Broken Pieces

Showing posts with label Dystopia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dystopia. Show all posts

Emerge: A Galatia Novel (Galatia Series) by @CDVerhoff #GoodReads #Fantasy #BookClub

Thursday, May 8, 2014

In this excerpt, due to a catastrophic disaster, the people of Galatians Bunker have been forced the surface of the Earth centuries ahead of schedule. Sixteen-year-old Josie has escaped with her mother and young niece. The fate of her other family members is unknown:
The acid air was beginning to burn Josie’s eyes. The cold invaded her like an army intent on conquering every bit of flesh and bone. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, making her muscles cramp and sending violent shivers deep through her body. She pulled the collar of one of her layered shirts over her nose, but it didn’t do much good. Bad luck to emerge in what surely must be the dead of winter. Families huddled together in groups, but she could barely make them out through the thick mists. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, the sounds of her people’s wailing would never leave her head.
Coughing spasms wracked her frame. Her head felt all woozy. She sidled up to her mother, and they sheltered Shasta between them. Speaking was becoming difficult. Josie, Shasta and Josie’s mother clung together amid the swirling fumes.
They were cheek to cheek.
“I love you, little Shasta,” mother said, voice quaking. “You too, sweet Josie.”
“I love you too, Mom.” Josie’s chest felt constricted. Through a fit of coughing she asked, “Do you think Feenie and Jo made it?”
“Shhh,” Mom said, her legs slowly crumpling beneath her weight, but Josie held her up. “We’re all going to be fine—just fine.”
Josie felt the poisoned air weakening her as well. In her despair, fear turned to sadness. I’m not ready to die, she sobbed inside, thinking of Shasta, who was only a little girl, and Nicholas, so innocent and sweet, who had been swallowed up by the crowd. Josie wasn’t sure which religion had it right about God, if any, but she shook a fist at Him or Her for good measure. “This is so unfair!”
Then, up on a hill, a bright light burned away the fog. The tainted mists parted to reveal a barren wasteland. There were no trees, no vegetation of any kind, or any life whatsoever. And there on the summit, a lone figure stood above the world, glowing as if illuminated from within.
“Is that the mayor?” someone asked.
“Red Wakeland, Junior,” her mother whispered. “What are you up to?”
“Is it some kind of super charisma?” Josie gasped.
Surely, there was no reason to expect salvation, but seeing him like that planted the seed of hope.
They watched him reach the summit, where he turned in a circle, and stretched his hands toward the sky. The blaze emanating from him grew brighter. In a voice like thunder, he called out to the heavens, “In the name of my father!”
A burst of energy radiated from his body like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond. He dissipated the tainted green mists and the mustard-colored clouds engulfing the land. The pulse went right through Josie, setting her nerve endings on fire. Intense white burned her eyes through her closed lids. Then came a boom, so deep and vibrato she thought that her veins would explode.
Sure that she was being incinerated, Josie wanted her final words to be lofty ones, but all she could muster up was, “Here we go!”
 
The last survivors of the human race are riding out nuclear winter in an underground bunker when disaster strikes. Forced to the surface centuries ahead of schedule, what they find blows their minds. Who can explain it? Two social misfits work together to unravel the mystery.
After living in a posh underground shelter his entire life, Lars Steelsun is plunged headfirst into a mind-blowing adventure on the surface of the Earth. As Lars and his displaced bunker mates are led across the grasslands by Mayor Wakeland, a man of questionable sanity who claims to talk with God, they discover a primitive world where human beings are no longer welcome. Even more mystifying is the emergence of new senses and abilities from within. Learning to use them has become a priority, but his biggest challenge comes from the vivacious Josie Albright. Her lust for glory is going to get them both into trouble. Sparks fly when her gung ho ways clash with his cautious personality. Can they overcome their differences to find love and a homeland for their people?
May not be suitable for younger readers. Contains mild profanity, sexual situations (infrequent), and violence. 
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre - Epic Fantasy
Rating – R
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Elliot C. Mason Journeys Inside the Mind of the #Author @ArthurRay44 #AmWriting #AmReading

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Inside the Mind of the Author
Psychiatrist: Hello. Sit down [smiling falsely, like a dentist preparing the drill, airport security guards stretching the wristband of their rubber gloves]. Make yourself comfortable [holding left hand out invitingly, too openly to be honest].
Patient: Hi. How’s it going? The doctor said I should just come and have a chat with you [slumping into the chair, right leg crossed over the left, causing right leg of trouser to raise and reveal a shameless lack of socks, instead shoes topped only by bed of entwined hair]. I’m not mental... obviously. The doctor said to just come and chat. I’ve been stressed, and... you know...
Psychiatrist: Yes. So, tell me why you think the doctor would recommend you to come and speak to me?
Patient: Look, don’t psychiatrize me, I’m not an alcoholic or a bar-fighter or a wife-beater, I’m not even vegetarian anymore – not really, anyway. I heard, I don’t know if you heard about it, but I heard that beer isn’t vegetarian. Isn’t that strange? I just picture them slitting the poor, useless beast’s throat and hanging it over the barrel whilst all the masked murderers hold its legs and laugh, puffing profusely on perpetual cigarettes. I’ll tell you what, I learnt most of my infinitely wide vocabulary whilst taking drugs in a swimming pool in a town I’m sure you’ve heard of [now sweating, leaning forwards into right knee, pumping upwards and downwards, occasionally wiping sweat from forehead, grinning] but I wouldn’t want to repeat it because you know what people get like around celebrities who have been places. 
Oh, it’s such a drag. It’s been so hot today, I almost felt like loosening my tie but we all remember what happened the last time I did that. Anyway, I’m Poor Richard and I live in Battersea, at the bathtub hotel between the green sugar plants where the Polish badger shelter plays the jazz trio whose name I can’t remember, and upside down is in my pants who stalk the bait that the hippy fishermen with eggs and mohicans use to comb their slender silver sausages up in rainbow haven maven. 
Hi, sorry about that. Shut up! Sorry. I’m Pete the Boiler, can you turn me down? I’m sweating. Oh shiny hole driven beetroot soup, I need the plant and my cane to walk up the synagogue and tell God that He’s not mine and I don’t care where He goes anymore, since He left me waiting for Him at the turnpike in Bedford by the crane-shaped flamingo who had feathers just like a peacock. And it’s such a funny word. And your beatnik juice smells like Arthur syrup. 
Stop it. Shut up! Terribly dismaying interruption, I know, but they’re always at it. I’m Jane the Jerusalem Recital – pleasure to meet you [sticking out soggy hand into stagnant air, waiting, bait waiting to be snapped by the piranhas]. All that Smiley Anne ever says is ‘giddy up your snowball or fall into the ice age and terrorise the foul-mouthed pigeons who spit on your carrot laser beams,’ which I don’t understand at all so she’s the one who should be in here – not me. 
What exactly have I done? What is my crime? Huh? Because these bastards shout from my mouth and torture me endlessly with false pretences of release from this miserable prison, I must be punished yet further! This is ridiculous, unnecessary cruelty and my own hands ache trying to touch myself because the pleasure of the uninvited inhabitants will equally be executed.  
Vete a fuera de esta mente ocupada, tu n’es pas bienvenu ici! Cercare un’altra mente per tormentare! Ich hoffe du finde Hass und Tod!  
Out of this wretched abode! We shall find you a place to live, once I can relieve the drains of the metal slaps that enclose them, oil you up and slip you straight down there! Hang on to the sides and your punishment will double, little bitch friend! And the sore reality of constantly worshipping false deities in cups and cans is revealed when the story is unfolded, and alcohol streams into the conscience of those brave enough to listen, and that’s how it all started.
GoodnightGustavKlein
A stark dystopian world of insatiable greed and ceaseless distraction is that of young Gustav Klein, a German twenty-three-year-old who has just sold his hotel in Munich. He is looking for nothing more than escape. The modern gadgets which flash their endless advertisements are locking society inside brick houses, allowing them to be dumbed-down further by the money-hungry gremlins in the high towers. 
Gustav Klein, meanwhile, begins a journey over the myriad terrains of Europe, through countless bottles on the corner of morbid winter streets, coloured by the peculiar characters he encounters, some who bestow upon him their wisdom, some who fuel his disdain, some who ignite his desires, and some who merely drink with him until they hit the floor in a merry temperament. But the hedonistic, aimless rambling must come to end, for life calls. And Gustav lands on a mountain in Scotland, searching for release, for total nature, untouched by the destructive hand of man. 
But, it seems, it is too late... In this harrowing tale of youthful rebellion, dark nihilism on the road, heavy drinking beatniks, political adversity and the capricious desires of the gluttonous modern man, the reader is taken by the hand firmly and hauled into a bleak world where every man lives for himself. Close your eyes if you are scared, but you cannot escape.
Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords
Genre – Travel, Political, Dystopia, Romance
Rating – PG15
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Connect with Elliot C. Mason on Facebook & Twitter