F.M.Thompson
New Member
I am submitting this in two parts-threads-to get it all in-Please let me know what you think of it. I am ready (for the most part) to find a publisher. Thanks!
“I am not going to feel guilty about this!” Sam shouted at the wind. “We all get what we ask for!”
The sun was high, the wind fresh and clear for a change. What could he possibly do about the rest of the world anyway? It was not he who had attacked and destroyed countless cities around the planet. No, not he, who had the murder of millions of people on his conscience; he was happy, and he was not entertaining any shame today for that peace of mind. No meaningless penance would he plead for the unstoppable engines of war.
On this splendid day, charged with a long absent personal happiness, Sam was content as he enjoyed his day at beachside. The azure western sky was solid, real, and in place and the salty sea fragrance drifted on the wind. He wondered what had happened to the haze that had been here. The weather had been downright weird for a couple of years, he knew, but did not give it another thought.
Sam inhaled deeply, pulling in the stuff of life, mindless to the outrage that grew in the world, and the daily news reports continually reminded him that he, that they could very easily be next. Life was rapturous with an almost inexpressible joy.
He danced and kicked the waves, gulls crying and reeling away towards the land, waves running up the beach. He picked up a small pink shell of some kind and studied it, and like a child, he wanted to show it to her.
They should be getting back; dinner would be ready soon. He hoped he had shut down the oven completely; sometimes it had a mind of its own, and that worried him. Roger loved his antiques and had installed a fifties stove in the new house. He would have gone for a newer model, himself.
Turning back, he noticed the birds; in his glance, he saw a flock of graceful, dappled gray pelican skimming the rocky shoreline, flying in from the north.
Sam thought that even with the troubled world of murder and mayhem out there, that the splendor of life and his newly blossomed romance could never reach a higher crescendo, somehow making all of life’s current problems into molehills.
It could not reach him; he was hidden, and bulletproof. He laughed a small laugh, the chuckle of the unconvinced.
He left the beach and went up to the crest of the field. From the high bluffs he sauntered towards the Fairgrounds, whistling as he walked. He felt relaxed yet expectant, thinking about his amazingly delicious garlic pot roast that he had created, before coming here with Elly. Even finding the meat had been difficult, so he was expectant.
When, all of a sudden…inexplicably… as if an invisible life-controlling switch was thrown in another dimension, sensing a presence for no reason in particular, he looked back to the ocean.
Unbelieving, his mouth opened, and there he saw them, silent and huge, coming, and crowding out the sky with all of their unimaginable brilliance.
“What the…?” was all that he could summon, eloquence be damned. There in the distant western sky, Sam saw the first of the gigantic silvery flying saucers, hundreds of feet wide, approaching his position, glinting brightly in the strong winter sunlight.
From the frothy waves, further beyond the first eruption, another of the enormous saucer shapes climbed immediately out of the excited waves, churning and spraying huge columns of rainbowed mist. Abruptly, another and another rose from the green-blue depths, tearing up a mile-wide surface of the waters, and reached high into the blue afternoon skies, there on that lonely coast of northern California.
Elly was in the forest, up the rocky slope from him, writing and collecting wildflowers from the meadow there.
“God in heaven! Elly has to see this! She was right-Oh, my god! She was right!” he stammered without thinking, running bat-out-o’-hell towards the path back to her. They had come, the bastard aliens, here to his little town!
“Absolutely right—god! About everything…all of her predictions!” he thought crazily as he ran, breathless, tripping on stones, gaining the trail upward.
“If she was right about them coming here,” he though manically, “about them taking over every city, then she’s right…about everything else!”
Sprinting madly towards the path, Sam’s body had suddenly begun to pulse, acting strangely, tingling and flushed with excitement and expectation at seeing the alien shapes approaching him, and the rest of his life.
He ran faster.
He felt seized with a sudden physical strangeness. It was not just the sight of the alien ships; it was his physical body…it was revolting.
“But it wasn’t until I saw the UFO’s that these feelings started,” he thought, moving quickly, agitated. He felt as if his blood were on fire.
“But why…why does this seem so familiar to me?” he thought. Sam felt a paralyzing fear and could not think straight; it was the beginning of a panic attack. He stopped, watching the first few saucers come over his location.
He could not think to move. He forced him self up the slope to find Elly, frantically climbing, sliding, looking back, stumbling again over rocks and low shrub, to find her and warn her.
The change was overwhelming him; his blood was burning, hot then cold, since the sighting of the UFO's. He had no way to describe it.
Elly was returning from the path in the redwoods, to the viewpoint to find Sam, toting a canvas bag full of flowers that she had gathered in the meadow above the large open fairgrounds. She was going to be making a wreath, she had said.
Sam shouted to her as he cleared the ridgeline and made the path, gaining her attention, screaming, pointing excitedly behind him, out towards the distant waters. She looked up at sound of his voice, happy that he was with her again, and then fell into shock.
Prologue
February 2012: Trinidad
February 2012: Trinidad
“I am not going to feel guilty about this!” Sam shouted at the wind. “We all get what we ask for!”
The sun was high, the wind fresh and clear for a change. What could he possibly do about the rest of the world anyway? It was not he who had attacked and destroyed countless cities around the planet. No, not he, who had the murder of millions of people on his conscience; he was happy, and he was not entertaining any shame today for that peace of mind. No meaningless penance would he plead for the unstoppable engines of war.
On this splendid day, charged with a long absent personal happiness, Sam was content as he enjoyed his day at beachside. The azure western sky was solid, real, and in place and the salty sea fragrance drifted on the wind. He wondered what had happened to the haze that had been here. The weather had been downright weird for a couple of years, he knew, but did not give it another thought.
Sam inhaled deeply, pulling in the stuff of life, mindless to the outrage that grew in the world, and the daily news reports continually reminded him that he, that they could very easily be next. Life was rapturous with an almost inexpressible joy.
He danced and kicked the waves, gulls crying and reeling away towards the land, waves running up the beach. He picked up a small pink shell of some kind and studied it, and like a child, he wanted to show it to her.
They should be getting back; dinner would be ready soon. He hoped he had shut down the oven completely; sometimes it had a mind of its own, and that worried him. Roger loved his antiques and had installed a fifties stove in the new house. He would have gone for a newer model, himself.
Turning back, he noticed the birds; in his glance, he saw a flock of graceful, dappled gray pelican skimming the rocky shoreline, flying in from the north.
Sam thought that even with the troubled world of murder and mayhem out there, that the splendor of life and his newly blossomed romance could never reach a higher crescendo, somehow making all of life’s current problems into molehills.
It could not reach him; he was hidden, and bulletproof. He laughed a small laugh, the chuckle of the unconvinced.
He left the beach and went up to the crest of the field. From the high bluffs he sauntered towards the Fairgrounds, whistling as he walked. He felt relaxed yet expectant, thinking about his amazingly delicious garlic pot roast that he had created, before coming here with Elly. Even finding the meat had been difficult, so he was expectant.
When, all of a sudden…inexplicably… as if an invisible life-controlling switch was thrown in another dimension, sensing a presence for no reason in particular, he looked back to the ocean.
Unbelieving, his mouth opened, and there he saw them, silent and huge, coming, and crowding out the sky with all of their unimaginable brilliance.
“What the…?” was all that he could summon, eloquence be damned. There in the distant western sky, Sam saw the first of the gigantic silvery flying saucers, hundreds of feet wide, approaching his position, glinting brightly in the strong winter sunlight.
From the frothy waves, further beyond the first eruption, another of the enormous saucer shapes climbed immediately out of the excited waves, churning and spraying huge columns of rainbowed mist. Abruptly, another and another rose from the green-blue depths, tearing up a mile-wide surface of the waters, and reached high into the blue afternoon skies, there on that lonely coast of northern California.
Elly was in the forest, up the rocky slope from him, writing and collecting wildflowers from the meadow there.
“God in heaven! Elly has to see this! She was right-Oh, my god! She was right!” he stammered without thinking, running bat-out-o’-hell towards the path back to her. They had come, the bastard aliens, here to his little town!
“Absolutely right—god! About everything…all of her predictions!” he thought crazily as he ran, breathless, tripping on stones, gaining the trail upward.
“If she was right about them coming here,” he though manically, “about them taking over every city, then she’s right…about everything else!”
Sprinting madly towards the path, Sam’s body had suddenly begun to pulse, acting strangely, tingling and flushed with excitement and expectation at seeing the alien shapes approaching him, and the rest of his life.
He ran faster.
He felt seized with a sudden physical strangeness. It was not just the sight of the alien ships; it was his physical body…it was revolting.
“But it wasn’t until I saw the UFO’s that these feelings started,” he thought, moving quickly, agitated. He felt as if his blood were on fire.
“But why…why does this seem so familiar to me?” he thought. Sam felt a paralyzing fear and could not think straight; it was the beginning of a panic attack. He stopped, watching the first few saucers come over his location.
He could not think to move. He forced him self up the slope to find Elly, frantically climbing, sliding, looking back, stumbling again over rocks and low shrub, to find her and warn her.
The change was overwhelming him; his blood was burning, hot then cold, since the sighting of the UFO's. He had no way to describe it.
Elly was returning from the path in the redwoods, to the viewpoint to find Sam, toting a canvas bag full of flowers that she had gathered in the meadow above the large open fairgrounds. She was going to be making a wreath, she had said.
Sam shouted to her as he cleared the ridgeline and made the path, gaining her attention, screaming, pointing excitedly behind him, out towards the distant waters. She looked up at sound of his voice, happy that he was with her again, and then fell into shock.
Your prologue manages to introduce several interesting points, such as Elly's "gifts" and the fact that the UFOs have already shown themselves around the world, plus the issue of the burning blood. There are some good ideas here, so perhaps another draft could reduce some of the unnecessary adjectives etc and make the story flow more smoothly. Good luck! 