?cat=47

My tattoo business has even picked up lately. I am happy about that but it gives me less time with my kids, less time to write or paint.

I will try to post more. It may be sporadic, but when things calm down I would be happy to go back to the artist of the week or month. I hope you are all still with me

Coming soon a post on tattoos. I will talk about the history of tattooing and post some photos of my latest works of living art (tattoos).

Fracking Puts Families Out On Street!!!!

Hydraulic fracturing

For those of you who don’t know what Hydraulic Fracturing is let me explain the dangers this can cause to  our community’s, wildlife, agriculture. I know this isn’t my typical post, but it is a topic I feel strongly about!

This is the short version, Please if you want to know more there is a huge amount of information out there. All you have to do is look! I will add several links at the bottom to get you started.

This is exactly what Wikipedia said.

Hydraulic fracturing is the propagation of fractures in a rock layer caused by the presence of a pressurized fluid. Some hydraulic fractures form naturally, as in the case of veins or dikes, and are a means by which gas and petroleum from source rocks may migrate to reservoir rocks. Induced hydraulic fracturing or hydrofracking, commonly known as fracking, is a technique used to release petroleum, natural gas (including shale gas, tight gas and coal seam gas), or other substances for extraction.^[a][1] This type of fracturing creates fractures from a wellbore drilled into reservoir rock formations.

The first use of hydraulic fracturing was in 1947, though the fracking technique which made the shale gas extraction economical was first used in 1997 in the Barnett Shale in Texas.^[1][2][3] The energy from the injection of a highly-pressurized fracking fluid creates new channels in the rock which can increase the extraction rates and ultimate recovery of fossil fuels.

Proponents of fracking point to the vast amounts of formerly inaccessible hydrocarbons the process can extract.^[4] Detractors point to potential environmental impacts, including contamination of ground water, risks to air quality, the migration of gases and hydraulic fracturing chemicals to the surface, surface contamination from spills and flowback and the health effects of these.^[5] For these reasons hydraulic fracturing has come under scrutiny internationally, with some countries suspending or even banning it.

What I have to say :

We as a whole need to take a good look at our surroundings, our communities, our friends, our state, our country.

Our friends and family, our country is struggling. A lot of us can’t  support our families on our own, so we take what we can get. So when a big company comes along waving a large check in their face just to rent or buy the rights to property they take it. They don’t realize that in the long run they are damaging us all. Families being put out on the street with no place to go, how can we alow this. Earth quakes, water on fire, devastation of the eco system, long-term affects we don’t even know come into play. This proses of fracking has been banned in other countries.  I think its time we do the same, before the damage continues.

LIKE this if you are agents fracking, against the destruction of our communities! If I get enough LIKES I will start an online petition to stop fracking entirely!

Damage caused by fracking :

Would you want to drink this water?

Links and articles and video :

FaceBook page:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-No-Frack-Almanac/297555540255523

Articles:

Blockade in Progress to Save Community from Fracking Industry

http://earthjustice.org/our_work/campaigns/fracking-gone-wrong-finding-a-better-way?gclid=CKzkjLy2vLACFUgRNAodMBIUoA

http://wilderness.org/content/keeping-public-lands-and-western-communities-safe-irresponsible-fracking?gclid=CNPs3962vLACFQlN4AodrhRHnQ

http://www.americanrivers.org/our-work/protecting-rivers/fracking/?gclid=CP-x0uq2vLACFUFo4AodDXMppQ

http://newsitem.com/opinion/fracking-s-collateral-damage-1.1296732#axzz1x7aBxo3r

Today I Write for ME

So lately I have been trying to add more of my own personal content, it was suggested to me a while back, instead of posts about other writers or artist. My life has been a little crazy recently to say the least. For over two months I was unable to work on my novel at all. My lap top even broke down for about a month, drove me nuts. I am the kind of person that if I am not creating something new out of thin air I go a little bonkers. I have also discovered that the more stressed I am the more creatively blocked I become.

Coming to that realization I have stopped stressing about my novel. I am writing this for me, not for any one else. Yes it would be nice to sell my novel, and I do have an interested publisher (online publisher),  but if its never sold that’s OK. I have been told a first novel is rarely published, so I write this for me either way.

When I came home from my first writer’s group I was energised. It was so nice to sit and talk with another writer, to share our writing experiences, and discuss our trouble coming into the writing world. So after everything I have learned over the two months I didn’t write, and the support from my group I feel ready, prepared to get back on the horse and get to writing. I was even reading through my first draft looking at it with new more knowledgeable eyes seeing where I could change and improve my manuscript.

So here I go to write, excited at the possibilities of implementing my new found knowledge.

Happy writing

Starting A Writers Group

When I first decided I was ready to write a book it was suggested to me that I join a locale writers group. At the time I only found one, and it wasn’t for me. I can’t remember what style they wrote in, but it had to be that one, but I don’t write in their style. So I settled for online groups, but it’s not personal. Yes I got some good advice, and took heed of what most told me. However I also got comments that told me I should not post a thing because I wasn’t experienced enough, my work unpolished. Reading comments like that made me think ‘But How am I supposed to learn from this if all you have to say is I need to learn more before posting. How do I improve without critiques?’. So I recently decided to start my own group in my area, and open to writers of all forms. So I posted an ad on Craigslist. As of now including me there are three members. Our first meeting is Sunday June 2nd at Barnes and Noble in Webster, NY 7PM. I am  proud of my self for taking this step, for putting my self out there and starting this group. I don’t have a name for it, I don’t have a set meeting schedule, and we are few in number, but it is started. I have taken another step forward, a step closer to my dreams. Even if my group stays small, if it fails, or we gain more members, no matter what I know I tried my hardest. I can be proud in the fact that I did my best.

I want to invite all writers in my area to join us.

Barnes & Noble in Webster NY

Sunday June 2nd at 7PM

Every writer needs constructive feedback. I chance to learn what areas they are strong and weak in. The opportunity to converse with other writers. Find their voice. become a better writer.

I have read many blogs, books, and posts in online writers groups. But nothing can beat that personal connection. I look forward to my first meeting with great excitement.

Growing in Writing and Blogging Part Two

In this post, part two of ‘Growing in Writing and Blogging‘, I will discuss the varies ideas I have learned through connecting to other writers, reading books about writing, and doing many online searches. I am aware there are many people who go in to writing thinking they know what they need to know, that it will be easy to write a novel. In truth it’s a journey one must take, a discovery of self and knowledge. Becoming a writer is no easy task, and the information out there is often overwhelming and at times misleading. With such conflicting information floating around the Internet it can leave you wondering what is right and what is wrong. I don’t think its about what is wrong, or what is right, but what works for you. On the other hand there are key points that should always be followed.

Show Vs. Tell

Now this is a big one, key to writing. When you tell you are saying to the reader how to see and feel your words. When you show you lead them to the conclusion, letting them feel and see it for themselves. Simply telling a reader will tern them off, and what you have written and worked on so hard will be put down never to be finished. Colorful words go a long way, practice show vs tell by observing your surroundings and describing them.

Tell : The tree was tall and old.

Show : I stood beneath it’s branches, as they gently sway in the cool breeze. Towering above all the others it appeared to touch heaven its self. Roots reaching deep into the earth it would take many people hand in hand to reach around its base. I wondered to my self how long had it stood untouched and undamaged to grow so immense. Shame they want me to cut it down.

With the first sentence you have a stated fact about a single tree, but with the second you can imagine standing at the base of the tree looking up at its towering size, even see the light come through the branches as they sway, see the immense roots digging into the earth.

A Dictionary and Thesaurus are your best friend

There are amateur writers that tend to use the same words over and over again, I admit I found I was even doing it. The best thing to do is keep a dictionary and thesaurus on hand. In writing they have become my best friend. My vocabulary has grown, my ability to ‘show’ useing more colorful words has grown by leaps and bounds. For me I can’t keep two big books around and spend time thumbing through them with three kids running around so I found something better a web site with both : http://www.merriam-webster.com/

Keep on target

Now there are two ways to accomplish this and both should be followed.

One: Make the time two write a little every day. Try to keep to a routine. Its okay to take a day or two off, but if you write a little every day you will eventually finish your first draft. Not keeping to a scheduled can make it hard to randomly site down and write, getting distracted or even drawling a blank when you try.

Two: Its alright to get off topic with a little bit of a side story adding to the back ground of your characters or settings. Going overboard with the side story can confuse your reader and loose the main story line. Keep these short and sweet, they will add depth to your characters and novel but you don’t want to get lost in them. This is another problem that will leave your novel unfinished and siting on a shelf never to be read again, confusing the reader and loosing the real story puts readers off.

These are three of the best tips I have learned. They have helped me improve my writing more then any other tips I have found. I use my knowledge in both my blog and writing, even my readers have told me I have improved immensely sence I first started. Remember to use these tips to the fullest and you to will improve in all your writing rather you blog, write poetry, write novels, or short stories. Happy writing and remember practice makes perfect. Yes it’s an old saying and everyone has heard a thousand times, but it is true. The harder you work at it and the more you practice the better you will become. Remember writing for the first time is a journey, and every journey starts with the first step.

Artist of the ‘Week’: Dark Writing 8: David J. Rodger Part two

Before we get to the story David was so kind as to provide me with for this post I have just a few things to say.

First and foremost I have to apologise to all my readers. The past couple weeks have been hard and made it impossible to do any of my normal activities. I was unable to paint, sketch, writer, or blog. Which is a sham when you think about the fact that I had started a dark short story just to try my hand at it and share it with all of you. It seems when the shit hits the fan it hits all at once, but so goes the life of a mother, wife, and sister. I do not complain when I need to take care of my family physically or mentally but it leaves little time for my self. So Please forgive my absence for I am back and have a great read for you all.

Second I have to say thank you David! David gave me two of his short stories to choose from to post, both fantastic stories. They where both so good I had a hard time picking which one two post, and I wish I could share both with you. I suggest to every reader if you are into si-fi and the dark subscribe to his blog or facebook page or twitter, I leave you a link to both.

http://davidjrodger.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/David-J-Rodger/10090348898

https://twitter.com/#!/davidjrodger

Now to the story

SIM

By David J. Rodger

Copyright © David J Rodger 2011
David J Rodger has asserted his right under the
Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988
to be identified as the author of this work.

Sim-Stim
- Simulated Stimulation
 Pre-recorded experience that a user plays back via
SQUID headwear or a direct neural interface.
 Also called sim, socket junk, stim, brain candy; also
{illegal} blackjack, death-rim.
 Users typically experience all five senses, enhanced via
post-production techniques; but can choose to de-select any
of the sensory inputs. It is advised to always be sitting or
lying down during sim-stim immersion.
 Addiction to Total Sensory Immersion is becoming a
growing problem amongst the user-base (Jennings, Wilson,
Cheung; Pharmacology for the Fantasy Gene)
 Sim-Stim is predominantly entertainment based (73%
sex-industry DAglow Market Trends) but there is increasing
applications for training and PR.
 Sim-Stim actors are now the highest paid artists in the
entertainment industry.
 Patent holder: RoGong Corporation; largest market
share distributer of recording/ playback tech: Nascent Virm
[update via BullHype ~ Zendori Corp has recently launched
state-of-the-art SIM-WEAVE bioware, expected to grab
largest market within next 6 months]

Ulrich Drake surfaced back to consciousness with sunlight
spattering his eyelids. Blinking in the mid-morning light he
saw the silhouettes of leaves fluttering back and forth
across the cream-coloured walls of the private room; foliage
of the trees beyond the windows of the clinic caught in a
spring breeze. Lying motionless in the firm but comfortable
bed, it took a few moments to cognise where he was and
what had happened.
“Hello Mr Drake,” a professionally brusque male voice
came from his left.
Turning his head Drake saw a young, serious faced
man, standing by the bed wearing the neatly pressed white
smock of a medic. Drake touched the inside of his cheek
with his tongue, opened his mouth and stretched the
muscles of his face. He’d been unconscious. Anaesthetic.
The medic allowed a brief smile to part his lips, then
nodded once, “You’ll be feeling confused and disorientated
for a few minutes. It will pass, along with any nausea you
might be experiencing.”
His throat hurt and he became aware of an ache
swelling up from the base of his skull, hot, sickly, pushing
out sweat across his forehead.
“We’ll continue pain management for a couple of days
whilst the implant beds in and your brain adjusts to the
new nerves. There’s been some swelling of your
corticobulbar tract so you’ll experience some discomfort and
unusual sensations around your face, head and neck.
Apart from that it’s been a complete success. Mr Warner
wants to see you if you’re ready.”
Warner. Jack Warner. CEO of Zendori Corp. Drake
frowned with the effort of his mind reaching after smoky
memories; he knew Jack but couldn’t quite visualise the
relationship. They were business partners, but there was
something else lost beyond a mental fog that seemed to
form as he tried to recall.
Strange, he mused.
“Well Ulrich, yet again you bounce back with the stamina of
a man thirty years younger,” Jack Warner enthused;
gesticulating with his hands in an easy manner, standing
over the small wrought iron table where Drake was eating
breakfast outside in the garden of the clinic.
Drake smirked; knowing that Warner, with his weedy
figure, narrow shoulders and pot-belly paunch, was secretly
jealous of his athletic build. In his mid-40s, Warner was
only five years younger than Drake yet the man had
obviously done little to look after himself.
“You should get yourself out from behind that desk of
yours and come join me for a spot of Tenko training,” Drake
responded airily; not actually serious. He sipped a tall glass
of freshly squeezed orange juice and allowed his gaze to
soak up the view of wild meadows in the foothills of vast
mountains.
Warner made a tight hum-noise through his nasal
passage then clasped his hands together.
“Somebody has to run the business side of things,
Ulrich. Not all of us can afford to get our hands…dirty.”
There was a strange note to the statement. Drake
glanced up at the CEO and found him gazing back at him
with unusual intensity, brown eyes glittering in the early
morning sunlight.
The moment stretched and became significant; Warner
was searching his face for some kind of response but it
became apparent he wasn’t getting it. Whether this was a
good thing or not, he had no comprehension. Drake felt the
hairs on the back of his neck prickle up.
Then abruptly, with a flicker of intrigue crossing his
face, Warner untangled his hands and moved the
conversation on.
The new implant was a beta-version of an upgrade to
Zendori Corp’s Sim-Weave. Like the launch-version, it
facilitated record and play-back of sim-stims; incorporated a
dispersed WAM (Wet Access Memory) for secure internal
data-storage and was connected to a broadcast chip,
allowing data to be squirted via any phone-tag to an
external storage host.
The upgrade brought a raft of new features but the
unique-selling-point was Life-Ride. Multiple users of the
sim-weave implant could, if they had the upgrade, dial-into
the experience a single other user. The concept was to
experience a live stim-stim feed rather than a pre-recorded
production.
Warner visibly fizzed with anticipation as he predicted
sky-rocketing profits and a blitzkrieg on Nascent Virm’s
market share.
The applications beyond entertainment (adrenaline
sports were a key target) and the sex-industry were
enormous; particularly in the field of intelligence gathering;
checking on the whereabouts of bonded criminals (wealthy
criminals, as they would be the only class likely to afford a
sim-weave implant), and high-spec/high-risk training such
as engineering and technical careers in orbit and deep
space.
Drake finished the orange juice and stretched his long,
thick-set limbs. He was restless. Warner picked up on it
like a coach:
“Time to bail you out of here, Ulrich. Marcus will run
you through the new features of the implant. And I’ve
arranged a little ‘something special’ for you tonight. A town
not far from here. You can drop in as you drive back to the
airport.”
Drake tilted his head and looked at him with a raised
eyebrow, a slow smile curving his lips. Something special
was code for their mutual passion for high-class prostitutes;
that much about their friendship he could recall, although
he was fuzzily aware there were still areas about their
business relationship lost beyond the mental fog: a lingering
side-effect of the surgery, no doubt.
Warner matched his smile then shifted his gaze to the
distant mountains. “She’s a real ball-breaker. There’s a
place by the airport for you to clean up when you’re
finished; I’ve written the details down for you. You’re going
to want to sleep like a baby on the flight after this.”
The address was a private house on the edge of a sparse
forest; the headlights of a nearby main road stuttered
through the intervening trees. It was a small but very
comfortable-looking structure, well-maintained, a lot of
wood and glass. The sun had only set half an hour ago but
the temperature had already dropped enough to make him
shiver; there was also the nerve-tingling anticipation of
illicit gratification ahead.
Drake had left the rental car parked further down the
narrow track and walked to the front door, as instructed.
He suspected there would be cameras watching his arrival
and progress; a woman didn’t work in this line of business
without some form of security – even if clients were only
invited through personal recommendations. There wouldn’t
be a thug in the basement sitting ready with a baseball bat
and a Rottweiler; this set-up was in an entirely upper class.
The woman met him at the front door; introduced
herself as Lorna, wrapped in an outfit of shimmering pink
silk. Slim, quite beautiful, only a touch of make-up, the
underlying hardness to her features softened by balms that
left her skin healthy and radiant; she had the figure and
movements of a ballet dancer and the easy smile of a
hostess.
Once inside, she served him a stiff alcoholic drink whilst
small talk established how much time he had to spend and
a confirmation of his particular taste in pleasure; polite
euphemisms around submission or domination.
Domination was his preferred theme.
He’d noticed that all the mirrors seemed to have been
removed, so asked about it.
“Your assistant made the request when booking me
tonight,” she responded, un-phased; probably used to
facilitating unusual requests. “Some people don’t like to be
confronted by a view of what they’re doing.”
Her comment made him pause.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she told him with a
coquettish turn of her head; “I’ll go and prepare everything
upstairs. Feel free to come and join me in about five
minutes.”
Drake smirked over the rim of his glass and felt the
blood surging around his groin. The drink stung the soft
flesh of his mouth, stimulated smoky buds of his tongue
and seared the back of his throat with twenty-year old fire.
His brain responded with a release of tension.
He watched her climbing the slatted-wooden staircase;
focussed on the tight curves of her arse pressing against the
silk. His pulse quickened, his breathing became shallow.
Then he heard a sound; like a – snick, which could have
come from across the other side of the room or right beside
him. But before he could twist round to check, a sensation
like an insect sting bit into his skull behind his left ear.
Then everything went black.
Drake found himself on the sofa, firm fabric upholstery
pressed up against his skin. There were no lights on.
Broad shafts of moonlight sloped into the room through the
many windows. Trees crowded the space outside.
What the hell happened?
He struggled to recall; grunted as he heaved himself up
with heavy limbs into a sitting position. His head felt
swollen, his thoughts sluggish.
Fragments of memory began swirl into the focus of his
mind. The sharp sting…
Reaching a hand up to the affected area of his skull he
couldn’t feel anything like a puncture mark or insect bite. A
little further up was the tiny scab forming around the scar
tissue of the recent implant.
His fingers did feel strange though; slightly sticky as if
coated in something.
Bringing his hand in front of his face a jolt of shock
ripped through him. His hand was almost entirely black,
smeared in a drying substance that was velvet smooth to
his touch.
His other hand was just the same.
Widening his area of focus, he looked down at his
clothes and saw his once white crisp business shirt was
now heavy and damp with dark fluid.
He pushed himself up onto his feet, glancing rapidly
around him. Confusion riding the beating wings of fear.
Oh my God what is this?
The sofa was stained in places where his hands and
shirt had touched.
More stains on the deep pile carpet, in the shape of shoe
prints, leading to the sofa from the staircase.
Drake staggered over to a lamp poised above a glass
coffee table and flicked the switch.
Electric light flooded this part of the room and a
guttural sound of horror burst through his lips.
In the moonlight the stains were black but now he saw
they were bright scarlet. Blood. He was covered in blood.
Where was Lorna? Where was the woman? Why was the
house so quiet? Why was everything dark?
“Lorna?” He called out her name, coughing
immediately. His mouth was bone dry.
The absence of a response sent a chill shudder down his
spine and left his scalp tingling.
His eyes raked the floor and walls but nothing seemed
out of place. Just the awful blood.
The smudged footprints held his gaze. He followed them
across the carpet to the wooden slatted stairs.
Just beneath the bottom step was a pair of partly
inverted rubber gloves, smeared in blood; as if torn off in
haste and thrown to the floor.
He tried to call out Lorna’s name again but his throat
clenched up with fear at the idea now forming in his brain.
Lurching forwards, he crossed to the staircase and
trudged rigidly up the steps.
The steps ended in a sort of play room build into the
attic space; this wasn’t the main upstairs part of the house
he’d observed from outside; another staircase must have led
there.
The darkness was elevated into an alabaster tainted
gloom, punctured by the bright moon shining down through
skylights overhead.
The air was heavy with the smell of sex, sweat and
something else.
He was straining to identify the smell when his gaze
locked onto the figure of a person, suspended in a nearly
horizontal position from chains attached to the sloping
ceiling. A sex harness. The naked figure was a black
cardboard cut-out silhouette in the moonlight. How could
such an outline belong to a human being?
Lying forwards, straps around the chest and hips, limbs
splayed outwards and held aloft by cuffs and chains. A
strap had been wrapped around the ankles and fastened to
a head-rig, so tight it had the head pulled back at an
impossible angle.
Then Drake saw why and the sight seared itself into his
brain: a savage gap in the silhouette where her throat
should have been.
Ice water was seeping into his veins. His scalp
contracted. Goosebumps rippled across his flesh.
He stared. He noted the long hair hanging down. The
outline of her breasts.
With fumbling, blood-stained hands, he patted the walls
at the top of the staircase and eventually found a light
switch. He flicked it on.
When he saw the mutilated condition of the body his
knees buckled beneath him and he dropped to the floor,
retching and hyperventilating in a twin twist of disgust and
panic.
His eyes rolled in their sockets but his gaze never
seemed to waver from the grotesque sight of the woman’s
dangling corpse. Yet even though he stared with morbid
fascination, the majority part of his mind shrank away.
Coughing, puking, gasping, he fought the fear he might
choke and wrestled to bring his breathing under control.
He was faintly aware he was wailing and making
incomprehensible sounds that might have been words.
Arterial blood sprays were arced and spattered across
the walls and ceiling, all around where she hung. Several
pools of blood covered the carpet below her. There was so
much blood on the carpet the stains were still wet with dark
rings of congealing crust around the edges.
Her throat had been completely hacked away, leaving a
thick sliver of muscle, tissue and spinal chord at the back
connecting her head to her body. Drake could almost see
into her chest cavity through the ruined mess.
The face had been savaged with some type of sharp
instrument that cut crudely, tearing the soft flesh rather
than neatly slicing it.
A sharp knife must have been used where her abdomen
had been sliced open in one deep cut. The edges of the long
wound bulged monstrously with the weight of intestines
ready to fall out of her, although some of the long loops of
vivid coloured innards had already slipped out, or been
tugged loose, to dangle in the blood below; thick bundles of
greasy tissue, a smear of vile colours, pink, yellow, purple
and scarlet.
Drake doubled-over as his guts contracted violently and
he retched with a loud wailing sound, bringing up nothing
but gastric acid and saliva.
Pushing himself backwards and then up into a halfcrawl,
half-crouch, he made it back to the stairs and
staggered down them; close to collapsing, dazed and numb
with the turbulent emotions.
Reaching the bottom he stood motionless, blindly
staring at the sofa unable to decide what to do. He absently
wiped strands of saliva and vomit from his chin with the
back of his wrist.
An icon appeared within his field of vision, ghost-like,
superimposed by the implants interlinking his visual cortex,
sensorium, synaptic bridge, WAM and neural processor. It
told him a new sim-stim recording had been processed and
was ready for viewing.
What…?
His mind trailed off into silence as it registered the
significance of the timing.
The sim-weave implant could record raw data but
playback required processing time. Processing that could
only take place via Zendori servers or the Zendori
application loaded onto a powerful workstation.
Drake reached into the pocket of his trousers and fished
out his PA. He thumbed it out of standby and saw it was
on, with an active phone tag connection. The processed
sim-stim recording had been downloaded from an external
source; but why had he not been prompted to accept it?
Unless you were out of it and accepted it without
knowing, he pondered; or you made the recording.
Sinking down into a sitting position on the step, he
manipulated the icon and launched playback; immediately
his awareness of the hear-and-now was swept aside and
replaced by total sensory immersion within another reality;
a reality recorded in this house.
Oh God, no…
A point-of-view walk from the area of the sofa to the
staircase; past where he would have been sitting now in his
own reality, transfixed like a zombie, up the stairs to the
playroom where Lorna was naked and grinning, easing
herself into the first cuffs of the sex harness.
Drake watched gloved hands come up and help her get
strapped in, hooked up, cinched and slung into position.
Were they his hands? It was difficult to tell. There were
no mirrors. No reflective surfaces to give him a glimpse of
who was making the recording. Lorna murmured sluttish
encouragements to the recorder, but the recorder did not
respond verbally.
He caught a glimpse of muscular forearms and the
sleeves of a crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows. It
could have been him.
It could have been, but some part of his brain was
picking out flaws in the deception.
It was meant to look like him.
Then the violence began.
There was no sex with Lorna. Just an immediate and
brutal attack that brought out chilling screams of agony,
rage, and then animal terror as she thrashed about
helplessly in the harness.
Drake didn’t want to watch what happened next.
Hurriedly he manipulated the synaptic commands for
the implant and brought himself out of playback. Sweat
beaded his forehead. Wild-eyed he pushed himself off the
staircase and moved over to the sofa. Whoever had made
the recording had done so whilst he’d been blacked out.
Drugged?
But the realisation dawned on him that whoever had
done this could still be in the house with him.
Drake dashed into the kitchen and found a knife to use to
defend himself. He considered searching the house but
decided he didn’t want to instigate any encounter that
might lead to violence.
Trembling, he lifted blood-stained fingers to his ear-clip
and pressed the stud to activate a dial-command; a voiceprompt
whispered to him; he sub-vocalised a name through
his throat implant.
He rang Jack Warner.
His friend and business partner picked up the
connecting call after only a moment; greeted and asked how
Drake was getting along in his clipped but casual manner.
“I’m in deep shit, Jack,” Drake struggled to get out the
first words, a bottleneck of emotions, questions and ideas
almost rendering his mouth useless. “The woman. Oh my
God, Jack. The woman…”
The words just tumbled out after that, in between sobs
of despair and loathing.
Finally, Jack managed to break through the torrent. A
firm, authoritative voice. Jack wanted him to take it easy,
told him to get a grip and calm down. He asked questions:
who else had Ulrich called? Who else had Ulrich told about
the rendezvous with the prostitute?
“Nobody, just you Jack. Just you.” Drake could hear a
tremor in his voice that wouldn’t go away.
“Okay. Now listen, Ulrich. I arranged a place for you
near the airport. Remember that? I want you to go there
and get cleaned up. Call me once you’re there and you’re
calm. Okay? Got that?”
Drake nodded even though Jack couldn’t see him; a
heavy frown was creasing the features of his face. The tone
of Jack’s voice unsettled him, was making him wary; he
couldn’t put his finger on it, just a deep base instinct
kicking in.
“Got it Jack, I’ll call you.”
He closed the connection and his mind started to turnover,
scattering thoughts in different directions. Ideas
forming…
There was something not right.
Drake pulled out the compact PA from his pocket,
thumb-swiped the hardscreen to bring it to life, tapped a
couple of icons and bought up the address by the airport.
An apartment; more like a tiny villa. Part of a corporate
hospitality compound. Electronic security gates, a short
private drive.
“What the hell is this?” he mutter-whispered, the frown
deepening.
He tried dialling Jack Warner again.
The call went straight through to voice-mail; an
interactive, synthetic version of Jack’s personality talking,
giving options. Another one of Jack’s techno tricks; the
kind of thing run by AI-emulation software; he always liked
to tinker with things.
Drake jutted out his jaw and dialled again.
Same response.
Who the heck are you talking to Jack?
Paranoia began to expand into his anxiety riddled state.
The police?
“Fuck…”
He wasn’t certain he could trust Jack.
A vague idea began to form and then snapped into
sharp focus.
Drake knew a woman called Samia. His mind stitched
together an image of her from half-recalled scenes of parties
and hushed conversations in dark places. That weird
mental fog obscured some details, but he knew he trusted
her and that she had criminal connections. She was some
kind of conduit to illegal services.
He found her name in the phone book of his PA. Dialled
it without hesitation. She answered almost immediately.
“Ulrich Drake this is a surprise.”
“Hello Samia.” His voice had regained a semblance of
normality. “I need your help.”
Samia probed the situation with indirect questions; she
sounded cagey but he couldn’t discern if it was a result of
natural caution about un-encrypted conversations, or if
there had been some bad blood between them – some
incident obscured by the fog lingering over this area of his
memory. Either way he’d committed to this line of action.
“I need somebody to come here and clear up a mess,” he
wrapped it up for her, inwardly gritting his teeth at the way
he sounded so helpless and desperate; “Physical stuff but
with digital skills. Somebody who can clear the audit trail
of where I’ve been, of where I am. Is there somebody you
know who can do that? Do both? I don’t want more than
one person involved in this. And maybe trace the origin of a
particular data file that’s been sent to me here. I don’t
know, maybe that’s a nice to have. The important thing is
getting me out of here clean. I’m in serious bloody trouble
Samia. I really need your help.”
Help didn’t come cheap. Twenty-thousand credits was the
minimum fee requested by the asset she’d found to match
Drake’s location. The digital work was likely to cost extra,
depending on risk and complexity.
Samia confirmed the procedure: hold tight and wait,
don’t speak to anybody until the asset arrives, don’t touch
anything.
Drake sat on the bottom step and silently rode out the
hellish interval, trying to ignore the idea of the mutilated
corpse dangling in the room above him. He mulled over
what had happened and what he would do next. Why
would somebody want to make it appear he’d committed the
murder? Why send him the file and then go quiet?
Psychological torture to soften him up before the inevitable
ransom demand? Was this even blackmail? Maybe the
killer or killers had no intention of asking for money?
Maybe it was a favour they wanted from him? Or just to see
him locked away in jail for the rest of his life?
His thoughts twisted round, slid over each other and
knotted together like this for what seemed like an eternity.
Eventually he heard feet crunching on gravel and a
confident knock on the door.
The asset sent by Samia was male, stocky and heavyset,
functionally short black hair flecked with grey; a neatly
trimmed beard going a frosty white around the chin.
Dressed in a plain dark knee-length jacket he carried a
generic hiking satchel casually over one shoulder. The face
was friendly but in a superficial way; olive complexion; deep
lines around the eyes and across the brow that suggested
laugher or concentration.
There was no shaking of hands. No idle banter. The
asset noted Drake’s bloodied clothing and hands without
comment, then stepped inside and began to survey the
scene.
“Where’s the body? Upstairs?” The asset queried, his
eyes following the staircase.
Drake moved in front of him. “Yes but look, before you
go up there…”
The asset regarded him coldly, unimpressed by his
proximity; “Is there more than one?”
“No.” Drake responded almost plaintively.
“Problem?”
Drake rolled his lips together then bared his teeth in a
tense smile. “Before we deal with the physical stuff…”
He explained about the sim-stim recording that had
been deposited after he found the woman dead: the data
would have been processed externally; could the asset trace
the file to its source? More importantly for Drake, he
wanted to make sure the block of muscle had the skills
required to complete all aspects of the job; not just clear up
blood and badly sliced guts. Distantly, some part of his
mind registered a dull shock at the callous clarity of these
thoughts.
The asset shrugged indifferently. Dumped the satchel
and extracted a workstation and some dark green moulded
modules of non-descript hardware with mustard yellow
markings; military.
It took a while. There was a surreal sense of waiting in
the lounge of a chic tech-clinic, if you ignored the blood
stains. Drake retook his position on the bottom step and
quietly squirmed as the nameless asset sat in an armchair
and frowned into the electronic glow of the workstation; he
was surprised the man was using a hardscreen, would have
expected him to be plugged into some interface, meshing
with the data within a virt. But he didn’t interrupt to ask
questions. Just watched as subtle ripples in the asset’s
otherwise fixed expression of intense focus revealed
moments of discovery; it was clear a story was unfolding.
Finally the asset closed down the workstation and began
to pack all of the hardware away; the man’s features were
set with grim determination.
Drake couldn’t contain the questions any longer. “What
did you find? Where did the stim recording come from?
Have you been able to wipe away the digital prints of me
even coming here?”
The asset paused and looked at him for a long moment,
before resuming packing; he answered: “I didn’t need to.
This whole location is clean.”
“Clean? What do you mean, clean?”
“There’s another drill-head at work here. Your phonetag’s
active but leaving no trace. All the security here is
disabled. This whole place is a killing zone.”
Drake felt the features of his face fold together as he
tried to make sense of what he was hearing. The asset
continued, neutral, business-like.
“The recording in your skull came back to you from
Zendori corp. But that’s because you made it.”
A chill breeze seemed to settle on the back of Drake’s
neck. He shuddered as the sensation sank through his
flesh, freezing him to the core, making him suddenly feel
very light, intangible, as if he wasn’t really there.
“I made it…”
The asset shook his head with mild disdain. Zipped up
the satchel and placed it carefully on the floor. “Samia said
you sounded fucked up.”
“Explain,” Drake snapped, aggression edging the word.
“Right now Zendori Corp is going through panic and
lockdown. They’re shifting files. Changing passwords and
isolating whole chunks of core system. Somebody there
must have figured you’d blown a fuse.”
“The implant… it went wrong? I did this?”
The asset shook his head to indicate the negative; “I’d
say the implant worked a treat, considering what you
recorded. You really don’t know what you’ve done, do you?
What you are?”
“No… no I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please
what do you know?” Abruptly Drake felt utterly alone and
vulnerable in a big grown up world with hard-faced men he
didn’t understand.
“Fucking weird,” the asset chuckled. “Maaan, the blakk
bunkers are dripping with stuff you’ve recorded. I had no
idea Zendori was behind so many of them.” The asset
sounded strangely delighted by this knowledge.
“Them?” The question was weak, feeble-voiced.
“Sure, black-jacks, death-rims, anyone who wants to
find them can get hold of them somewhere on the Internet.
But your work…” The asset puffed out his lips and made
an explosive gesture with both hands. “You blow the game
apart. It must be the sim-weave, the way the algorithms
convert the nerve-impulses or whatever because there’s
almost a sense of the emotion you’re feeling when you’re
slicing those poor women up.”
The last sentence came like an accusation, hostility and
judgement only barely held back by the business
proposition now forming in the man’s smirk and glistening
eyes.
Drake tried to swallow but he couldn’t; his back teeth
where clenched down tight. He glared at the man in mute
rage. It was an anger fuelled by the vague, ghostly
memories now rising up and seething beyond the mental
fog.
The asset clapped his hands together, his smile
stretching across his face. “Zendori are going to have to pay
me a small personal fortune to keep me quiet.”
Then the back of the man’s head erupted in a spray of
brains, splintered skull and gore; a dark hole punctured
through his forehead. The gunshot must have come before
the wound but in Drake’s confused mind the events got
mixed up.
Startled, nearly paralysed in shock, he snapped his eyes
to the source of the sound even as the asset’s body
crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
Jack Warner stood in the shadows of open plan kitchen
area, adjoining the hallway and lounge. The gun held
calmly in his hand wasn’t particularly large; just black and
featureless.
Not dissimilar to the expression on Warner’s face.
A moment of silence formed and Drake stared at him,
open mouthed.
“I’m sorry, Ulrich,” Warner stated in a clipped and
acutely strained tone. “I don’t think it worked entirely as
planned.”
“What didn’t work?”
Warner lowered the gun to his side. Gazed back at
Drake like a man who was trying to make out the nature of
a ship far out at sea. He sighed. “You’re our best asset.
The way you do… what you do, makes you
incredibly…valuable. But you were having issues. Guilt.
Feelings of persecution from invisible… from ghosts.
Flashbacks. You asked if I could fix it, so you wouldn’t
remember.”
Drake mouthed the words and it was if they came from
somebody else. “So I wouldn’t remember killing these
women?”
“Yes. It’s what you do. And people pay a lot of money to
watch.”
“I felt something sting me…” his words trailed off when
he saw Warner shake his head.
“It was the implant kicking in. Locking part of you out
of the experience. Shutting out your higher-self, I suppose,”
Warner explained. He glanced at the gun in his hand and
back at Drake. “We should get going. I’ll have people come
to clear up the mess.”
“Samia knows.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He did something with the gun and
then stuffed it into a pocket. “She can be silenced with
money and influence. I’ve cancelled your flight. I’d like to
bring you back into surgery, Ulrich. Make it right.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” Drake replied, anger frothing up
inside of his mouth. Whatever he was – a killer – he didn’t
like the idea of being used by this rodent-faced man.
Warner frowned, concerned, and began to walk towards
him holding his hands out in an open, placating gesture. “I
can fix it, Ulrich. I can make it work.”
Drake heard a sound; like a – snick, which could have
come from across the other side of the room or right beside
him.
Just before everything went black he smiled thinly at
the conscious thought, that when he woke up he’d find
another sim-recording waiting for him.

The End