Five: Episode Forty-seven is based off the following book excerpt from my science fiction, supernatural, thriller, The Contingency Generation.
His breath sounds come in a regular pattern. I slip from his arms and edge across the bed to the side of the mattress. From there I allow one foot to drop to the floor. By displacing part of my weight, I’m able to rise with very little disruption.
On my way to the door, Fol turns over. I become a statue, but sounds of snoring soon fill the room again. He’s oblivious to my departure.
Not wanting to waken the staff or alert Fol to my absence, I move through the house using only my wrist light.
I’ve become blind to important details. I always thought I was talented with observation and conclusions. Even tonight, when Fol boasted about his supply and delivery credentials and claimed he’d provide the very soul for his own father’s resurrection, I immediately saw through his words. I recognized his peculiar brand of nonsense as a relentless push towards a goal and an attempt to promote my confidence. His catchall formula, that if I rely on him then all my troubles will be remedied, is a familiar anthem.
I’m sinking under the weight of Fol’s mockery. There’s always a bit of truth to his claims. His transport business could not exist without worldwide connections. Perhaps one of those contacts knows something about Kate, the messages, or the attempt on my life. But who? What do they know? How can I lack explanations to so many pieces?
One thing is clear. My life has been hijacked. I don’t have answers to personal matters, and now with resurrection, an achievement I’ve spent my whole life work to gain, there seems to be a significant flaw. Re-populating our declining species with ruthless nihilists is not part of the plan.
I fumble with the study door. My entrance turns on the light and sweeps darkness away from the room. I’ve let Fol think he’s bartered my ignorance for his benefit. However, game or not, if I resurrect his father, then I’ll keep my leadership role more secure. The benefit is mutual.
But that’s my problem. In keeping the bargain, I’m choosing to ignore my burden of responsibility.
I sit in the nubuck chair and lift the ebony elephant, a gift from Fol, one of many in the newly decorated reaches of the study. I inspect the engraving on the crystal tusks and find it’s a reminder of the day we met. I quickly switch off the cam-featured quadropod and place it facing away from me on the back corner of the desk. The scribbles I write are for my vision only.
Years ago Kate showed me her way of diagramming problems. Sometimes it helps.
The fact is I can’t close my eyes to unknowns. If the component of human life that makes a human a human and not an animal does not revive when the physical body is resurrected, then we’re tampering in matters much greater than life and death. Whether Fol knows it or not, we are as opposite as night and day on the matter. This evening’s fight shows exactly how.
Fol takes chances. He likes to gamble, but I am not interested in chances. Beneficial science requires prudent action.
I pull a shawl off the back of the chair and wrap it around me. Then, picking Unaltered Magenta from the color pallet, I write “Resurrection” with my fingertip. My action immediately shoots illuminated color across the inky desktop screen.
This blog post is an excerpt from my supernatural thriller, Five, presented in rough draft version. The posts appear weekly as my story development progresses. The story snippets will likely be full of typos, garbage, and confusion. I’m sure to regret allowing readers a sneak peak of the chaos involved in this process of making a finished book.
Someday, if I still have an audience, my book(s) and screenplays will be polished and for sale. Until then, my story snippets are free, but payment by “subscribing” with your email would be a nice gesture. For doing this you might get a discount on my purchasable work should that day ever arrive. All you get now is a notice via email of a new story episode that I have ready to read on my “blog.” I don’t sell my email list or do anything else with it.
Why am I doing this stupid and terrible thing—letting readers see my “off the cuff” story writing?
Book industry experts say that in today’s world of book marketing, an unknown author must build their own sales platform. I’m supposed to advance my platform by collecting readers, and for now, by blogging. Since I can’t imagine blogging about what I had for breakfast or the things my cat does, then instead, I’m blogging fiction excerpts of my work(s) in progress.
Thanks for slogging along. Maybe we’ll meet on a bookshelf someday.