Blood for Blood

The rain grayed the sky and blackened our footsteps. Around us buildings crumbled and bones burned, and life buzzed, hiding in dark corners. For days, the thump of my soles hit the asphalt at the same beat as the others. Becoming one, as if I belonged.

“Healthy girls have no choice.” He’d been right – how do you say no to a gun? “We’re letting you live, should be thankful,” Romain said, the leader of this tribe of kidnappers and their victims. The plume of his breath died in the wind, along with my resolve to rebel and run away. Nowhere to go but Hell.

After the war, the explosions and the terror, after losing everything and everyone, where was my will to fight? At the sight of the men’s guns, the smoking snouts left me cold; at the sound of their gunshots and screams of victory, I lost all hope. I’m with the bad ones, I am one of them.

The other women watched my every move, their gazes printing cold marks on my neck and face. Motherly Josie, sexy Carmen, childish Kay, and me, beauty queen turned tomboy. I should have carved a scar on my cheek and plucked out my lashes.

“After tonight, we’ll be at sea,” Josie whispered. They never talked to me: the new girl they’d betray the second they got the chance. No alliance, no safety net, Tim once said. “And then who knows what they’ll do with us.”

“We’re good for two things.” Carmen frowned as I slowed down by her side. “Screw and cook. There’s nothing left to put in the pot, they’re getting restless. Watch them beg once we turn the guns on them.” There was a plan, but I wasn’t part of it.

Romain stopped the pack from crossing the destroyed boulevard, looming skyscrapers reflecting clouds and smoke. The men waited as their leader faced us, eyes seeking mine before finding Carmen’s. Shadows moved behind the building’s glass – people, lots of them, watching us.

“What is it, Carmensita?” His French accent changed the S into Z. “What is that buzzing I hear?” I jumped at the clank of his gun and moved away, my back stopped by the corpse roped to the sleigh. I gagged at the smell, at what was about to happen. Would my body be tied next to the dead man’s?

Carmen straightened up, hand on her hip, defiant. “You heard me, you barbaric piece of shit.”

Romain smiled at the challenge. “We played by your rules, didn’t we?” The other men circled the women, me included. “Should be happy, your meeting point and one more soldier.” They were talking about me. I’m the soldier, but for which army?

“Blood for blood, you’re worth what you spilled.” Faster than I expected, the women drew weapons and Carmen shot Romain. “That’s for my kid. And that,” bang, another man fell, “is for my mother, too old to come with us.” Revenge, the women wanted revenge.

“Stop, don’t!” cried Henryk, the second in command. Hands in the air, his head shook and his voice trembled. “I’ve always been nice to you, Carm…” bang, he died from Kay’s bullet to the head. I looked away from the brains coming out of the shredded hole.

“For Martha, for my sister.” Bang, bang, Josie killed two others.

“And this one is for me, for her, and for every woman we knew.” Carmen shot with perfect aim and a cold gaze, never leaving the weapon’s sight. Not even when she aimed it at me. “And you, should we keep you around?”

For my bravery, I wouldn’t fall from pain or break to pieces after a loss. I didn’t after my makeshift family stared at me from the window as an explosion rocked the ground and killed them all. For my cowardice, I never tried to plan against the men, like Carmen and the others had.

“I have nothing left to lose.” No truer words ever escaped my lips. No heart, no soul, no home, no love.  I have nothing to lose because I’ve become nothing.

Bullet for Bullet

We should have been more careful, hid better. We thought that in the rows of deserted homes and abandoned streets, no one would see us, sense us. How wrong we were.

Tim was drying the dishes I passed to him, Maria kept her legs up after having cooked all afternoon, and the kids played with the dog and the cockatoo. A perfect family picture, except that two weeks ago, we hadn’t known each other. Two weeks ago plus one day, my real family died before my eyes.

“What’s that sound?” Tim stopped me from running water over the soapy plates and we both leaned in toward the open window. “Is that a wheel creaking?” he asked me, as if I knew.

The kids stopped playing, everyone stared at each other. We’ve been found.

“Should we run?” Maria’s voice, barely audible over the racket coming from outside, came too late, like her plan. “Can you see them?”

From our third story apartment, we watched a small group of survivors passing down the small alley, doing like us and hiding from the roads. Through the dead tree branches and the ashen grounds, a man looked straight at us. Without a word, he pointed then invited me with his index finger.

“Can you manage by yourself?” asked Tim, but we all thought the same: doesn’t matter, they’ll want to meet us all anyway. “Too late to hide the food, but Sam and Miko can be quieted down.” The dog and the bird, a feast for hungry men, but dear companions to us. Luxury, keeping pets.

“Yeah, maybe in the back shed?” My voice sounded strange, higher than usual. I glanced at the kids hiding in Maria’s arms, then tried to lie the best I could. “They’re like us, don’t be afraid.” I stepped out, not finding the strength to smile or breathe.

The stairwell had been left as found, and every time we passed through, it tinted our clothes with black dust. Soles cracked the debris on each step, warning us if someone ever approached, although no one had. Until now.

Outside, the stink of gunpowder and burnt wood greeted me with its clouds overhead and smog lying close to the asphalt. Not thick enough to conceal any of us, or any of them.

They stood by the fence; their makeshift sleigh with water barrels and crates of food guarded by two thugs. They checked me out, wolf-whistled, but all I saw were guns.

“Hey there.” He spoke with a French accent, and the creases on his face showed he was mid-forties under the black gunk. “Would you care to show us your home? Just to make sure you’re abiding to the code, you know.”

I signed for him to follow me, and when two others moved in our direction, I said, loud enough, “Bullet for bullet. One of yours’ shoot, we do the same.” I lifted my chin toward Tim, aiming our sole weapon at them from up there. Five shells left, one for each of us if anything bad happened.

“Of course, we know how to play.” The man walked behind me, and although I heard only his footsteps, I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder. Three women, eight men and a corpse hanging at the back of the sleigh. A warning or a loved one? “How long you’ve lived here?”

“Two weeks.” The initial contact, I wanted to remain silent. Tim was the diplomatic one, the one people believed. When the silence became unbearable – around the second floor – I asked, “How long you’ve been running?” They were nomads, gypsies, pirates. The worst kind of humans.

“Much like you, about fourteen days.” His accent clashed against the empty rooms and echoed back to me.

“Go in,” I said with a quick shake of the head. When he opened the door, Maria and the kids stood up with fear in their eyes, I had to turn away. I jumped at the thud of thick wood closing behind me and knew with certainty: I’ll never see these people again.

So bloghoppers, friends and followers, here is REBEL

Genre: YA dystopian

Wordcount: 71k

Two sentence pitch:

Livy Parker uncovers the truth about her world and rebels against the New American Order, becoming the nation’s number one threat and the only soldier who can stop the never ending war.

REVISION:

Soldier: Livy Parker Objective: Prevent inland invasion My Real Objective: Find my father and put an end to a fabricated war. I. Am. Livy. Parker. Soldier turned traitor, Rebel against the New American Order. Watch me fight against the real enemy.

First 150 words:

REVISION:

No one’s here to wish me goodbye. The train platform overflows with soldiers and their loved ones, it’s hard to watch strangers kiss, hug and cry through smiles. I’m fatherless, he didn’t come. Clothed in mandatory black, the crowd thickens as the countdown to the Departure Ceremony begins. Ten minutes to go, ten minutes before we depart. I should get ready and be nervous, but instead, I swallow the hurt and vanish from these witnesses to his rejection. Why did he leave me alone, today of all days?

I enter the deserted girls’ barracks, the media screen at the ceiling corner a shallow buzz showing live images of our training camp. I seek the back of the aseptic room and sit on the bunk-bed that was mine until this morning. The rolled up mattress and blanket full of holes are ready to welcome the next girl who’ll cry into her pillow, blaming the harsh orders and hard training—like I did, every night.

Love it? Hate it? Comment!

And for those of you who want to read the blogfest other entries, click here.

Write More * Write Better * Write for me

In the spirit of this list of wishes, here’s a flash inspired by this dream I’ve had just before waking up. You know the kind – one that stays with you all day, that you can’t push out of your mind. And days later, you just have to bleed it on the page.

On the Rocks

Clever, they pretended to be something else. A meteorite shower all over our planet, but nothing to worry about. Brown shapeless space stones weren’t a concern to us, until they landed.

Inside, millions waiting to take our place, to send us away. Ships lined up, futile fighting ended in death; my father, the neighbor, our president. The only hand left to hold was my mother’s.

Through the shredding of our lives, she smiled at me. I asked her: In the wide map of black above, will we lose ourselves? She said: Between the stars and the moon, nothing will catch us if we fall.

For all of you who are still missing out, City of Hell is on the loose, catch it if you can while one of the wonderful stories is FREE ♥

My blogging nominations to spread the love of the Liebster – it means beloved and dearest. Cute, non?

REN WAROM is one amazing, weird, creepy, cursing sailor of a writer, and I adore not only her rich stories but how she always has a nice word twist. Beware: highly addictive.

AMY L OVERLEY makes me laugh with her genius plots and schemes as  the co-founder of the Genius Club. One hell of a writer.

MIKE WORDPLAY is a new friend who cheers me up when I feel ugly, old and fat – not an easy feat, let me tell you. Quite a talented boy.

JASON DARRICK can be very scary and a little creepy, but that’s only when you read his stuff. He’s a cool dude with great muscial taste, too.

TYMOTHY LONGORIA is a sweet, kind-hearted and go-getter writer who helps practical strangers with their query letters. Oh, and he’s adorable, too.

There you have it, peeps – stalk them on twitter, follow their amazing blogs, and show the love ♥

NINE INCH NAILS

The Trent I'm trying to forget

Angie: This band changed my life!!! I remember the first time I ever heard a NIN song. My cousin tossed a cassette tape (yes, it was that long ago) at me and said, “I think you’d better listen to this, I don’t expect I’ll get that tape back once you do.” And she was right…the album was Broken and I listened to it until the tape actually broke! Wish and Gave up, in particular, were two songs that I couldn’t get enough of…and I’ve never been disappointed in concert because Trent Reznor always plays them for me By far my favorite band! I’ve got a ton of NIN stories…in fact, I think I’ll write up a separate post about them!

The Trent I'd like to Goth up good

Anne: I discovered them through a friend, too, but I hardly remember who or where we were. What I can’t forget is when my friend Christopher dragged me to their concert at the Astoria in London, 2005. I pictured Trent Reznor sick and dying from too much rock and roll – circa 1995 – but then this beefed up dude with arms like trees came out and I couldn’t believe my eyes: Le Trent lives! And yum, I’d goth him up real good in an alternate universe, one in which his wife wasn’t some sex kitten and he didn’t have a kid. SO HAPPY he chose to live instead of, you know…

ROBERT SMITH

Angie: Okay, I couldn’t resist…sorry Anne…although it seems like some kind of prerequisite for all goths to LOVE Robert Smith and The Cure…I just couldn’t get into it…mainly because a bunch of people told me I HAD to like them…Angie’s instant reaction to being told what to do…full stop, brakes on, arms crossed, don’t tell me what to do stance…so, I’ve never been a fan.  So much so that when I finally relented and decided to give them a try…paid a crapload of money for a ticket and went to see them in concert…I fell asleep in my seat…WORST.CONCERT.EVER

Seriously, can I have a piece of him?

Anne: My husband, my lover, my imaginary boy! You know, I’ve been defending Mr Smith & Co for so long – 25 years, actually – when people call them out for wearing badly-applied makeup and for singing happy songs, that…I won’t stop now! HOW can you say that, Angie? He’s a genius, a rock star, an unbelievable composer, an artist, a poet, my heart & soul! Then again, you do like Marilyn Manson, so we can’t all have good taste, huh?

JACK & SALLY

Angie: I was a little late to the Jack and Sally party…I missed the movie in the theaters…well, actually, I once again, pulled a classic Angie and skipped it cause I hated all the hype and can’t stand to be told what I’ll just love…trust me, worst mistake ever…since then though, I think I’ve watched the movie at least 200 times, I know all the songs off by heart (even had part of one play as my wedding song) and have an obscene collection of movie stuff…AND I have Jack tattooed on my leg!

Love conquers death and the Oogie Boogie

Anne: I went to see it four or five times at the cinema, a thousand years ago. I just couldn’t get the songs out of my head, and that love story was exactly the kind I like: with skeletons, spiders and heartbreak. I watch it 3 or 4 times each year, can’t help tearing up as they meet up at the end – aw, and that twirly hill just kills me. And yeah, I’ve accumulated loads of Burton crap throughout the years, but I call it my prized collection, which proves everything is relative, I guess.

So there you go, you know a little bit more about the two gals who brought you The Minion of Misery Award:)

I’ve been meeting such great people from around the world on Kelley Armstrong’s forum, that when I learned that Lisa Forget lived close to me, I almost didn’t believe it! This gal is a well-rounded artist, and with her new short story available at MuseItUp Publishing, she’s now a published author, too.

Me: You’ve kept your approach to romantic vampirism fresh even if it sometimes feel like it’s all been said and done in that genre. What/who inspired Deathly Quiet?

Paperback

Kindle

I didn’t feel like posting a Fridayflash this week, instead here are the very first words that will appear in Wild Swan. Not a prologue per se, more like a poetic warning about the book. Ready? Go!

Fire, Let It Burn

Fire, See How It Feels

Forthcoming Fire

You like? Me too. It’s totally copyrighted, so don’t even try.

With everything so big—the buildings, the streets, the crowds—it’d be easy to forget what Beijing is, the city’s essence. In my writing as in my life, I believe it’s the little details that count, and once again, I was proven right.

I collect antiques, so when I saw these red doors with the peeling paint and old wood, I felt right at home. Those knobs are so pretty, many reproductions are sold in markets and souvenir shops – I should’ve brought my screwdriver.

That is one thing French-Canadians haven’t realized, yet: old houses are worth restoring to give them new life. Most of the old hutongs in the Forbidden City are being renovated, and they’re doing a fine job.

I was amazed by the stone carving found on the Emperor’s stairs at the Imperial Palace, and then near a hotel on the side of a business, a pretty medallion.

But details mean nothing when you know the amount of information China hides from its people, the number of people being thrown out of their homes to build new condos, and the size of the revolution that is bound to happen, sooner or later. And I can’t help but think it’ll reach us all the way to the other side of the world, changing us just the same.

*** The winner for the City of Hell giveaway are: DIGITAL DAME & LEONARD WHITE. Congrats you two, and thanks for everyone who participated♥***