Friday, September 21, 2018

The Lazurai – New FIction Writing by J. R. Kruze

The Lazurai - New FIction Writing by J. R. KruzeAn unintended result of a terrorist bombing a children’s hospital, the Lazurai could kill a person without touching them. 
The government made it worse by their experiments. All the children wanted was to feel love like any child. When they grew older, their powers increased. And they found they couldn’t be stopped.
Chuck hears a rumor of one coming his way, to his remote way station on the highway. But he can’t leave his wife, who’s dying. So he waits. And sees the hooded Lazurai walking the long miles on a hot desert day toward him.
All he can do is wait.
What he doesn’t know is that this one is different from all the rumors. And his life is going to change forever…

The Lazurai – New FIction Writing by J. R. Kruze

Extract

Late morning that day, he saw someone walking. Miles off yet. Coming toward him, along the edge of the road and staying off the pavement.  Chuck could tell because the highway was laser straight for miles in both directions.

You could hear anything coming when there was traffic. And then hear it going.

Walkers made no noise, and took a long time to get there. A long time to get gone.

“Well Mr. Lazurai, take your time. I’m in no hurry.” Chuck said out loud to no one in particular.

He figured that this had to be a Lazurai as he was walking.

People told stories about them: they wouldn’t always kill you right off. If they liked you, then you had a few days. The people that lived were cursed anyway, as anyone they knew would leave them alone after that. As what the Lazurai gave a person could also affect the other people around them. Big or small community, it didn’t matter. Viruses spread.

Chuck didn’t care. He would not leave Charlene and she would not leave her baby. So if this was the end, he was as ready as he would be.

By the time the walker was nearly in earshot, Chuck had finished off the rest of his lemonade and was ready for a refill.  But he stayed on that bench in the shade and waited to meet this person.

His only real hope is that the end would be swift and painless. For everyone concerned.

– – – –

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Monday, September 17, 2018

A Case of Missing Wings – Fiction Writing by Marpel and Kruze

A Case of Missing Wings - Fiction by S. H. Marpel and J. R. KruzeYou’d think that after a couple of thousand years, I’d be able to find my angel wings when I wanted them.
 
Pretty hard to misplace, if you think about it at all. 
 
But when I woke up to go to work this morning, they weren’t there. Not in my closet, not hanging on the bedpost, and certainly not on my shoulders where they always had been. 
 
Sure, I was always able to appear to humans without them. But just because they couldn’t see them, didn’t mean they were gone.
 
Of course, that wasn’t the bad part. Along with the wings, I’d lost all my “magic” powers. So I was basically stuck on earth like any other human. 
 
But, no, I wasn’t going to test whether I was still bascially immortal. I’m not stupid, even if maybe forgetful.
 
And there was something important I was supposed to remember. Something about saving the world – but of course, this was lost to me right now – too…

A Case of Missing Wings – Fiction Writing by Marpel and Kruze

Excerpt:

When I woke up, they weren’t there.

Not on my shoulders where they usually hung. Yes, they were attached when I fell asleep. No, I didn’t take anything, didn’t “tie one on.”

Checked the free-standing oak wardrobe. Nothing. Hall closet. Nothing. Not hanging around anywhere in the apartment.

You’d think after a couple thousand years, I’d be pretty attached to them.

So I just…

Or…

No, I can’t. That’s gone, too.

All my powers. Gone with the wings. (Well, at least I still have my warped sense of humor.)

OK, then.

Time for Plan B.

– – – –

Six long blocks of walking in L. A.’s heated grime finally got me to the emergency outlet.

It was a pawn shop. On Santa Monica Boulevard – Hollywood end. One shop out of many – and that was the point. Kept it non-distinctive. This one had a particular red English phone box, a fixture in the place. Had an American coin-phone in it, though. A special one.

“Hey Bert!”

The cashier looked up from his racing form. “Angie! Long time. What’s up?”

“Just needed to take a visit to old Ben. Got a token for me?”

Bert hit a key on the register and the cash drawer slid out with a ring of its bell. He reached into a back drawer of it and pulled out an odd coin. One with notches in its center, like an ancient subway token.

I held up my hand and he flipped it to me.

“Thanks.”

Then I entered the phone box, closed its door, inserted the token, and dialed.

The small booth filled with a red smoke substance, about the same color as the phone box.

While I shimmered from there to somewhere else…

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Wednesday, September 12, 2018

For the Love of ‘Cagga – New Fiction Writing by Brower & Saunders

For the Love of 'Cagga - New Fiction Writing by C. C. Brower & R. L. SaundersAt the beginning was The Games. Because they were running out of people.

The gangs were killing each other off too fast. And the city was running out of money to keep them all on free food and free medical.

The Games put everyone in the city to work. They competed with each other for production bonuses. Citizens that didn’t work, hardly ate. There was a Plan, and the Game was part of the Plan.

In this plan, the cities were going to rise up into space, and remove almost all humanity from this polluted planet when they did.

While into this scene, two healers showed up. Someone needed their help. Or several someone’s. But their deadline was coming up. Soon that city would lift off, forever.

And those healers were told they had to be out of there before ‘Cagga did…

For the Love of ‘Cagga – New Fiction Writing by Brower & Saunders

Excerpt:

It was like that big video they showed every time you jacked in – cities flying off the planet to new worlds, leaving the polluted mess behind, along with the Deplorables who were “unenlightened” enough to want to stay out in the boonies with their guns and Bibles. Scratching for a living out there while all the ‘Leeters were “leading the core of civilization toward greater heights.”

My Ma didn’t see it that way. Like me, she didn’t have a choice when the walls went up. They’d decided that for her when they seceded from the rest of the country. And soon after that, no one was allowed in or out. So we wouldn’t get “contaminated” by the Flyover ideas and diseases. The politico’s had chosen for us.

And now I had my own new baby to add to this mix. She was a darling, with cute blond hair and the brightest smile. While I worked, my Ma took care of her the most, good days and bad. Because Ma had something wrong with her, and so did my little Sue.

Doc came by when he could, but he was pretty much the only doctor outside of their clinics that could go in between the gangs. That meant most of ‘Cagga. ‘Cause their clinics were all at Central, and had visiting hours the same as our work hours. But those were staffed mostly by interns, as the ‘Leeters got the best doctors working on sucking the fat out of their guts and hips, or making their faces prettier, or simply listening to them complain about their aches and pains.

While Doc said Sue was born with something he couldn’t fix without operating, and he couldn’t operate anymore since he lost off a couple of his fingers in an “accident”. One that happened right after he told one of those ‘Leeters what they could do with their faked-up illnesses. Now Doc got what he wanted most, helping people who needed it more. But he was by himself, mostly.

Doc said baby Sue had a tough road ahead of her, but she could make it. And my Ma could have a lot more years ahead of her. Could. But I saw his face and how he looked away at times. He didn’t like what he saw, but he kept smuggling medicines to us when he could.

Anyone with a too-quick wit and tongue found themselves too soon working with the rest of the ‘gangers out in the streets. In whatever gang their housing fit into…

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