First things first I have a really funny picture to share (it’s super cute too).
Did you like that picture? Good, I’m glad, but don’t go away yet. Now As this title suggests, I am going to share with another side of myself. It’s the wild side of my life.
No, I’m not a tease. How could say that when you already KNOW the answer?! I’m a writer and I’m going to share with you a little tease(r) from my novel Black Ice, of which you can find the prologue here and then come back this Wednesday for Chapter 1. You are coming back Wednesday, right? Oh and don’t forget about tomorrow. I post every day, you know. Okay, so I don’t post EVERYDAY (I’m still cursing November 24th for that), but I’ve only missed one day since I started this blog in October. I just have to make sure I’m very technical so I don’t piss any of you guys off and invoke any unwarranted comments, threats, stalkings or physical attacks. Not that I’m suggesting any of my faithful readers to do so (although I wouldn’t put it past about 1/8th of you).
Forget I said that and just read this little smidgin from Black Ice and, please share with me what you thought!
Now – please hold your applause – here is a teaser for Black Ice:
“I told you, Brill. I don’t want to give you any more of that garbage.” Alia Sin’s words came out sounding like a lecture and his orange tinted face was unimpressed. He was a Fienian, and had all the discernable features of that species. Black, tired eyes sat underneath a ridged forehead and four small horns protruded from his orange scalp.
Brill looked distraught, frustration spread out across her pale face. “I just,” she protested in a desperate voice. “I really just need some.” Her thick, purple-grey hair hung in a ponytail past her shoulders, which were thin and bony. Her whole body was thin, with sunken cheeks, skeletal hands and a waist the size of a child; all characteristics of the Boranese people from Borania, her ancestors’ home world.
Sin sighed and tried not to clench his fists. Instead, he wrapped them around the edge of his simple, metal desk. “You don’t need to, girl,” he said, hoping to convince her.
Brill held her hands together in a pleading gesture. The blank walls felt even colder today, because the usual playful mood shared between the two was simply not there. “We don’t need to fight,” Brill said. “We’re friends, and friends help each other.”
“I am helping you,” Sin explained, his frustration returning. His long, pointed ears slightly folded back, as always happened when he was displeased. “You don’t need that stuff,” he told her as he started fidgeting with a glass ornament on his desk. It had been a present from Brill, given to him many years ago. It was an old, cheap, glass ornament blown into the shape of some spacecraft that neither could identify, or were even sure was a real model. But it is one of Sin’s favourite possessions, he had adored it from the moment he received it. “You can’t even afford it,” Sin told her, more of a lecture than a piece of advice.
Brill cringed a little for a moment, the glass ship making her think about their long friendship and how, at times like now, it could be just as fragile as that ship. “It’s payday, Sin,” Brill reminded him. “Take it out of my pay. I don’t care.”
Sin just shook his head. “You need that money.” Business hasn’t been that good here, Brill. You know that.” He looked around at his bare walls, still hurting from having to sell all of his hangings just to pay the rent on his dive of a bar. “And I don’t want you to have that stuff.”
“We’ve known each other a long time,” Brill reminded him with words accompanied by a harsh stare. “And I’m your best server, you know that.” There was no arrogance in what she said; it was just simply the truth. “I’m a responsible person,” she continued, arguing in her defense. “And you know that it won’t affect my work. I won’t even take any of it during work.”
Another sigh escaped through Sin’s orange lips. “I know that,” he acknowledged. “But don’t you ever think of the effects of that stuff? It’s poison for you, girl. Poison.” There was truth in what he said, as well as genuine concern for Brill. “Don’t you think you’ve been doing it long enough? That stuff is for people who have even less than you and I. It’s for people who have nothing to live for.” He set his ship down, careful not to break it and leaned back into the chair. “You got something to live for, Brill. You could one day get out of this dump and make something better for yourself. The crap you want is no good for you.”
Brill wasn’t sure how she could be angry with her dear friend, but her frustration just took over. “If you’ve got such moral standards, why do sell the stuff at all?” She looked away for a second, trying to push down the guilt she was starting to feel. “You’ll sell it to anyone who comes in this joint, so why won’t you help out a friend. It’s not like I don’t have the money.”
“I only started selling it so that it would help pay for rent.” He hoped that he would justify his stance, rather than appear as more of a hypocrite. “That’s all I’m doing. I plan on stopping once business gets better.”
“Business isn’t going to get better,” Brill snapped. “The rich keep getting richer, and the rest of us damned down here are just getting damned-er.”
“All the new bars and clubs seem to be doing okay,” Sin retorted. “We’ll get this one back up to that level.”
Brill shook her head. “That’s the problem, Sin,” she said, sounding more rational. “We’re not going to get there. People down here have smaller and smaller pockets, so they’d sooner spend their money at places like the Lunar Lounge and Star Bar. You have to face the cold facts. Black Ice just isn’t mainstream anymore.” She shrugged her small shoulders. “That’s just the way it goes down here, at the ass end of Jallin.”
Don’t miss Black Ice – Chapter 1 coming Wednesday, December 5, 2012.
What did you think of this little teaser? Or the poem, for that matter, too?
Thanks for reading guys!
- The Disappearing Poet (allninemuses.wordpress.com)
- Inspired by Poetry (thereadingworkshop.com)
- How To Break A Poet’s Heart – Poem by J.Gawrych (inparenthesesmag.com)
- Homage to Dead Poets (musingbymoonlight.com)