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 Yellow Stone

Here's something less gruesome for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday, a snippet from my short story, "The Yellow Stone." "The Yellow Stone" was first published in 2009 by Eternal Press. It can now be found in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS, available at amazon.com. The premise for this story arose out of the events of 9/11 with the following thought: "It is not what people look like that defines a nation, it is how they live." This excerpt is the opening scene of the story.

***

Lozan Kiowa entered her village just before dawn. She could hear the thrum quieting as whispers rose above the RAT-tat-tat-tat-tat and echoed off the canyon walls. Wars songs, in another time, but for her the inaudible chants signified another failed journey and reinforced the other villagers' suspicion that maybe there wasn't anyone out there.

With a strong desire not to become a disbeliever, Lozan trudged into her family's adobe and found Moma Kiowa laying on her bedroll. Her grandmother struggled to her feet and hobbled over to her with wide arms.

"Lozan, the early winter winds have brought you home." The old woman spoke with a guttural voice, like someone had tossed pebbles down her throat and they rattled every time she opened her mouth. She squeezed what remained of Lozan's strength right out of her.

"Low-spirits brought us back," Lozan said. "That and a longing for home."

The poignant smile on Moma's face gave Lozan little reassurance that there really was a place called home. Certainly, this village was not it. Her people had lived in the canyons for centuries, but it never felt quite right to her.

The Lacanto Project

Here is a snippet for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday. This is another excerpt taken 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 needed for the rise of a prophet in a dystopian world. This scene is near the middle of the story when the secondary character, Devon Han, finds his lover dead.

***

Devon hovered in Sadie Jane’s bedroom doorway, gazing at her naked body laying on the bloodied carpet. An icy pain rammed down his throat, and he forced his legs to move toward her in small, quivering steps. She wore a red wig, the one with the long soft ringlets, his favorite, which was now tainted with blood. Her middle breast had been sliced off, and a knife had been put in its place between the two remaining breasts. Her arms were folded over her abdomen, a knife thrust into her hands, locking them together. Another blade was jammed in her overlapping feet, and eight additional blades purged the sides of her body.

He trembled looking at the grotesque sight before him, its symbolism clear as the ominous shroud that cloaked his soul. Eleven blades thrust into the body of an intimately acquainted redhead at places that were eternally and painfully engraved in his mind.

His breaths came in spastic waves, and he fell to his knees. He stroked Sadie Jane’s swan-like neck, cold and gray, and inspected the base of her head and around her ears with probing fingers. And there it was.