The Peelers

I was born for one purpose. My duty in life is to provide nourishment to the Peelers, to help fuel their lives by giving my own. My life was dark for some time, a flash of brightness before I and my brothers were taken away from our home. I don’t know how much time passed between then and now, but here I sit surrounded by my brothers waiting to be chosen, to be given my chance to live.

I am still a young creature, firm and green like my brothers. I know that now, in the Choosing Place, is a critical time for us. If we are allowed to age on these shelves, we will die uneaten. Our coats will rot and we will turn to slime and there will be only regret and despair until there is nothing more. Our lives will be a waste.

We are thrown carelessly into a basket by a Peeler, all of my brothers and I. I am filled with joy to know that we have passed this critical test. We circle the Choosing Place as distant cousins and foreign things are thrown into the basket next to us. We come to the Gates of Freedom in the Choosing Place and the Handler puts us in bags for the Peeler.

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My Bookshelf: The Enterprise of Death

Title: The Enterprise of Death

Author: Jesse Bullington

Genre: Fantasy/Historical Fiction

Amazon Summery:
“As the witch-pyres of the Spanish Inquisition blanket Renaissance Europe in a moral haze, a young African slave finds herself the unwilling apprentice of an ancient necromancer. Unfortunately, quitting his company proves even more hazardous than remaining his pupil when she is afflicted with a terrible curse. Yet salvation may lie in a mysterious tome her tutor has hidden somewhere on the war-torn continent.

She sets out on a seemingly impossible journey to find the book, never suspecting her fate is tied to three strangers: the artist Niklaus Manuel Deutsch, the alchemist Dr. Paracelsus, and a gun-slinging Dutch mercenary. As Manuel paints her macabre story on canvas, plank, and church wall, the young apprentice becomes increasingly aware that death might be the least of her concerns.”

Jeers:

  • The start was a bit slow and like all historical fiction I had trouble with all the names.

Cheers:

  • Everything about this book was brilliant.
  • The characters were wonderful.
  • The plot didn’t drag on even though it was a long book.
  • The magic was very well done.

Would I recommend it?:
Yes, to everyone! Disclaimer though, there are some weird bits people might have a problem with, like dead lesbian sex and murder and all that. However, I still loved it. It’s now one of my favorite books and I can’t wait to read the rest of the author’s novels.

Amazon link:

http://www.amazon.com/Enterprise-Death-Jesse-Bullington/dp/0316087343

DEAD

You know who I am. I’m the person no one likes. I’m the person no one wants to sit with at lunch. I’m the person who everyone knows is bad news. I’m the one person that you will always hate, even if you don’t know my name. I’m the freak, the loser, the weirdo. The one who’s different. I’m the one who no one will ever give a chance. The one who just can’t take it any more.

And you know what? I’m everywhere.

And you know me. Don’t pretend like you don’t. I’m the girl you tease because I still have braces. I’m the boy you shove in lockers just because I can’t fight back. I’m the girl you call a lesbian just because you don’t like me. I’m the boy you strip naked and tie to a goal post just because you want to have a little fun.

Because, really, we’re all just having a bit of fun. That boy you spit on for four years straight is having a real laugh with his therapist. That girl you teased until she took a blade to her wrist will smile proudly as she shows the scars from when she tried to take her own life. Its all just fun. Nothing serious, just a little joke.

That’s the problem with the world. Teenagers shouldn’t be taken seriously, as everyone knows. We don’t know anything. We’re just hormonal. There isn’t anything for us to be depressed about, we’re just kids. We can’t be so pressured to get into good schools and make good money that we have mild psychotic breaks, because our moms still cook us dinner every night. Our problems aren’t real, because we’re the children of middle class families. Our fears are simply foolish, because what we fear is nothing compared to the horrible reality of life. Our tears don’t matter, because a little name calling isn’t enough to knock the earth off it’s axis. Our love isn’t real, because we haven’t lived yet. We haven’t lived yet, and some of us won’t live at all.

5000.

That’s how many teenagers will kill themselves each year. But its not that bad, right? It could be worse, right? It could be 5500, or 6000, or 8000, right? There are billions of people in the world, so 5000 doesn’t matter, right? No one liked those 5000 kids anyways. They were just the kids who had bad hair and wore the wrong clothes and talked with a lisp and couldn’t play sports. They’re just the boy you make fun of and the girl you trip in the halls.

500000.

That’s a much bigger number, right? That’s the number of teens who try to kill themselves each year. Do you know how big a number that is? No? Think of Wyoming. The state. Look it up. See how big it is? About 500000 people live in Wyoming.

But its okay. No one really likes that state anyways. It’s nothing compared with California, Pennsylvania, or even Idaho. Wyoming is just a nothing little state. It’s unspectacular in every way. No one would even notice if everyone from Wyoming just died.

Excuses.

Would anyone notice if you died? Would the football team be able to find a new running back? Would the cheerleaders be able to complete their pyramid? Would your funeral be filled with crying friends and family? Would that girl that hates herself so much that she starves herself be missed? Or how about that boy who everyone is nice to, just nice, not friendly, because they all think he’s going to come to school with a gun?

Are you going to take teenagers seriously now?

I know I’m not. We’re just a bunch of whiners. I can’t think about killing myself without picturing someone saying how dramatic I was by jumping off the bridge. Or hanging from a tree. Or laying on the floor with an empty pill bottle in my hand.

Dead.

5001?

Isn’t it sad that down to my death I’m thinking only of what others think of me? I can only think about if maybe someone will talk to me or even smile at me or even wave at me just so that I could have a little hope. Shouldn’t I be able to go through life a strong, singular person?

No. I shouldn’t wait for friends or life or happiness. I should be that strong person and take matters into my own hands. I know how to stop the name calling. I know how to stop people from stepping on me. I know how to make just about every unpleasant thing in my life stop.

By stopping my life.

So here’s my plan. I’m not going to take anyone down with me. If someone else wants to stop their hurting, they’ll have to have the guts to do it themselves. No, what I’m going to do is make as many people hurt as possible. Not physical hurt, mind you. Just guilt. Remorse. Sadness.

I want you to feel as bad I do. I want everyone to read this. I want you to go to bed at night wishing that you could die too because it was you who killed me. You are the knife that cuts my wrist. You are the rope that stops my breath. You are the bullet that blasts through my brain.

Oh my. A gun. I wonder if I could get that into school.

So, will you take things seriously? I wouldn’t if I were you. I mean, 5000. That’s it. Today, I’ll be one of those 5000. You won’t see anyone at my funeral. You won’t see anyone asking me why I did it. You won’t see anyone missing me.

You’ll just see yourself in the mirror. Can you see yourself now? Look at that face. The face that everyone loves. That is the person who helped kill me. With your hate. With your actions. With your words.

Fat. Ugly. Freak. Faggot. Idiot. Spaz. Weirdo. Douchebag. Slut. Dumbass. Whore. Moron. Bastard. Twat. Skank. Dipshit. Asswipe. Asshole. Dult. Fatass. Bitch. Dork. Pussy. Jackass. Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser.

So after reading this, go to the empty classroom on the third floor. I’ll be there. I’ll be there and I’ll be waiting to burn the image of my dead body into the mind of all the students in the school. Has someone, a teacher perhaps, stopped people from going in? Push past them. Push into the classroom to see me dead. A real live dead person. Is there a lot of blood? And I a swinger? How did I do it? I don’t know yet. But you’ll know. You’ll know and you’ll remember it forever. Are the cops there yet? Did someone call the police? Did anyone scream? Faint? Puke? I bet you’ll faint if you haven’t seen me yet. You big chicken. Go look at me. I can’t hurt you. I’m dead as dead as dead. Someone trying to keep you out again? Tell them I sent you. I want you to look at me, no matter what! I want you to help everyone else get a look at me too. Step right up, folks, and see a real dead person! No gimmicks, no scams, and it’s only five dollars!

Just kidding. I won’t take your money. You can’t buy anything when you’re dead.


 

If you’re having suicidal thoughts please call 1 (800) 273-8255, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

This is a complete work of fiction. 

Flash Fiction – The Train

 

The people walk in grim silence. Their clothes are plain and their faces hold no expression. They walk in formation: quick steps, arms close to the body, heads down. All of them are older; they never allowed the children to stay. The children would only return once they too were broken.

The town is gray; both the houses and the people. The only noise comes from the wind blowing through the streets and the footsteps of the people. Work is letting out. It is time to leave the factories and return home. Not to their loved ones, but strangers. Alliances of any kind are not allowed in the town. Family and friends can only connect underground. Being caught making such connections meant death. Instant death.

A patrol car drives through town. The people walk quicker, make themselves smaller. The warden inside the car scans them carefully. Anyone different will be taken into custody. However, the warden sees nothing wrong and drives on to the next town. The people sigh in relief.

The last of the factory workers are being let out. They cross the train tracks running through town. The lights come on, the barriers go down. They stop and wait for the train. Such a noisy thing, it is. In a town such as this, the train is deafening. Some people cover their ears.

Just as the train approaches, a woman jumps on the track. “This is not a life!” she yells. The train conductor makes no effort to stop for her. Her blood stains the area with a bright burst of red. The warden will not be happy about the bright color. Someone innocent will answer for it.

The train fades into the distance and the people scurry home. It’s just another day.

 

 

My Bookshelf: Muse Unexpected

Image

Title: Muse Unexpected

Author: V.C. Birlidis

Genre: Urban Fantasy?

Amazon Summary:

“We’re Muses. Not vampires, not fairies, not werewolves. We’re Muses.” Sophie was sure her mother had reached an epic level of crazy. ‘We’re Muses?’ She thought Muses were lame, not to mention she found the idea ridiculous. However, Sophie couldn’t explain away her physical transformation that made Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries look like a bad Walmart make-over, not to mention why her mood swings triggered an uncontrollable ability to shoot powerful bursts of energy out of her hands.

Sophie soon realizes modern day Muses have evolved into powerful guardians of humankind, tasked with keeping mortals on the right path and the original Olympians locked away from the world. But old hatreds don’t die easily, especially for immortal enemies that have an eternity to plot and gather their forces. Well aware of the Fates’ foretelling of another Olympian war, and a young Muse that would rise up as a warrior and defeat them, the Olympians have vowed to either possess Sophie or destroy her. Either way, they will make sure everyone associated with their imprisonment will reap an eternal damnation in the Underworld, leaving the Olympians to restore Mount Olympus and force humankind into a future of never-ending servitude and misery.

My Summary:

This girl goes and claims her birthright of being a Muse and then gets struck by lightening and then this other woman is thinking about PTA meetings and her daughter is also a character but she really has no personality and I guess stuff happens.

Cheers:

  • I guess it’s an original idea?

Jeers (Possible Spoilers):

  • The start is boring. I skimmed it, mostly. It was too much boring description about a girl I didn’t care about. Also, it was gross. I don’t want to pick up a book and immediately read that they ripped their fingernail completely off.
  • Why is Callie talking out loud when she is alone? People don’t do that, not in complete sentences. This is just bad writing. She actually goes between thinking and replying to her thoughts out loud.
  • Way too many long-winded descriptions. He’s not a good enough writer to make it interesting. I skimmed most of the long paragraphs because there was no point to them.
  • We’re on the third chapter and so far there is nothing linking Georgia and Callie. This shouldn’t be something held off as a mysterious thing, if I don’t know why they’re connected why the hell should I care about them? Say it immediately, don’t wait for no reason.
  • None of the characters talk realistically.
  • The line about her father dying was the most terrible delivery I’ve ever read and the characters handled it unrealistically. I feel no sympathy for them. They get over it in about a second. I mourned a torn pair of jeans longer than they mourned for their father/husband.
  • She calls her mother by her first name. This is not a thing that happens. I am about done with this book.
  • Boat captains can’t really marry people unless you’re on a cruise ship and you’re in international waters and they are otherwise authorized to do so. Overall, this is unrealistic and based off of a Hollywood misconception. Also, why would they take a boat to America from Greece?
  • I couldn’t read past chapter six. Maybe I’ll come back and update this if I get the energy to try again, but by chapter six you should have the reader hooked, not wishing all the characters would die suddenly.

Would I recommend it?:

Absolutely not. It was impossible to like any of the characters or to get hooked on the story. I couldn’t finish it. I had high hopes for it so I was really disappointed. It’s an example of why people make fun of books that are published by small publishers, not to mention it’s eight dollars just for the Kindle edition on Amazon. I just give this book a big fat nope.

Amazon link:

http://www.amazon.com/Muse-Unexpected-V-C-Birlidis-ebook/dp/B00HUHM3G0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1395856157&sr=8-1&keywords=muse+unexpected

Friday Fiction – Doctor’s Demise

You are sitting across from one of the most dangerous super villains in modern times. His arms and legs are chained to his seat, and his blindfold is made of lead. He has been given a strong dose of a medicine known to repress superpowers. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d felt the drug’s affect firsthand, you would not consent to be in a room with this man.

“Tell me, Arnold, why you started killing people,” you say. Arnold remains silent. He struggles silently against the chains surrounding him, but they don’t budge. Arnold is a tiny, ugly man who has no hopes of breaking out of prison now that he has been caught. “Well? Was it something someone did? Did they push you over the edge? Make you mad? What was it, Arnold?”

“I will not respond to that name,” he replies. You nod.

“Very well, Asphyxi. Will you answer my question now?”

“Of course.” He grins. His teeth are yellow. Luckily, the blindfold means that you don’t have to hide your look of disgust. “My first kill wasn’t a who.”

“Come again?” you ask.

“It wasn’t a who, but rather… a what. You’re asking the question wrong.”

“Fine. What was your first kill?” you ask. It had not been your original question, but you’d take what Arnold was willing to share.

“My sister’s puppy,” he says. He is smiling, as if caught in fond memory. “She’d just gotten in as a present from our grandmother. Grandmother had never given me any gifts, so I’d tried stealing the puppy into my room one night. I got mad when he wouldn’t listen to any of my commands, when he so obeyed my sister, and all of a sudden he stopped breathing. It was the first time I’d used my powers.”

“And how old were you?”

“Six, I believe.”

“That’s an uncommonly young age for someone’s powers to manifest.”

“But then again, there’s nothing common about us, is there, Doctor?” Arnold is grinning again. You have the feeling that he can see right through his blindfold, though that would be impossible.

“How do you know who I am?” you ask calmly. Doctor had been your superhero name. You’d had a brief stint with the local superheroes– flying around on Arrow’s back and covering for Bolt when raiding evil lairs– but you’d quickly grown tired of using your powers in such a way. It wasn’t exactly evil, as you’d been helping the heroes, but it still left you feeling ill inside.

Your power is the ability to give or take away the madness within a person. Since you hadn’t been cut out for a superhero– nor a super villain, for that matter– you retired your mask and buckled down for eight years of schooling until you could call yourself a Psychologist. You immediately began work at a mental institution. Innumerable people had been cured under your care, and you were able to work anonymously.

That is, unless the local league of superheroes decided to call in a favor. As they had been the ones to pay for your schooling, you couldn’t possibly turn away their request.

“Oh, please. I’ve killed hundred, and yet I’m not in jail yet? They tie me up and have me interrogated first? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Interrogation is standard for new prisoners,” you say.

“I’m sure it is. This kind of interrogation isn’t, however. Except for Ooze, perhaps. She was one mean son-of-a-bitch.”

You look at Arnold. “Let us return to the topic at hand.”

“Of course. So would you like to talk about the first person I killed, then? Because the puppy wasn’t the only animal I’d done away with.”

“Yes. The first person, please,” you say, rubbing your temples. Arnold is a psychopath, no doubt about it.

“I don’t know her name, of course, because I just hired her off the street. May have called herself Ruby, or Scarlett, or something like that, ‘cause she had bright red hair.” He pauses. “We went behind a dumpster and she got down on her knees, but I choked her without even taking my pants down.” His grin is savage. “I remember the feeling of it. I took the air out of her lungs, bit by bit, until she couldn’t breath at all. She tried fighting me, but she didn’t have the strength. I teased her a bit, letting her breath just before she was ready to pass out, but that grew old after a while. The fun in killing is seeing the life leak out of them, don’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never killed before.” You glance at the guards in the corner of the room, the ones who’d been there silently the whole time. They look ready to beat the prisoner within an inch of his life. You know that they’d never been faced with a criminal such as Arnold. Their usual super villains had solid motives for killing. For him, it’s just because he’s a sick bastard.

“Oh, surely you have. I saw some of your tapes from your moonlighting days. (Nice spandex, by the way.) I watch the way you could just look at a person and scramble their brains. They’d be weeping and clawing at their eyes and talking to spirits in seconds. Didn’t it ever tempt you to turn the whole world mad?”

“The world is mad enough as it is,” you say. “I returned each of the villains I cursed back to their original state. I don’t enjoy watching people suffer.”

“What differences we have, Doctor,” Arnold says. “Watching people suffer is what I live for.”

“That’s enough.” The comment is directed at the guards who have taken a step closer to the madman. Arnold smiles up at you.

“What? Had enough? Am I too mad for you?”

“Don’t worry. I can still help you.” Your powers are greatest when making physical contact so you reach forward for Arnold’s shoulder. He jerks backwards violently.

I don’t want your help,” he hisses, and then it seems as if all the air is suddenly gone.

“A-Arnold.” You struggle, grasping your throat and falling to your knees. The guards act the same way. The drug has either worn off or has no effect on the madman, for he is calmly releasing himself from his bonds while choking you to death. “Asph…yxi,” you say, once he ignores you.

“Yes, Doctor? What have you to say?” Arnold asks. His hands are freed– you struggle to think how this could be happening– and he takes off the blindfold and stairs down into your eyes. You are curled up on the floor, now, still gasping for air that has fled the room. “How pitiful you look. And old, too. I confess I expected something else. Those tapes are outdated.”

Stop this, you want to say, but you can’t get the words out. Your vision is growing fuzzy. You wonder what has happened to the people monitoring the room.

“Goodbye, Doctor. You think any jail can hold me? You’re wrong. All of you are so wrong.”

You vision turns completely black, and then there is nothing.

For the Friday Fiction link up from http://nikkiyoungwrites.com/