Monday, August 13, 2018

The Lazurai Returns – New Fiction Writing by Brower and Kruze

The Lazurai Returns - New Fiction Writing by J. R. Kruze & C. C. BrowerShe was different – and could be mankind’s savior, or it’s worst enemy.

The third generation born after a freak accident, her kind were shunned by humanity. Because they meant walking death. Until one human showed her compassion. Then her gifts came to view.

Her parents and their parents only knew death, could only give death. But they only wanted to be understood.

Rochelle was searching.

For the one thing that could save all of mankind from itself.

To find it, she would have to live among them as one of them, in disguise.

As she still could wipe out an entire city through her touch. If she wanted to. But she didn’t know what she was supposed to want.

So she came here, to surround herself with strangers. Some her natural enemies, but maybe some friends. It was up to them, for she didn’t really care whether they lived or died. But she knew she needed to find out “something” and only in these massive crowds was where she could her answer.

And what she looked for might even be her own cure…

The Lazurai Returns – New Fiction Writing
by C. C. Brower and J. R. Kruze


I had just one day.

Her trail went to ‘Cagga and she’s probably here already.

One day to find her and – do what, exactly? I didn’t know. Couldn’t be killed. Only long stretches in isolation seemed to have any effect. One day of isolation, even if I had her in my hands now – that’s just a joke.

More like the plan had to be getting a positive ID on her and then re-group with some more resources. But by then she could have moved on.

Sticking my hands in my pockets, I found my meds bottle. It rattled with the few doses I had left. A mental note to see if their free clinics would help a visiting law enforcement type. Maybe, maybe not.

Next to the wanted posters were some floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass, tinted with reflection on the outside.

I was watching the two-bit hustlers operating right in front of what passed for police in this town.

One redhead caught my eye. Kinda strawberry blond in a faded jeans jacket – too large with rolled up sleeves. The three-card hustlers I could figure out. But she looked like she was handing out money to the little kids. Dimes and quarters.

They’d come up as a rag-tagged bunch, and bring her rocks. She’d put close her hand over their rock and then make a pass – the rock would be gone from her open hand. But then would close her palm and make another pass – and then hand them a coin. All depended on how big a rock they gave her. But I didn’t see any half-dollars go anywhere.

Probably smart. The littlest kids would get rolled for it, and the big kids didn’t deserve it.

Funny how only the smallest could approach her. Adults and teens kept a distance from her, making funny faces if they got too close. I could see how the coins for rocks gimmick could be slight-of-hand, but the perimeter trick was something that simply didn’t make sense. Still, it kept her safe. Giving out money was something only politicians could do with any safety – and then never from the street, never in person.

At last, the mob of kids got their quarters or dimes and moved along. As well as the people who couldn’t get into her perimeter.

Now she stood alone on the sidewalk, a light rain falling. Alone in a crowd of people,

But then she turned toward my glass. From her side she couldn’t see me, but the way she was looking, she seemed to know I was standing there looking at her, looking at me.

That’s her, I thought.

As I moved toward the door, some sidewalk people moved in between us. And by the time I was through their security and outside, she had vanished…

– – – –

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