SHATTER

Here is a snippet from my YA Urban Fantasy novel, SHATTER, for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday!  Making the final edits and will be querying soon.

SHATTER is a story about Rosilyn Piccolo, squatter kid extraordinaire, who unravels the mystery of her immortal boyfriend's disappearance with the help of an eclectic group of wharf-rat-wannabes and an ancient iron skillet. This is the opening.

***

Rosilyn Piccolo anchored her feet on the fringe of the alley and held the rock with a tight fist. Ahead, cloaked in light that emanated down from the lamppost, a sculptured lawn carpeted the ground surrounding the back porch of the house. Nothing physically separated Rosilyn from the yard, or her from the house, but still, she hesitated. 

Otto stood beside her, his gaze roaming through the dark alley. They had just finished their night shift at the Carbonics Plant, and the night had not ended well. Not that it ever did, but she wouldn't mind if just once work concluded with good news, or no news at all. She breathed heavily, wishing she were home, but the delay seemed fitting, considering.

Making Time for Christmas

The Christmas season has been upon us for some time now, and if you are like me than prioritizing obligations, family time and other activities becomes a challenge. There are Christmas tasks left undone, flour in the pantry that never finds the oven, Christmas cards in blank sealed envelops, decorations still in the crates.  A present forgotten at the store...  And oh, isn't it time to put up that tree? Let's not forget that it takes a day to find the right tree, and another two before it's fully decorated, and during this time you are reminded of responsibilities unrelated to Christmas that must be tackled.

Life Interruptus.

Sometimes I wonder why fight the traffic. Sometimes I think that the meaning of Christmas has dissipated into the seams of my purse. Sometimes I resent the interruption of my daily routine and question the validity of Jesus' birthday being in December in the first place. But these are fleeting thoughts, and actually, I cherish the interruption to my life.

Miraculously, Christmas chores get done, and that morning, sitting by the tree, everything seems right with the world and troubles are forgotten. There is nothing better than watching the eyes of my children come alive while I manage my third cup of coffee. It is one of the few times when traffic sounds disappear, savory smells linger in the kitchen and families everywhere are reunited. When I sit down to that splendid dinner in the company of family my angst vanishes.

Regardless of your religious denomination, Christmas is a season to celebrate God and family. That's what it's all about. This Christmas open your hearts to those who need your love, open your minds to new ideas, and cherish the memories.

Merry Christmas!

The Red Chair

What will remain when civilization is gone,

  When the trees shed their leaves on quiet ground,

     And whispers no longer travel in the breeze?

    What will remain when the shadows disappear,

       From our sights, from our hearts, from our minds?

So careless are we to make fortresses of stone,

Which linger long after caregivers die.

So careless of us to assume the remains
Will rot like dead flesh, and blend with the Earth,
in carbon like ribbons that shred over time.

What will remain when civilization is gone?
Where will our souls rest when our spirits get tired,
When our feet no longer wander too far?
Clothed in red vinyl unfit for the end,
The chair waits,
Alone by the window,
For us.

                                                - T. M. Crone

_____________

The Red Chair was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by the red chair.

Norma and the Fiddler of Gurg

Here is a snippet for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday from my short story "Norma and the Fiddler of Gurg."

"Norma and the Fiddler of Gurg" explores what would happen if LA burned, which is known to happen, occasionally. Norma is plucked from the highway and transported to a sanctuary light years from Earth where she meets Harvey Daniels, the long-haired fiddler of Gurg. "Norma and the Fiddler of Gurg" was first published by Labyrinth Inhabitant Magazine, May 2009, and can now be found in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS. 

***

On the last day of spring, Norma's house burned down. Horrific thought it seemed, Norma considered it a blessing, almost liberating, the ultimate sign that she should leave Los Angeles. Truth be told, it wasn't the fire that convinced her to go away, but the fact LA had been abandoned, along with the malls, the convenience stores and the grocery markets. The heat had driven anyone who thought they were someone off to find a more habitable home.

Driving north on the San Diego Freeway after most people had already fled LA, Norma adjusted the car radio, looking for a station that still broadcasted the news. Static.

She slapped the steering wheel with both hands. "Damn." Now there was no telling what lay ahead.

_______

You can read more snippets from the #sffs group here.

The Lacanto Project

Here's another snippet from THE LACANTO PROJECT, my dystopian science fantasy novel for which I am seeking a home. THE LACANTO PROJECT is not all grim. There are some humorous characters trickled in, like Hag, the soothsayer who keeps an eye on events to make sure the prophecies come to fruition smoothly. In this scene, Hag comes to remind Devon that he has a job to do.

***

Devon jerked his head back inside, banging it on the window’s edge. Hag stood behind him dripping wet, the thick pig’s ear necklace she wore covering most of her face. Her crooked nose jutted from its center like the tail of a boar’s ass. She looked like a life-sized troll doll dressed up for a slumlord’s barbecue. “What are you doing here?"

Hag glanced down at his days-worn clothing and shook her head. “I was wondering the same about you.”

He just about laughed out loud at the sight of her. “I’m fixing a window. Did you come here to give me news or to torment me?”

The Lacanto Project

Here is another snippet for #ssfsat from my dystopian science fantasy novel THE LACANTO PROJECT for which I am actively seeking an agent/publisher. THE LACANTO PROJECT  is about an assassin who discovers that she is the genetic link necessary for the rise of a prophet in a dystopian world.

In this scene, Devon takes Nashi to the morgue to identify the body of her slain mentor.

***

Devon led Nashi to Vault-18 and pulled open the square door, bringing a body with it. Holding up the lantern so that its light reflected down on the corpse, he snapped back the sheath that covered the cadaver and stepped aside.

She shut her eyes for a moment and then gazed at the gray body, haunting in the dim light, and she suddenly went numb.

“Well?” Devon said in a razor sharp tone.

Nashi took a deep breath. She had seen hundreds of dead people, most having been her victims, either killed during practice or on her missions, but she had never seen one she knew as intimately as Tamron. Viewing his naked still body lying on the metal slab left a hollowness in the pit of her gut. It were as if a piece of her lay on the table.

Devon hung the lantern on a hook above the vault and moved the corpse’s head from side-to-side. She saw the small puncture wounds behind Tamron’s earlobes, an indication to the tortuous nature of his death.

The Sentinels

"The Sentinels" was first published in Alternative Coordinates, March 2009. It can now be found in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS.   

"The Sentinels" is about a body part salvager caught up in the middle of an intergalactic bug war.

This snippet is the opening scene of "The Sentinels." Its writing grew out of my fear for spiders.

***

Jacs and his partners found the Sacarvian village, Eelon, at sunrise. Never, in all his years as a freelance salvager, had he encountered something this strange. Fungi-like plants circled Eelon, and a spidery mist entwined the huts. He tugged at the green jumpsuit he wore that stuck to his body at uncomfortable places and dropped his backpack, harvesting tools and PD (preservation/decontamination) sacks spilling out by his feet.

Soop stood beside him, his red dreadlocks swaying as he scanned the village. "Maybe we're at the wrong place."

Not possible, Jacs thought. The attack had been here. He had been given the coordinates by the Hutans themselves.

But where were the bodies?