Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians: Chapter Two

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic and mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — expect in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without written permission.

The capsule crashes to the Earth’s surface, landing on Ture National Park (AKA Ture Park), one of the most popular sites on earth known for vacationing, fishing, camping and more by the inhabitants. The capsule opens; Ki’ara crawls out, yelling, shrieking and bawling in excruciating pain as the contractions are striking her like Muay Thai kicks.

Weariness overcoming her, the crawling comes to a stop, and she gingerly turns over, laying on a land of grass near the lake, her eyes gradually closing after looking directly into the sky. Four hours later, she wakes up to large eggs sitting on the grass. She notices two are starting to hatch. The hunger pangs that were hitting her stomach earlier have gotten worse, and with both of her young getting ready to hatch, she must search for food forthwith.

Her prehensile tongue suddenly sifts through the air, detecting a scent. She sets her sights on a young couple, who seem to be out on a date, walking through the park, holding hands. Using stealth, she peeps and uses the trees as cover corners. Moving gently but steadily, she’s closing in on her targets. This couple has no idea what’s about to overtake them.

Just as the woman looks over her shoulder, Ki’ara’s already in a position to strike. She screams for Jason, the young man’s name, in an attempt to warn him, but it’s too late. Ki’ara’s Komodo claws are extended, and with a swift, sharp, horizontal slash, cuts open Jason’s stomach, spilling his guts. The young lady screams in terror. She tries to run, but to no avail.

Ki’ara turns invisible; jumping into a somersault, landing in front of the young lady, who has no idea Ki’ara is in her path. She unwittingly runs into Ki’ara’s suddenly extended claws, jamming into the woman’s stomach. Ki’ara removes the claws as the woman doubles over. Ki’ara re-appears and grabs the woman by her throat. Raising her claws, she slashes the woman’s throat.

***

Ki’ara returns to her young with grass-filled waste baskets filled with meat that she cut from her victims; she notices the two eggs have hatched. One is a male, the other a female; she names the male Komo, and the female Chamelea. 

After they feast, Ki’ara summons two crocodiles to carry her remaining eggs while she hops aboard an alligator, carrying Komo and Chamelea in her arms. She starts nesting in an abandoned cabin just on the outskirts of the park, now making Ture her territory.

***

Cassandra Leif (pronounced “leaf”) makes her living as a reputable bounty huntress. Standing at 5–10, light-skinned and shapely, her size, athleticism and penchant for getting her target makes her well sought-after, although some may not always agree with her methods of capturing fugitives. She makes a selection from her iPod playlist she calls “OBG” (Oldies but Goodies). She starts putting in work on the pullup bar while Miki Howard’s Come Home to Me plays in the background. She showers after going hard for 90 minutes in her home gym. Afterward, she picks up the remote and turns on the TV.

She has her head down thumbing through her contacts. She presses on Edward’s name to send him a text. Edward is a colleague of hers, whom she seems to have a propensity to get under his skin.

Cassandra: Good morning.

Edward: Morning, Sandy.

Cassandra: What are you doing, today?

Edward: I have quite a few things on the agenda today. Just trying to decide what I want to start with.

Cassandra: I’m sure none of it involves a woman. LMAO.

Edward: Have a nice day, Cassandra.

She sits her phone on the coffee table; falls back on the couch, laughing heartily at getting on Edward’s nerves once again. A breaking news report stifles her laughter, quickly shifting her emotions to shock and concern. She picks up the phone; this time dialing up Edward.

“Now you’re calling me with the jokes, I guess texting wasn’t enough?” He presumptuously answers.

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “No, Edward. This is serious. Are you watching the news?”

“As a matter of fact, I just turned it on.”

“Did you see the part with that white couple that was mutilated?”

“Yeah. Crazy stuff, huh?”

“Who could’ve done that? Was he or she even human?”

“I’m not sure, but to say whoever this person is was having a bad day is an understatement.” He replies. “Do you think this will be a mere isolated incident?”

“I don’t know, but if it keeps up, I have a feeling I will be getting a call soon.”

“I have a feeling we both will.”

***

Ki’ara is giving Komo and Chamelea a bath in the pond. She senses that they’re hungry, and she could use a bite to eat herself. Her tongue picks up the scent of an incoming alligator. She gathers her children in her arms, swimming towards the edge of the land. She sets her children back on land before getting back on the grass herself.

As the alligator is approaching, she quickly grabs her battle vest. Sensing opportunity, the gator explodes out the water targeting Komo. It opens its jars and receives a mouthful of plasma from Ki’ara’s shoulder cannon. She gathers whatever she can of the remains and feeds her children. Meanwhile, more of her eggs are hatching, putting her in a dilemma to find more food.

Her dilemma quickly subsides when she picks up the scent of a woman jogging. Going back into the cabin with her children, she puts them in a spot to hide out, then goes through the closet and dons the rest of her battle gear. For the finishing touch, she grabs her rattlesnake whip. The snake slithers around her forearm, then finally around her waist, appearing as a belt or a sash.

***

Ki’ara silently storms through the trees, watching her prey from a distance. She spots the woman sitting on the bench taking a water break. The jogger hears her cell phone vibrating in her on the clip attached to the hip of her skirt, pulls out her phone and starts talking. As she’s conversing, she wanders into an isolated aisle of trees. Stopping by one of the trees, she turns around and leans against the tree while continuing her conversation.

Her ankle is struck from nowhere by a snake bite; she cusses as she drops her phone, going down to one knee, grabbing her ankle. The individual on the other end is trying to check and see if she’s okay, but it’s useless. Ki’ara turns invisible; runs up a tree, extends her snake whip downwards, coiling it around the woman’s neck.

Ki’ara aggressively pulls up the snake whip, putting the woman in a hangman position, snapping her neck. She cuts up the woman, then takes a mesh bag concealed in the back compartment of her armor to put the pieces in.

***

Making her way back to the cabin, Ki’ara spots intruders. There are gators on the outside eating her eggs. “Enjoy your last meal.” She mutters, firing plasma blasts, obliterating them. A sudden loud shriek from Chamelea calling for her causes her to make a dash inside and much to her dismay, she catches Komodo dragons attacking her unborn, and mostly, Komo in a standoff with a crocodile, holding a short silver spear, with Chamelea hiding behind him, crying.

Her eyes bulge in anger as she nails the crocodile with a plasma blast. Using explosive athleticism and agility, she makes work of the Komodos, slashing and slicing with her claws. After the area is secure, a crying Chamelea runs into the arms of Ki’ara. Letting go of Chamelea, she walks over to Komo.

“You did a good job defending your sister.” Ki’ara commends. “How did you know where my weapons were?”

“I saw you going to the closet while I was hiding.” Komo confesses.

She smirks and puts her hand on Komo’s shoulder. “I won’t punish you, but next time don’t go through my things,” She warns. “Times like this are an exception, but — I’ll tell you what, do you want to start training?”

“Yes.”

Ki’ara nods. “Okay. You’re young; I’ll start you off slowly, then we’ll work your way up.”

“Yes mom.” Komo replies. “When do I start?”

Ki’ara smiles. “You’re so ambitious. I’ll let you know. Right now, work on getting physically fit, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Cassandra gets on the internet to check her email. She’s about to click on the app that takes her to her Yahoo mail when a headline on her news feed that reads: ANOTHER WOMAN FOUND DEAD; MUTILATED AT TURE PARK catches her attention. “Oh my…again?” She mutters. She clicks on the headline to read the article. While reading, she puts on her Bluetooth earphones to contact Edward.

“Yep, I saw it.” He answers. “He, she, it, whoever or whatever struck again.”

“It says here that the police investigating the scene found trails of blood and intestines in the bushes.”

“Wow.”

“What’s going on?”

Edward sighs. “I have my theories, but people usually don’t believe me.”

“Cause you’re always on that outer space shit.”

Edward chuckles. “Well, I guess it makes no sense to explain my theory to you.”

Cassandra smiles and rolls her eyes. “Humor me, Edward.”

“I’ve been doing some research on this alien race called the Keratinians.” He begins. “They seem to have some physical human characteristics, but their nature is reptilian.”

“Meaning?”

“They stand upright like us, well, most of them. Some could even pass for humans except for one thing?”

“And that is?”

“Their skin is of green hue; some lighter, some darker. Some might be multi-colored.”

“Oookay, so, if this species exists, they should be easy to identify?”

“Ummm, not necessarily. You see, they change can forms. Blend in, look like one of us.”

“Oh wow. So this is what you spend your time doing?”

“Yeah. I’m not a strong, strapping Amazon such as yourself, so lifting things such as diesel trucks is beyond my ability. So yes, I spend more time studying people like you.”

“Edward.”

“Cassandra.”

Cassandra gets a call on the other end. “You better be thankful I have to take this call. I’ll call you back; we’re gonna discuss this.”

“Girl answer the phone. Nobody’s worried you.”

“Alright, we’ll see.”

Cassandra’s smiling as she gets off the phone with Edward and connects with the other line.

***

Ki’ara starts Komo’s training with some agility drills, and she’s working with Chamelea on her shape shifting. “Concentrate. Concentrate.” She tells Chamelea. Chamelea is putting forth the effort; her transformation takes some form, but she struggles to complete the transformation.

“You’re thinking too much.” Ki’ara concludes.

“I’m trying, mom.” Chamelea says.

“I know, but don’t try so hard. Just relax…concentrate.”

Following her mother’s instructions, Chamelea’s able to complete the transformation, but only for a brief amount of time. “I did it! I did it!” She says proudly, hugging Ki’ara.

“Yes, you did. I’m proud of you. You still have a way to go, but you did well.”

“Okay mom. Thanks.”

Ki’ara walks over to Komo, who just finished his agility training, bouncing from one tree branch to another, along with tree climbing. “How’s it going?” She asks.

“Great, mom,” he responds. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“No honey, that’s it for today. Wow, you two are growing so fast, but you’re still young, so I have to take things slowly with you both.” She touches Komo’s face. “You’re so strong; you remind me of your father when I first met him.”

There’s a moment of silence. Komo looks Ki’ara squarely in the eyes. “Mom, where’s my father?”

Ki’ara sighs. “I’ll explain everything later. You’re too young to understand.”

“Am I really?”

She touches his face again. “In time, I will explain everything, I promise. Right now, get cleaned up while I go find dinner. Watch out for your sister.”

Kids, they grow up so fast. She’s thinking as she’s walking back to the cabin to gather her battle gear. Going into the closet, she dons her customary armor with concealed weapons, along with her 28 inch blade that’s crafted with holes in them and without a guard for a faster slash.

***

Making her way into the park, Ki’ara unexpectedly encounters a cop, who is patrolling the area with his team. Both are slightly startled upon seeing each other.

“What the hell?!” The officer utters.

As he reaches for his .45, she spits venom in his eyes, forcing him to drop his gun. Making quick work of him, she extends the snake whip; the snake bites his face. She extends her claws, slashing his neck. He clutches his throat; falling to ground as he bleeds to death. As she’s trying to dispose the body in the bushes, her ears detect incoming footsteps and her tongue picks up their scents.

She turns invisible just before the fallen officer’s team arrives. She makes waste of the three officers; two men, one woman. She blows holes in the torsos of the men with her shoulder cannon. The remaining officer pulls out her .45 frantically looking around for a presence she can’t see.

Realizing her invisibility is waning, Ki’ara pulls out her blade and with a quick dash decapitates the woman.

***

Like what you’ve read? Be sure to get your copy of The Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians by clicking the link below.

Amazon: The Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians

Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratins: Chapter One

 

Author's Note: This is a sample I posted on New Year’s Eve in 2019. I wrote and published my fourth novel and fifth book overall, Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians. This book is my first Sci-Fi novel/novella. It tells the story of renowned bounty huntress Cassandra Leif (pronounced leaf) who teams with Sylvester “Sly” Scroggins, the founder and leader of a paramilitary called the Grey Wolves to investigate a string of murders taking place at the famous Ture Park.

This story is used in a format similar to a story going from a movie, then transitioning to a TV series. In other words, I introduced the main character in the story in a novel form, then I will tell her story in a series of blogs. This story also introduces Sly and the Grey Wolves, who will be the main feature in the sequel.

In this sample series, I will provide the first two chapters of the book. I believe this will be a real treat, particularly for major Sci-Fi fans. Enjoy.

Copyright © Edward Anthony, 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic and mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — expect in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without written permission.

Dedication

First and foremost, I’m thankful for the gifts of creativity, writing and storytelling. I thank those who have shown support as I continue to elevate in my writing career. It was not easy getting this book finished; there were a lot of obstacles and stumbling blocks in the way, but I’m glad that it’s finally finished.

Also, I want to thank Jim and John Thomas, the writers for the movie Predator. It was one of my favorite movies growing up, and it’s definitely in my Top Five all-time list. The main antagonist of this story is partially inspired by the Predator. Finally, I thank Dahdtoudi, the artist who created the character, Tia’ Ja, who was a character visual for the main antagonist.

Chapter One

On the distant planet of Keratin resides an extraterrestrial species known as the Keratinians. They can stand upright like humans, and some have the features of the human body combined with their reptilian looks. With their reptilian physiology, they can mimic the traits and abilities or the appearance of reptiles. Combined with their alien form and powers, these abilities are augmented. Keratin is also known for its abundant resource of protein, which also attracts a lot of visitors — and poachers. Sometimes the poachers are “visitors” in disguise.

This has led to their planet being attacked on numerous occasions, namely by the “red-meats,” a name they use in reference to the inhabitants of planet Earth. After the first conquest of some their resources from the earth dwellers, their next move was to colonize. This caused an uproar by the Keratinians, leading to a massive slaughter of a victory against the earth dwellers.

That wouldn’t be the last time the people of Earth would attempt such a conquest, nor would they be the first beings to make an attempt. Years produced some casualties of war, but the sacrifices that was made to defend their planet is part of what sustains the state of Keratin today.

Present day, the Keratinians have just ruled in a majority on a verdict for a trial. The convicted is Ki’ara, who is pregnant with her young, is being charged with the murder of her spouse Shar’iff. Shar’iff was murdered only three months into their marriage, when her pregnancy started to manifest. In the meantime, Ki’ara is sitting on the floor motionless and seemingly staring into space, almost as if in a meditative state.

Cheron, her cellmate, who is imprisoned for multiple counts of murder, walks over to check on her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“The crazy part is, I believe you.” Cheron says. “You’re the most calm death row mate I’ve ever seen.”

“Death row? So you think I did it?”

“Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t do it?”

Ki’ara stands up; she slowly walks towards Cheron, stopping two feet from her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” Cheron assures her.

Ki’ara walks closer, leans over to Cheron’s ear. “They promised me everything. A better life for me and my children, they would take care of everything, all I had to do was remove him.”

“Who’s they?”

“The Keratin Division of Family Welfare.” Ki’ara confesses. “They told me they would take care of me if I killed him. I fulfilled my end of the bargain; they didn’t. They double-crossed me to cover their tracks.”

“Do you think they’re afraid you will talk?”

“I know so.”

Ki’ara senses the presence of oncoming guards; she signals Cheron to act as they would normally would. As the whistling guard passes by, Ki’ara and Cheron continue the conversation, this time Cheron sitting next to Ki’ara on the floor.

“All I know is, I have to find a way to get out of this,” Ki’ara says. “When I do, me and the higher-ups have some unfinished business.”

“I don’t blame you,” Cheron concurs. “Well, for me, as you know, I’m in here for life. I have nothing to live for. You know, sometimes I think I envy you.”

Ki’ara gives her a confused look. “Why?”

“I’d rather them just take me out, and get it over with, instead of leaving me here to rot.”

An idea suddenly dawns on Ki’ara. “Maybe there is something you can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can shape shift, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can take my place.” Ki’ara suggests. “You won’t only be doing it for me, you will mainly be doing it for my young, for their future.”

Cheron shakes her head. “I don’t know, Ki.”

“Cheron, if they kill me, they will be killing my children, too. You said a moment ago that you’re stuck, and you’d rather die quickly than being left here to rot.”

“No. I’m sorry, Ki, but I can’t do that. I just can’t.”

Cheron stands up, hurriedly walks back to the other side of the cell. Ki’ara walks behind her, placing her hand on Cheron’s shoulder.

“I understand. I guess the opportunist in me just came out.”

Cheron slowly turns around. “I know we’re friends, and I think a friend will do just about anything for one another, but give up my life? That’s asking a lot.”

“I know. That was inconsiderate of me. I guess desperate times call for desperate measures.” She gives a fake smile.

***

The next morning, more specifically, the day of the execution, you can hear the sound of guards storming the corridors like tremors rumbling underground. They stop in front of Ki’ara’s cell, who is sitting on the bottom bunker in a fetal position. The guard slides the cell door open.

“Okay, Ki’ara. Let’s go.” The guard says forcefully.

Ki’ara lifts her head; as she tries to stand up, the guards grab her by arms and forcibly stand her up, carrying her out of the cell. They bring Ki’ara to the dreaded Courtyard of Corpses, an isolated area where the bodies of thousands of Keratinians are executed, then disposed in the nearby sewage system.

They position her in front of a formation of rocks. She takes a hard swallow in her throat as tears run down her face. She lowers her head as the guns are raised. As the Field Sergeant gives the command, the engine of a space cruiser starts revving in the distance.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!”

The soldiers open fire; the plasma-tipped bullets piercing through the flesh and bones of Ki’ara. She slowly falls backwards on the stony asphalt. An officer checks over the body and discovers something startling.

“What’s the matter, Nenning?” The Field Sgt. inquires.

“Sir, we’ve been had. The suspect was Ki’ara’s cell mate.”

“You mean she shape shifted?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

The Field Sgt. is furious; grinding his teeth, snatching his hat from his head. An infantryman rushes over to the Field Sgt., out of breath.

“Sir! Sir! One of the space cruisers has been stolen!”

“What?!” It dawns on the FS what has just happened. “The Commander is not gonna like this.”

***

Evading lasers and plasma gunfire, Ki’ara flies towards freedom. She shrieks in sudden pain, as the first contraction hits. She subtlely dips the cruiser to avoid two cruisers trying to flank her. She navigates the cruiser into a nosedive, then shifting upward, now positioning the cruiser behind the space crafts. She fires plasma rounds into the wings of the two space crafts, forcing the pilots abroad them to bail out.

Just as she navigates to the left, her cruiser is suddenly struck by a missile. This forces Ki’ara to think on her feet, despite battling an angry Keratin military and child birth pains. She remembers the space capsule, which is similar in use for pilots abandoning jets or planes but built to endure oncoming attacks and durable enough to survive the Earth’s atmosphere.

Quickly pressing the button on the dashboard, the capsule envelops Ki’ara, ejecting her out of the cruiser like a jet dropping a bomb. Not wanting to enter Earth, this causes the Keratin forces to turn around and go back to their planet. Speedily entering the earth’s atmosphere, tears run down Ki’ara’s face, clutching her stomach, she closes her eyes and bow her head, in a moment of silence.

Thank you Cheron. I couldn’t have done this without you. I assure you; your death will not be in vain.

***

Like what you’ve read? Be sure to get your copy of The Bounty Huntress by clicking the link below.

Amazon: The Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians

Copyright © Edward Anthony, 2019

Interview with Author Nicky Shearsby

Nicky Shearsby. Photo courtesy of Nicky's Amazon page.

It has been a long time, but I'm glad to announce that the Literature Lounge is bringing in 2024 with an interview. She has a passion for non-fiction--I can relate--who uses her writing to probe into the human mind. All the way from England, I welcome writer/novelist, Nicky Shearsby.

LL: First, welcome to the Literature Lounge.

NS: Thank you for inviting me. It’s very nice to be here.

LL: What started you on your writing journey?

NS: Like most writers, I was writing stories from a young age. Life then got in the way for a few years until I was able to retire early in order to pursue my goal of writing fiction.

LL: Who would you say are your biggest influences? Who inspired you?

NS: Stephen King has inspired me with the sheer success he has experienced during his career. Like mine, his stories are dark and twisted.

LL: I understand that you wrote non-fiction, did graphic design, a magazine publication, as well as an organic skin care manufacturing for quite some time. How did this lead to you becoming a novelist?

NS: My background was graphic design, so when I set up a design agency a few years ago, I was able to write copy for customers. When we branched into magazine publication, I wrote the articles.

 Eventually, I needed a change and got into skincare production by accident after I read the link between chemical ingredients and cancer. From this business, I wrote several non-fiction books on skincare and diet. Everything I did was ultimately leading me to writing full-time.

LL: Could you explain your fascination with the human mind that motivates your writing?

NS: I am qualified in counselling, life coaching and psychology. My fascination has developed from the things people do that make little sense, the choices they make and the ultimate decisions affecting their lives. 

LL: Do you have any upcoming projects?

NS: Yes. I am currently working on my 3rd Flanigan Files novel. It is called Through Broken Glass, telling the tale of a young man whose trauma pushes him to see society differently.

LL: What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

NS: Keep writing. Yes, life will get in the way, but the key is to always find a way to pursue your passion. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. The more you write, the better you become.

LL: Finally, tell us about your most recent release, Beyond the Veil, and why  it's a must-read.

NS: Beyond The Veil begins my brand new ongoing thriller series, called, The Flanigan Files. It tips what you think a crime thriller is, on its head, following the direct path of the killer, getting inside the mind of the antagonist whilst along for a roller coaster ride of twists and turns. 

The series asks WHY people do the things they do. From page one, you know WHO the killer is, but the reader gets to understand WHY they kill, understanding the darkness that lives inside.

The series is called The Flanigan Files because the main character, Newton Flanigan, dissects each case file at the end of every novel, showing his thoughts on each person he deals with.

Beyond The Veil is dark, not for the faint-hearted. But if a reader loves horror thrillers and reading about the damaged mind, this is the book for them.

Epilogue:

I mentioned earlier how I can relate to Nicky's passion for writing, and I definitely can relate to life getting in the way, but continuing to pursue my goals.

I'd to like to thank Nicky for stopping by. For more info on Nicky and her books, visit http://nickyshearsby.com/

Interview with Author Danielle Wong

It has been a long time, almost a year, to be exact, but the Literature Lounge returns with an award-winning author whose latest novel will be released next month. The Literature Lounge presents author, Danielle Wong.

LL: Hello Danielle, and welcome to the Literature Lounge. It's a pleasure to have you here.

DW: Thank you so much for having me! I am happy to be here.

LL: For those who may not know you, could you tell us a little more about yourself?

DW:  I am an author and a lifelong bibliophile. My debut novel, Swearing Off Stars, is a historical fiction story, and my forthcoming novel, Last Liar Standing, is a psychological thriller. I love to travel and always feel inspired when visiting a new place!

LL: What started you on your journey to becoming a writer?

DW:  I have always gravitated towards writing, but I didn't think it would actually become a career until much later on. My first published story came out while I was in high school, and I completed my first manuscript during college. As a voracious reader, I found it thrilling to create books of my own. My goal was to give people the same rush that devouring my favorite novels gave me.

LL: Who would you say are the biggest influences in your life and career?

DW: My loved ones are my biggest influences. I was lucky enough to grow up with two parents who encouraged me to work hard while pursuing my wildest dreams. They championed my creative pursuits with unwavering support and encouragement. 

LL: I understand that your first novel, Swearing Off Stars, has won you a few awards, including the Independent Press, Ben Franklin, and International Book Awards. Describe the feeling of that accomplishment.

DW: I am still very honored that Swearing Off Stars received awards before and after its publication. That kind of recognition was humbling, and I felt grateful to be in the fantastic company of several accomplished authors.

LL: Are there any projects in the works?

DW: Always! I am currently writing a psychological thriller about a reporter given an assignment that seems too good to be true.

LL: What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

DW: This is one of the most incredible jobs in the entire world, but it is definitely not devoid of ongoing obstacles. Authors--whether emerging or established--can always agree on that. Imposter syndrome and self-doubt come with the territory, so it is vital to be genuinely passionate about your craft. Remember why you began writing in the first place, and try viewing rejection as a right of passage. We've all been there, and it's just part of the process.

LL: Finally, tell the readers why Last Liar Standing is a must-read.

DW: Last Liar Standing is a fast-paced thriller filled with emotionally-charged scenes, complex characters, and shocking plot twists. I hope that readers walk away feeling simultaneously stunned and satisfied! Here is a brief synopsis of the book:

Vonny Kwan wakes up in a Nevada hospital, the victim of a hit-and-run accident she doesn't remember. As she struggles to recover from her injuries, she learns that she also has no memory of the past nine years, including her marriage and what she was even doing in the West.

While she's still reeling from the shock of her amnesia, two detectives visit and inform her that her husband, John, was recently murdered. As more information comes to light, Vonny grows increasingly suspicious of everyone around her.

Vonny realizes she must piece together the last decade to uncover the truth. The missing chunk of time holds secrets about the person she became, the mysterious man she fell for, and the life she never wanted.

Epilogue

"This is one of the most incredible jobs in the entire world, but it is definitely not devoid of ongoing obstacles."

I couldn't have put it any better myself. While you will encounter outside obstacles along the way, such as pessimists and people who give nitpicky, spiteful, and disrespectful feedback, usually the biggest obstacles one will face is oneself

Indeed, rejection is something that all authors can relate to. I wasn't familiar with Imposter Syndrome until today, and this along with self-doubt are prime examples of what I'm referring to in terms of inner adversaries.

I would like to thank Danielle for her time. For more information on Danielle, go to https://daniellemwong.com/. To follow her on social media, visit the links below.

https://twitter.com/DanielleMWong

https://www.instagram.com/daniellemwong_/

https://www.facebook.com/daniellemwongauthor/

Second Interview with Patrick Johns

It has been a long time. I haven't done an author interview since 2019, but I'm back. When I interviewed Patrick Johns in 2017, he was an aspiring writer working on his book Junkland, which till this day is my second most viewed post on this blog. Now, he returns to the Lounge to talk about his life in another country, finding your purpose, and his new project from The Hoarding series, The Lost Soul.

EA: First, welcome back to the Literature Lounge.

PJ: Thanks for having me back! The Literature Lounge was my first ever author interview, and I’m honored to be speaking with you for a second time! Let’s dive into it…

EA: I've asked this before, but for the readers who are new to your work, what writers are your biggest influences?

PJ: I’m going to change my answer a bit as I need to give credit to the authors who got me into reading. Because without them, I wouldn’t be a writer. I read a lot of The Magic Treehouse series by Mary Pope Osbourne. When I was a child, I had a huge imagination just like Jack and Annie, taking me to imaginary worlds with my dinosaurs and lightsabers and all-star basketball team, so I could always relate to them. I have even began reading the series again in Spanish and it’s been nice returning to their adventures.
I also read a lot of the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. I love animals. Especially animals who live in castles and carry swords and fight and sing and eat. Brian Jacques was who got me into fantasy.
I then need to mention J.K. Rowling. Reading the Harry Potter series took me to a whole new experience of reading books. I felt like I was a part of the world as I was reading. I even made my own world like Harry Potter. 

I remember rewriting all the subject names in my assignment pad to subject names studied at Hogwarts. Math became Defense Against the Dark Arts. Science became Potions. History became History of Magic. English became Transfiguration. And Gym became Quidditch. It was also the first time reading a book with relatable characters. I felt like Harry, Ron, and Hermione were also my friends. These books became lengthy in page count, but I would still read them in a few days. That just shows how great of a series Harry Potter is. 
Next is Michael Crichton. He’s the reason for my love of dinosaurs. Jurassic Park was, and still is, my all-time favorite movie. Every time I would go to my grandparent’s house, I would watch it. I loved the movie so much that my grandma finally gave me the VHS to take home so I could enjoy it even more. Now it’s on Netflix so I can enjoy it whenever I want. But it also got me into reading a lot of his books, especially Jurassic Park, Next, Prey, and Sphere. His books always give me fear for the unknown, but wanting me to turn the page. I also like how he mixed science into his stories. He really did his research.
Then comes George R.R. Martin. I always love stories I can’t predict. George R.R. Martin does it perfectly. I love how his world starts off almost realistic, and then slowly becomes more and more fantasy as he develops Westeros. It makes the surprises more surprising and eerie.

EA: The last time we spoke, you were working on your first novel from The Hoarding series called Junkland, which was released in October 2017, if I’m not mistaken. What was the reaction/feedback from that book?

PJ: It was officially released in November 2017, good memory! Junkland exceeded my expectations. Within three months I surpassed my goal of books sold and also my financial goal. But what I never planned on happening was for Junkland to become a bestseller within its genre on Amazon. I remember staying up until four in the morning, refreshing the Amazon page to check the rankings of my book. I couldn’t believe it when I hit bestseller status. I celebrated with a big bowl of ice cream.
But I always have to go back to my main goal: I wanted my story to influence someone to do something they love, as the story Aladdin had influenced me to write Junkland when I went to see it on Broadway back in January 2016. I think the most rewarding success I had with Junkland was the amount of people who reached out to me saying they had made a big change in their own lives because I had influenced them. And that’s the reason why I write.
Overall, the feedback of Junkland has been positive. Fans have reached out to me saying they can’t wait for the second book to be done and that I need to work faster, making me feel like George R.R. Martin. My fans have also classified my book as fairy tale fantasy, which was exactly what I was going for. I wanted to write a Disney-like fairy tale, but more for an older audience. The thing I love the most is when fans tell me they can relate with Jahrys, the main character. Just like Aladdin had influenced me to write my own story. That is my fuel for writing: to develop more characters like Jahrys and Aladdin.

EA: I see your upcoming project is Book Two for The Hoarding series called The Lost Soul. Could you tell us a little more about it, and do you have a release date in mind?

PJ: The Lost Soul takes place just after the events of Junkland. I personally don’t know what to say about a sequel without giving away any spoilers from the first book, but I will say that The Lost Soul is different. In a good way. The Lost Soul goes deeper into the characters, the plot thickens, the world expands, and it’s darker. I will give a little teaser and say that The Lost Soul will take you across the Farrest Sea and maybe, just maybe, over the Western Mountains. ;) 
The Lost Soul will be available on Amazon on June 1st.

EA: How much has the main character Jahrys grown from his first adventure to this one?

PJ: A lot. Jahrys grew as I grew. While writing Junkland, I was going through a rough time in my life. You could even call it my quarter life crisis. I didn’t like my job or where I was living. I felt trapped. I knew deep down I had to make a change. This reflects in Jahrys as he also didn’t like working for his father and dreamed of making a change in his life. He dreamed of becoming a knight.
After I published Junkland, I moved to Spain to write The Lost Soul. However, as I wrote my second book, I felt lost. I love living in Spain. But I am going against east coast, American-living culture: I gave up making a lot money, I left the many hours stuck in a pig pen under soul melting fluorescent lights, I am one of many friends who is not buying a house in his late twenties, nor am I starting a family or anywhere near to settling. All these things were always on the back of my mind—they still are—making me feel lost. But I always have to remind myself, none of that is what I truly want now. I needed to learn to forget worrying about the future and focus more on the present. Yea, I may not be living in Spain for my entire life, but I can’t kill myself every day worrying about where I will go, what I will do, who I will meet, what age I will be when I finally settle. And all of this comes out in The Lost Soul through Jahrys. Jahrys is also lost in life, trying to find himself in a world he thought he understood, trying to figure out what he truly wants after getting what he needs wasn’t really all it turned out to be.

The Hoarding Series.

EA: I must say, quitting your engineering job and moving to Spain was a bold move. Would you take us through your thought process when making that decision, and what led you to do it?

PJ: Oh boy. I think taking you through my thought process would be like trying to explain a black hole. After I graduated from the university, I worked for a large engineering firm outside Washington D.C. This job was anyone’s dream, but mine. I didn’t feel myself growing here, and I felt I had no purpose. It was hard to wake up in the mornings. Every time I told my friends and family this, many of their responses were telling me that a job is a job and you’re not supposed to like it, only make money to do the things you like. I started questioning this. Well, why can’t I make money doing something I like? Why do I have to stay in a situation that is actually awful for my mental health? Jerry Seinfeld once said, “I never worked a day in my life.” If he can make that happen, why can’t I? So I set out on my journey to discover how I could also live like Jerry Seinfeld and enjoy my profession. But I then encountered one of the hardest questions to answer: What do I want to do?
I first began asking myself, well, what do I like? This wasn’t an easy answer as it had taken me months to uncover it. I started taking yoga classes and doing a lot of meditation to really clear my cluttered mind. During this time, I began recalling my roots. I remembered all the times I played with my dinosaurs in my basement. All the short stories I wrote in elementary school. All the times I spent in my imaginary worlds which included being a Jedi, discovering dinosaurs, and even taking my basketball team to the championship; Michael Jordan Jr. could make any 3-pointer. I recalled all the times I would ride my bike to bookstores just to be surrounded by books. I wouldn’t buy anything. The thought of so many adventures surrounding me filled me with energy unlike anything else. It still does. 

I also recalled all the song lyrics and poems I’ve written since I was in high school. I even took a creative writing class in the university, and I didn’t even need it to graduate. All these memories were puzzle pieces, and it took twenty-six years of my life to fit them all together to show me my answer: I wanted to write.
But then I was hit with another tough question: What do I write about? In January 2016, I went to go see Aladdin on Broadway. Aladdin is my favorite Disney movie. I’ve seen it so many times, but this time, I felt something different. I cried. I laughed. I felt inspired as goosebumps covered my arms and legs. Because what Aladdin was going through on the stage was exactly what I was going through in my life: trying to find my purpose.
I knew this was the message and feeling I wanted my readers to obtain after reading one of my books, to feel inspired as Aladdin had inspired me. When I returned to Washington, D.C with this new inspiration running through my veins, I found myself walking through a stairwell; one I’ve walked in many times. However, this time, an emergency light caught my eye. I stopped to admire it. This emergency light reminded me of a Disney character with its little square body and big round lightbulb eyes. I instantly knew this was the character I needed to write about. So I took a picture of the emergency light and went to my desk to examine the photo further. I first thought, what kind of setting do I see this character in? A junk land popped into my mind, kind of like the world Wall-e lived in. I then dove into an outline, writing it all on my phone. This outline was barely a page long. But it had a beginning, a fuzzy middle, and an end. I then began writing and writing and writing.
Suddenly, thirty pages turned into forty. Forty pages turned into a hundred. A hundred pages turned into two hundred. Next thing I knew, one book turned into a trilogy. I never intended to write a full book and I never intended to publish anything. This was all supposed to be for fun. It just happened.
I made it my goal to finish Junkland, publish it, and then leave my job. I began to wonder what I could do next…
I’ve always wanted to study abroad in university, but it never worked out. I had recently learned about the teaching English programs which you can find in many countries around the world. My friend from the university had been living in Spain for two years at the time so I began talking to him about life in Spain as I had always been interested in learning Spanish. Once I published Junkland, I applied to the program and left my engineering job behind to move to Spain where I’ve been living now for three years, teaching English.
I have never looked back since I moved to Spain. I absolutely love living here. Yes, it’s hard at times, as you can imagine, but it has been one of the best decisions of my life. I am not the same person I was just a few years ago. Moving to Spain has made me grow as a person and as a writer. In Spain, I earn money to save and still have enough to travel and enjoy my life, more than I had before in Washington, D.C. I also have time to work on my writing brand. What does the future hold? I don’t know. But if my writing journey has taken me from a small town in New Jersey, to studying in Blacksburg, Virginia, to living just outside Washington D.C., to living in Spain; I can’t wait to see what life has in store for me.

EA: Out of curiosity, what’s it like in Spain?

PJ: Spain is a beautiful country! My first year I lived in a small town called San Roque which is nearly at the southern tip of Spain. It’s right next to Gibraltar, Algeciras, Tarifa, and just across the Mediterranean Sea from Morocco. I’ve never experienced so much wind in my life during this year. I always thought I had pink eye since I was working with kids, but it turns out I just had sand in my eyes and they were irritated. My second year I lived in the city of Cadiz. Cadiz is the oldest city in Europe still inhabited by people. It’s the sister city of Havana. If you’ve ever seen the movie Die Another Day, you will remember the scene when James Bond went to Havana, Cuba and watched the famous scene of Halley Barry coming out of the ocean. That was actually filmed in Cadiz. In Cadiz, I was able to surf every single day. And my favorite part of the city was going to the giant fish market every weekend to buy food and enjoy a drink and food with some friends. San Roque and Cadiz are both located in Andalucía which is an autonomous community covering most of southern Spain. Andalucía is gorgeous and every day is sunny. I can still remember the days when it rained. If you ever get a chance, you need to visit Granada, Seville, Malaga, Cordoba, and Cadiz. There are so many more beautiful places, but these are a must. Andalucía was conquered by the moors back in the day so there’s a lot of Moorish architecture like the Alhambra in Granada and the Alcazar in Seville.

My third year I made a big change and moved to the north of Spain. I’m now living in a city called Ferrol which is located in Galicia. Northern Spain is a different world than southern Spain. I’ve never experienced so much rain in my life. But the beautiful sunny days make up for it when everything is so green. Galicia has one of the nicest coastlines I have ever seen. There are so many mountains and cliffs running along the coast with hiking paths.
There are seventeen autonomous communities in Spain which are like states in the United States. I love how going to each community is like going to a different country, like going from Andalucía to Galicia, for example. Each community has its own culture, food, and sometimes its own language. In Galicia they speak Galician, which was actually the language that formed Portuguese. In Catalonia they speak Catalon. In Basque Country they speak Basque. 
Overall, Spain is very safe, beautiful, and relaxing. Life is slowed down here. No matter what the weather is outside, you can always find people sipping a coffee or a beer at a café in a plaza, talking for hours and hours, never worrying about being late to anything. You can experience this while walking on the sidewalks too. Even if you say, “Excuse me,” people will not move out of the way for you or speed up their walking. You just need to be prepared to be late. But everyone is always so nice and willing to start up a conversation. I remember when I lived outside Washington D.C., no one would even make eye contact with me in the streets. Here in Spain, sometimes it’s difficult to avoid random conversations started by the old grannies and grandpas at the bus stops. But I always enjoy it.

EA: What advice would you give to aspiring writers?

PJ: The advice I always give is: Write from start to finish. This is SO important. I’ve seen writers who struggle to get past the first chapter, sometimes even the first paragraph. And a lot of times these writers are better than myself. But what’s different between myself and them? Well, I finished a book and they didn’t. J.K. Rowling didn’t write Harry Potter in one take. It took her five drafts to finish it. No one is ever going to see your first draft. The first draft needs to be written with a free mind with the door closed. Write as if no one is lingering over your shoulder, judging you. Then, once you’ve seen your end, you can go back and edit. It’s so important to see the end of your story in order to know the point where your story needs to converge to. My biggest advice is, if you really do need to go back and edit while writing, add a note to remind yourself what needs to be changed in the second draft. But keep pushing forward. And once you’ve finished your first draft, you can go through your notes and fix your story as needed.
This leads to the famous advice of the magic of always being able to edit what you have written, but you can’t edit blank pages. So just write!

EA: Finally, tell us why The Lost Soul will be a must-read.

PJ: Well, if you enjoyed Junkland, you are going to love the second book in The Hoarding series even more. The Lost Soul goes so much deeper into the world of Astenpoole and its surroundings. It digs further into the characters’ minds. It resolves questions from Junkland but brings about new questions. But I think more importantly, this story had blossomed from my heart after I had left my engineering job to move to Spain three years ago. This book symbolizes the next step in my dream of becoming a writer. Scratch that. Of BEING a writer. And I can’t wait to share this next chapter of my life with my fans. My goal is to hopefully influence even more people to take the time to figure out what they love and want to do with the little time we have on this planet. Life will fly by. Our bad choices and failures will matter little in the long run of the universe. So why be afraid to take a chance on life and pursue the thing that makes you want to get up in the morning? 

Epilogue

I can relate to Patrick's story in a lot of ways. For starters, the part about meditation, but mainly

knowing that I hated working 9-5s and knowing I could do better than what I was doing. This led me

to discovering, uncovering, and revisiting my life's passion: writing. I had been writing since I was a child, but I somehow got away from it--aside from drafting scripts--as I grew older. 

In my early 30s, after some thorough reflecting, it led to me return to the one thing I've always enjoyed doing, and I've made a commitment to it since.

As far as finding oneself and one's purpose, that's something everyone can relate to at some point in their lives, particularly when they're young, but as he mentioned, one shouldn't be afraid to take a chance in life and pursue what makes them happy and enjoy what they're enjoy doing.

I would like to thank Patrick for stopping by the Lounge today. You can purchase The Hoarding series here. 

Check out Patrick's website as well as his social media pages in the links below.

 

Website: https://patrickjohnswrites.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/patrickjohnswrites/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/patrickjohnswrites

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/patjohnswrites

Stepping Stones: A Writer's Ramble, Pt. II: Nitpicky Readers

As a writer, I realize not everyone is going to like your work, or some cases if they do, they will offer some criticism on what they didn’t like, which is fine. What I can’t stand is spiteful, nitpicky readers/criticism. Recently, I got my book, Bounty Huntress: Invasion of the Keratinians listed on a website for “elite” readers. This particular pier is set up to where once your book is listed, an “elite” reader can request your book, and you send them the PDF, Mobi, etc. for them to read in exchange for a review as an ARC (Advanced Reader Copy, for those who don’t know).

I waited nearly two weeks before checking back with him to see how it was going. Yesterday, I sent him an email to see where his progress was, and he tells me that he couldn’t get past 16 percent of the book, according to his Kindle reader, then proceeds to ask would I prefer a bad review or no review at all? I basically told him not to bother posting a review, since I could I clearly see that he didn’t like it.

He then asked me have I written plays/scripts in the past. This was one of those “to ask question is to answer the question” situations because I knew why he was me asking that, so I told him, “ I have, but not professionally.” As I suspected, he told me that it reflected in my writing style, then suggested that I don’t use that as a way to make my books flow. Then had the audacity to say, “I hope you don’t mind my feedback,” to which I didn’t even bother to reply.

As these emails are being exchanged, I’m processing the information, and I concluded that his issue wasn’t with the story in and of itself, but the way I wrote the story. Yes, he’s entitled to his opinion, but to me, his feedback was nitpicky and petty. So, because the book wasn’t formatted to his liking, the whole book is no good? Man, fuck you. GTFOH. I’ve had people read my books before and they didn’t have a problem with my writing style.

He should’ve just left well enough alone. He already made it clear he didn’t like the book because of the way it was written. That’s all I needed to know, I didn’t ask for details. As far as I’m concerned he could’ve kept his “feedback” to himself. I’m good.

This goes back to what I mentioned in the beginning: I can’t stand spiteful, nitpicky readers/critics. They find one thing wrong, to them at least, and they go to pieces. Perhaps the opinion wasn’t spiteful, but it was definitely nitpicky and petty. I’m almost certain, at least 8 times out of 10, that this guy is not a writer. People like this are usually your biggest critics. They don’t do what you do, but they want to dictate how you should write your story.

I’ve read books that while the story itself was good, grammatically, the writing was shitty, which that alone would make most people discard the book. However, while I pointed out these errors in the book in the review, I still rated it a 3 out of 5 stars because despite the bad grammatical structure, the book still kept me intrigued and turning the pages wondering what was going to happen next.

Some might be thinking, “He can’t take criticism.” Not true. There have been times where someone gave a critique, and I considered what they said, I saw what they were talking about, and I made the minor adjustment. Mind you, one of them was a writer. I’ve received critical feedback that I didn’t necessarily agree with, but I thought it was honest and fair, and I respected their opinion. Bullshit feedback like his, I don’t respect.

I’m always looking to improve as a writer, but for some lame ass, so-called elite reader to try to dictate my writing style and tell me how I should write my books a NO-NO. Now, if someone offers feedback or advice that you find viable and applicable, by all means, apply it if you choose to do so, but never let anyone dictate your writing style and/or tell you how to write your stories.

This is why it is imperative to trust yourself and be confident in your writing abilities because not everybody is going to like your writing style and/or your stories, that’s just the reality of it, but never let them deter or discourage you. I’m 99 percent sure Stephen King’s writing was criticized before he became a renowned writer, and I’m sure even till this day there are some people out there who don’t care for his writing style, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

A fellow writer told me that’s why he doesn’t care for those Elite Reader websites because the readers tend to have a bad sense of entitlement. While I’m sure he was speaking collectively, in this guy’s case, he’s absolutely right. The bright side or silver lining in all of this is at least there was something about the book that requests have been made to read it. As for me, I’m far from deterred or discouraged. If anything, it’s added bulletin board material and another stepping stone.

The Butterfly Affect

Author's Note: This post was originally an entry for a writing contest for the Chicago Tribune back in February, but due to the pandemic, I'm sure the contest is off, citing more important issues at hand. My entry was featured on the online magazine, Daughter of Ani in July, and now I'm featuring it here on the Literature Lounge. Enjoy!

Hi, I’m Gabriel Chabert. To tell you a little more about myself, I’m a retired football coach who was born in the cajun town of Lafayette, LA. and raised in the state’s capitol, Baton Rouge. I paid my dues through the ranks of college and the pros as a graduate assistant, scouting coordinator, running backs coach, offensive coordinator/quarterbacks coach and finally, becoming the head coach of the Boise Bombers.

Some call me a legend; some would say I was overrated, having only won one of my three Pinnacle Crown Championship appearances. Oh well, you can’t please everybody. Anyway, I was known for my offensive approach; a lot of vertical passing mixed with intermediate passing and the run game. For years my offense was known as “Da Bomb Offense,” as a reference to the team’s name and of course, the aggressive nature of my offense— and defense, I might add— that has made nearly every quarterback that I’ve coached at least an All-Pro at some point in their careers.

Ah, I miss the old glory days in Boise sometimes. Anyway, enough of me rambling on about my past life in the grid iron world. That’s not what I came to talk to y’all about, well, not mainly. He-he. I’ve moved back to Louisiana, namely New Orleans, since then. As I sit here lounging in front of the lake near my 6,000 square foot mansion, I can honestly say as much as I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my career and everything that led up to it, it’s my personal and love life where this is the happiest I’ve ever been. It makes me ponder, is love really so strong that even if you pick the wrong one, it will come back and revisit you until you get it right? Is that possible?

Aside from that, have you ever felt as if something has happened to you before? Or to quote the cliché, “Did you ever get that feeling of déjà vu?” I know I’m sounding strange and all over the place, perhaps I’m spooking you out, but stick with me, I’ll explain everything.

As I alluded to a moment ago, my career was on fire, but my marriage was in the dumps. After college, I married Abigail “Abby” Oliver, “The Most Popular Girl in School” and the prom queen. I must admit, she was smoking hot. Besides a beautiful face, she had a petite frame that attracts guys such as me, along with an inviting smile that sealed the deal. I know you’re asking, if she was so gorgeous and coveted by majority of the guys, how did your marriage end up in ruins? Well, I’ll tell you. First of all, everything I described was on the outside, the exterior. A lot of guys don’t consider if the woman has a quality character. They see whatever it is about the woman they like, and the spell has been casted, so to speak.

This was a hard lesson I had to learn being with Abby. Man, you talk about someone being entitled. The whole world and everything in it revolved around her, and boy was she a nagger. However, according to those on the outside looking in, I had the “perfect” marriage and was living the “dream,” which would be an attractive wife and two children, Hunter and Casey, whom I love dearly— the children, I mean. The only thing that was missing was the dog. I had 2 out of 2.3 children. What’s a third of a child, anyway?

Everyday, either when I was going to work or if I was dropping the kids off at school, I would see this butterfly. It would zip and zigzag all around me, which Hunter and Casey— my son and daughter, by the way— thought was so funny. Seemingly every day, like clockwork, this butterfly would buzz around me. I know this sounds strange, but after a while I started to wonder if it was trying to tell me something. Seems like it had been going on for years. I never told anyone this, until now.

One day, after another argument with the wife, I had to take a drive, ya know, just get away for a while. I decided to drive to Pete’s Boise Bistro or known simply as “Pete’s.” It was my favorite spot in Idaho. His steaks were amazing, but his potato dishes were the best this side of the cosmos. I was a huge fan of his famous Pete’s Potato Bowl, filled with chunks of steak or chicken, corn and black beans all covered with cheese. They knew who I was, and what I wanted most of the time when I went there. Ah, I can taste that potato bowl now.  Anyway, as I was saying, while I was driving to Pete’s, the memory of one Lucy Dreams came to mind. Lucy Dreams. I always loved her last name. It was such a…breath of fresh air.

She wasn’t bad to look at either back in high school. She had bleach blonde hair that she sometimes wore in a bun, an infectious personality that could possibly bring nations together, but besides that, the main thing that drew me to her were her dreamy blue eyes. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but when I looked into hers, I think I saw something celestial.

She was always nice to me. Whenever she saw me, she would smile and say hello. Then again, Abby did the same thing when we were in high school, but looking back, it could’ve been because I was the quarterback on the football team. With Lucy, it was always genuine. During class, I would happen to glance in her direction and our eyes would meet and she would smile.

A lot of people thought we were perfect for each other. Although I was the star quarterback, I was pretty much the black sheep of the team, the odd ball— if you will. I didn’t do a lot of the things that the other athletes participated in, so while I was a “surgeon” and a “beast” on the field, I was labeled “weird” and “nerdy” off the field. Lucy, despite being a pleasant view, was also often looked at as if she had ten heads.

It’s funny because we never dated in high school, but we were very close. I remember some of the weirdest things would happen when I was around her. One time, I left my Calculus book at home, but I didn’t realize it until after my mom dropped me off at school. I had 20 minutes before the bell rang for 1^st period, so I had time to go through my bag to see if it was there. Nothing. I sat there on the bench; frustrated, disgusted. Then, I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder. I looked up and found myself staring right into these dreamy, blue eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

I sighed. “I left my Calculus book at home.”

“Oh no.”

“Exactly.”

“We have an open-book quiz today. You can’t contact your parents to get it for you?”

“Nah. My mom is on her way to work and my dad is already at work.”

“Well, explain to Mr. Stevens what happened.” She suggested. “Maybe he will let you borrow one of the extra books for today.”

“I can try, but it’s an automatic ten-point deduction from my test score if I do that.”

“Well, a 90 is better than a zero.”

“True. I’ll see what I can do.”

She smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

Five minutes before the bell, I sat in Mr. Stevens class, bracing myself, waiting for him to enter. He usually had his door open for students to enter five minutes in advance. For some reason, I decided to look in my book bag one last time before Mr. Stevens walked in, I guess hoping that the book would magically appear. I looked through my things, and I’ll be dipped, the book was there! Once again, I felt a sudden gentle touch on my shoulder and saw those blue eyes when I looked up.

“Hey, you looked shocked.” She said.

“I am. I found my book.”

“Really? That’s great! Where did you find it?”

“It was in my book bag.” I replied. “It’s weird because it wasn’t there 15 minutes ago. I nearly ransacked my things looking for it, and it wasn’t there. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, maybe you were overlooking it.”

“I guess. I’m just glad that I have it.”

“Me too. I’ll talk to you after class.”

“Okay.”

You know what? Come to think of it— man, this is weird— there was another instance where I created this volcanic lava cake for my Home Economics project the night before. On a side note, Abby was a better cook, but I was hands-down a better baker. Anyway, Rufus, the family’s pet Boerboel, ate it. Yes, the dog literally ate my homework! I took pictures while he was feasting on my assignment. Devastated doesn’t begin to describe how I felt. I was so perturbed I wanted to sell him.

Where it gets weird is that not long after fuming over Rufus’ dastardly deed— or should I say greed? — I went to sleep, and I had the weirdest dream. In the dream, I saw that same butterfly flying over a land of pastries, of all things. I followed the butterfly to investigate, but then I was awakened by the telephone ringing.

It was Lucy. I told her what happened. Her words of encouragement helped a little, but it wasn’t gonna change the fact that I would have to start a new project, and it was due the next day! As soon as I got off the phone with Lucy, the door gingerly swung open and mom peeped her head in.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” She said. She noticed the dejected look on my face. “What’s wrong, Gabe?”

“Rufus ate my class project.”

“What?! Really? Let me check and see.” She closes the door. Two minutes later, she came back. “Gabe, what are you talking about? Your homework is still on the kitchen table.”

“Huh?” I got up from the bed, grabbed the pictures I took and went downstairs. I looked on the kitchen table, and there it was. “I don’t understand. I saw him eating it.” I held up the photos. “I even took pictures.”

She took a look at the photos. “Gabriel, he’s not doing anything but sitting next to your father’s chair.” She said. “He always sits there.”

I looked at the pictures again. “But I saw him…”

“Maybe you imagined it. Did you have one of those dreams again?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Perhaps that’s what it was. Now, start getting ready for dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.” I sighed and went upstairs.

Till this day, I have no idea how that happened. I wasn’t imagining things. I only let it go because I didn’t want to argue with mom. I know that dog ate my assignment; I just know it. Everything’s coming back to me like a rush from a tidal wave.

My grandmother was one of those superstitious types. She told me — no — she insisted that whoever I went to the senior prom with would be the one I would marry. Even though some considered Maw-maw to be nutty, she usually wasn’t wrong about these things.

That night, Lucy stopped by the house to brainstorm some ideas about the upcoming events for Senior Night, and mom talked her into staying for dinner. Mom and Maw-maw were really high on Lucy; they loved her. They were captured by her personality as much as I was. “That girl is gonna be your wife.” Maw-maw would say. After that night, she was invited to come over anytime. She didn’t come often, but when she did, she was greeted with “How’s my daughter-in-law?” by mom. Lucy would smile and take it in stride. She took everything in stride; she was so serene, never got too high or too low about things.

I remember Lucy and I sittin’ on the porch swing that night, and while we were talking, a butterfly zipped between us in the middle of our conversation.

“Darn butterfly.” I recall saying.

“Be nice.” She said with smile. “It just wants to keep us company.”

“I guess.” I said with a chuckle. “I didn’t know they come out at night.”

“They’re amazing creatures.” She said with such conviction— soft, sweet conviction, that is. “They’re highly regarded among some tribes.”

“I’ve heard. I never looked much into it, though.”

“By the way, you were amazing last week.” She complimented. “That might’ve been your best game yet.”

“Thanks. Say, I have a question.”

She looked at me inquisitively. “I’m listening.”

For some reason, as much as we seemed to get along at school, the thought never crossed my mind to ask her to be my prom date until right then and there. She told me that Zach Martin asked her the day before, and a few guys before him, but she told them she would think it over. Wow, amazing. All year long she was kind of the forbidden fruit in the sense that despite most guys finding her attractive, they thought she was strange, utterly strange, which kept a lot them away from her once they got to know her.

I think most people didn’t understand her. Often misunderstood myself, I totally got her, and she was far from strange to me. When I gathered the impromptu nerve to ask her to the biggest event of one’s high school years, now suddenly every guy was in her face, namely Zach Martin.

Zachariah “Zach” Martin. The star linebacker and co-captain of the football team— I was the team captain on offense. We were on good terms last I checked, but it wasn’t that way when I first met him. We were freshmen trying out for the team, and my first encounter with him was him trying to bully me. He was a big guy, and although I was tall, I was on the skinny side. I put on more weight as each year passed.

After practice he would jump in front of my locker with this devious grin on his face, daring me to move him. The first couple of times he did it I let it go, guys who were higher up on the depth chart at that time would tell him chill and he would eventually get out of my way.

One day, it was just me and him, and he jumped in front of my locker again. Now, I as I’ve said before, I was tall, skinny and perhaps “nerdy” back then, but I was and will always be a ragin’ cajun at heart. It was already a long day, plus I was tired of his foolishness, so I shoved him so hard, the locker shook. He came charging at me, and my dad’s wrestling training— he was a wrestling champ in college— came back to mind.

I side-stepped him and brought him to the floor with a double leg takedown, then immediately went up top, putting him in a front headlock. He was a big sucker, so he put up a fight, but my hold was cinched in and he eventually tapped out just as the coaches walked in and broke everything up. I never really could shake the “nerd” thing, but I did get the respect of my teammates.

By our senior year, heck, by our sophomore year he was a nightmare for opposing offenses. He became known as “Zach The Ripper”. He was revered for his sideline-to-sideline range when pursuing the opponent, now, true to his linebacker instincts, he was pursuing Lucy. The next day, word got around that Lucy decided to go with Zach to the prom, and Abby still hadn’t found anyone, to the surprise of many.

I found it quite eerie how all of this came about. To confirm the rumor, a picture leaked with Zach standing next to Lucy in the dress she planned to wear for the prom, and Abby out of nowhere approached me about not having a prom date. I hadn’t heard anything from Lucy to find out if the rumor was true or not, and while I was frustrated with the sudden lack of communication, her Houdini act really baffled me. In the midst of all the confusion, I bit the bullet asked Abby to the prom…and she said yes.

The next thing I knew, four years went by and I wound up marrying Abby. I never saw Lucy again. The next 20 years of my life was a living you-know-what. Well, 18. The first two years wasn’t so bad. The only thing that kept me afloat were the children and my career. One night, after a hellacious argument and a threat to divorce me and take custody of the children, I was at my wit’s end.

I never prayed much, but on this night, I was out of answers. For the first time since grade school probably, I got on my knees and prayed. I had tears streaming down my face, supplicating, pleading for my life to change. I tossed and turned before I finally went to sleep. I woke up and found myself sitting on the porch with Lucy again. Once again, there was that butterfly, and there I was asking Lucy to the prom. This time she said yes without hesitation. This time we walked into the ballroom hand-in-hand. She was wearing that blue dress that she wore in the picture with Zach.

She was so beautiful, so stunning in that dress. It matched the color of those mysterious blue eyes. I had the pleasure of gazing into them while we danced to the last song of the night: Mariah Carey’s Butterfly. Zach was the prom king and Abby was the prom queen again, but neither us cared. We just wanted to be together. The limo our dads pitched in for took us to our destinations. The first stop was Lucy’s because she was closer.

Before she got out, I asked the chauffeur to give us a few minutes. Without hesitation, I asked Lucy to be my wife. Shocked, elated and teary-eyed, she said yes! I didn’t have the ring on me at the time; I accidentally left it at home. I never seen her laugh so much in my life. She teased me for the next two days about that. I wasn’t offended; thinking back on it, it was hilarious.

The night before our wedding, she stopped by my house. She told me that she had something to say to me and it required my undivided attention. I had a nice candle lit dinner laid out for the two of us: steak and shells and cheese for me, and some caponata pasta, for her. She never ate much meat. I made it all myself, although I’ll admit I got the recipe for the pasta from mom years ago. I always loved her caponata pasta; still do, actually. After dinner, we sat at the table and held hands. Then she laid it on me.

“First, I want to thank you for being so understanding and actually getting me all of these years.” She said with a slight chuckle afterward. “Although the way some people responded to me was uncalled-for, to be fair, I’m different from most.”

“Yes, you are, but that didn’t give them the right to treat you the way some of them did.” I chimed in.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m different in ways your mind couldn’t imagine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have the ability to manipulate time.” She revealed.

I pull my hands from hers. Not to be mean, but out of state of shock. “Run that by me again?”

“I can warp time. I’ll elaborate: Do you remember when you left your Calculus book at home?”

Confusion and anticipation took over at that point. “Yes?”

“I arranged it to where book wound up in your bag.”

I’m not gonna lie, I was a bit skeptical. “But how?”

“You didn’t see that butterfly hovering over your bag.” She said. “You were so busy rumbling through it.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything. Those butterflies are my representatives.” She revealed.

“Wait. Wait. Don’t get me wrong, I want to believe you, but this is a lot to digest.”

“I know and I understand, that’s why I’m taking the time to tell you this.” She said. “I know it will be hard to believe at first, but one of the things I’ve always admired about you is your open-mindedness and understanding.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, continue.”

“Some of those fellas are my messengers, some are more hands-on.”

“Wow.”

“About the dog eating your homework.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember the butterfly you saw in your dreams?”

“Yep.”

“Your subconscious communicated with me in another realm in request to reverse the situation. Obviously, I obliged.”

“So, that would explain the butterfly? Messenger, I assume?”

“Correct.”

“So, you’re saying I had a lucid dream?”

“Something like that.”

“I appreciate the assist, but you had my mom thinking I was insane. I was even wondering what was going on, that maybe I was imaging things.”

“My apologies, but your volcano cake did win the 1^st prize ribbon.”

“True. Despite everything, you saved my rear that day. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You deserved it.”

“Now, a burning question: can you explain what happened prior to our prom night?” I inquired. “Ya know, the rumor, the picture with you and Zach, your disappearance?”

“The rumor, well, I had no control over that. People saw me speaking to Zach and ran with it, you how it is.” She replied. “The picture was actually rigged. Someone managed to forge Zach’s prom picture with mine to confirm the rumor. My disappearance? Let’s just say I felt guilty.”

“Guilty about what?”

“When you asked me to the prom back then, my answer was yes, but I decided to test you by informing you that Zach and a few others asked me already. I wanted to see if you would react or how you would respond.”

“So, Zach and the other guys never asked you?”

“They did, but I had no intention of going with them. I just wanted to test you, and I let it go too far.” She started tearing up. “I couldn’t face myself when I found out Abby asked you after the rumors about Zach and me gained momentum. She always was an opportunist.”

“Wow. Really?”

“I mean, she was beautiful. I just knew I blew it when she asked you. I didn’t see you turning her down.”

“I wish I would have. What happened to you all those years? I never seen or heard from you again.”

“I passed by. Where do you think the butterflies came from when you were going to work or dropping off Hunter and Casey to school?”

“Shouldn’t you have known I was unhappy?”

“I manipulate time; I’m not a telepath. Besides, you looked okay to me. I stood back because I didn’t think you needed me anymore. When I heard you cry out that night, I saw it as an opportunity to make things right, so here we are.”

“I can’t think of a place I’d rather be.”

“I would start that night over a thousand times if I had to, if that’s what it took for us to be together.”

“So, what happens to Abby? Just curious.”

“Well, she marries Zach.”

“Wait. Our children. What about Hunter and Casey?”

“They’re Zach and Abby’s. If you desire to start over, we must start anew.”

There were few hard swallows in my throat. Tears ran down my face because while I didn’t care too much what happened to Abby, I loved those children. “I understand. There are things in life that requires sacrifice.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”

“One more thing. What about my career?”

She smiled again. “It’s yours.”

I breathed a collective sigh. “Thank goodness.”

I took Lucy’s hands in mine. At that moment, a butterfly flew in and hovered over the fire lit from the candle placed between us. It flapped its wings immensely, fanning the flame from the candle until a bright light consumed the room.

So, here I am. I got to keep my career, and everything is just the way it was, except I’m married to Lucy instead of Abigail, and we have four wonderful children instead of two. “Maw-maw, if you’re listening, I guess you were right after all.” Excuse me, I took a moment to look up in the sky. I couldn’t ask for a better life, and I definitely couldn’t ask for a better wife. That’s my story. I guess if nothing else, what I get out of this is sometimes you have to take a step back in order to move forward. They say time heals all wounds, but in my case, I experienced something that transcends healing. It’s more of a rebirth on life.

 

 

 

The End