Friday, 4 November 2016

ELSA will not be challenged!

ELSA will not be challenged. Taken from Future Perfect.

I don’t give them a chance to answer. The guns are in position and ready.

There are seventeen people directly in the weapons’ lines of sight - eight women, three men and six children.

All guns fire simultaneously. Smoke billows into the air and bodies fall soundlessly to the ground, holes torn in their soft human flesh. One woman twists as she falls, probably dead before she hits the ground. But in perhaps that last moment of life, of awareness, she pulls a young child against her, shields his body with her own. She topples on top of him, saving his life with the sacrifice of her own. It’s to be in vain.

I roll the assignment vehicle over the dead and the dying, unable to hear the crush of bones, the wet squelching of ruptured organs, under its weight, but satisfied of the outcome nonetheless. This sector decided its fate the moment it did not comply with my demands. There will be no mercy. There cannot be.

It's war!

Working on Future Perfect today and it looks as if there's a war brewing...

It is more important than ever that the world these children are born into, is as stable and as bountiful as it can be.

In another part of the Dome, I roll open the shutter doors and send the modified assignment vehicle through.

I track every metre of its progress back to the renegade sector. Through the artificial eyes of the satellites I see it roll steadily across the grass and wasteland, keeping to as straight a line as possible to decrease distance.

Seen in this way, a single object moving in an otherwise still frame, there is an inherent beauty to it, a line of symmetry, a form of both grace and refinement that I have not previously noticed. It is as if I am seeing it for the very first time.

Happy Reading!

Thursday, 3 November 2016

Back to work!

Here is the latest on the current book:-

Mitchell’s right, she’s enormous. From the look of her, you’d think she was at least six months pregnant. Yet she is barely more than six weeks.

“You’ve grown so much!” I can’t stop myself from exclaiming.

“I know!” She laughs. “Goodness knows the size I’ll be by the end!” Her words cause an involuntary shiver up my spine. What else will she be by the end, I wonder. Dead?
The thought comes from out of nowhere, attacks my conscience with its vivid  imagery – Helena, grotesquely swollen, her stomach torn asunder as if the foetuses have exploded from there in a shower of gore and carnage. Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back down and hold it there by force of will.  
Happy Reading!