Fall Post

Hello, world. This is me, Lydia, trying to revive my neglected online presence. Fall is here and I have pretty pictures to show for it. I’ll never get tired of fall colors. After 18 years in Florida, it’s hard to believe I’m back in a place where there’re seasons. I love seasons. (I love Florida, too.)

I get asked about what I’m working on, and I’m happy to share that I’m slowly but surely making progress on Rix Universe Book 3, Rosamma’s story. It will be the last in the series. Never say never, of course, but there are other stories waiting to be told and other worlds worth exploring. I plan to continue playing with the same familiar themes of loneliness, belonging, inner strength vs. physical power, finding purpose, and, of course, love that shines bright in the darkness. And there will be a lot of darkness in Rosamma’s story before there is light. We’re a bit anti-hero-ish. I will be posting snippets soon so you all can get a sense of what it’s shaping up to be.

Along with Rosamma’s book, I’m working on my still-untitled little novel that takes place in a fictional world that resembles ours, but where humans come in genetically different species. I am having a lot of fun writing it. I’m trying to keep the story simple, but I can’t, and it veers a bit toward mystery. The heroine, Merah, is a widow. Her husband’s legacy is secrets that start sprouting up. There’s a large house she dislikes, all very gothic. Preoccupied and distraught, she meets and finds comfort in the most unlikely man she can imagine. He’s a friend she so badly needs… at first.

In this book, I’m doing two things that are new to me. One, it’s written from the first person, which I always said I hated. And two, it’s written from the dual point of view, which is super challenging when it comes to expressing the hero’s thoughts. But some stories simply lend themselves better to a certain format, and I think this one is exactly like that.

I’ve already posted a piece from the middle of the story, and here’s the beginning. Here we are.

Untitled - Chapter 1 (draft)

Tuesdays are the days.

I enter the clinic through the familiar portico. It’s a fancy word for a covered walkway leading up to a glass-and-chrome door. I stop short of opening it and look back at the street through the thin white columns. 

It’s going to rain.

I push through the door and let the artificial coolness of the lobby admit me. My footsteps are quiet on the gleaming marble floor. 

The girl at the reception desk beams at me and jabbers some inane stuff. Weather. Food festival. Her grandmother is coming to live with them after the stroke. 

The girl’s name is Sonya. It’s written on a small tag she’s wearing on her chest. I see the first letter shining in bright gold. S. A curvy bastard. 

I am pleased.

I can tell all my letters now. But only when they stand out like the first one. The rest of her name is a blur. 

“The doctor is expecting you,” she says. “Would you like me to show you the way?” Her eyes are limpid and hopeful.

“No, thank you.” I form the words with care as I listen to myself speak. My speech is slow but almost indistinguishable from the native Ratans. Or humans, as they call themselves. 

I’m also human. But not a Ratan. I wonder if Sonya can tell.

I pull out the access card they gave me and flash it at her as I head to the inner door. Her face falls, and she sighs. Her eyes follow me until the door closes.

Waiting for the elevator, I allow myself to smile. She is so young. She’s filled to the brim with hopes and dreams. Why can’t we stay that fresh forever?

Seventh floor. First turn to the right. Second turn to the right. The last door before the emergency stairs. 

I pause. There’s a plaque next to the door. I try to make out the letters. M. The one with too many sticks. Something precedes it and something follows it. I concentrate and find a D. 

Two letters. Not bad. 

I knock and walk in. 

He is waiting inside the examination room. Dr. Mann.

A nurse is in the room with him, an older woman. She eyes me fearfully. She knows I’m not a Ratan. 

I’m an Orinac. Just another human. 

But if you ask her, she’d probably say I’m devolved. A mutant. A beast. 

Like most Ratans, she’s repulsed by what she fears.

“How are you doing today, Ryf?” Dr. Mann is friendly. He cares. 

He cares too much.

“I’m well. And you?” I respond like he expects me to. 

“Great, great.” He's pleased.

I move to the hospital bed that’s configured into a large chair for me. I know my routine.

I slide into the chair and bare my teeth in a smile. Dr. Mann smiles back. The nurse pulls away, failing to hide her fear. 

I shouldn’t mess with her. I sigh and look out of the window. 

It’s going to rain.

They begin their measurements. A small prick on the finger for a quick blood draw. Blood pressure. Heartbeat. Lungs. 

We run through the familiar questions. Sleep pattern. Appetite. Digestion. Check, check, and check. I’m plagued by a slight vertigo in the mornings, and Dr. Mann makes a note of that. We shall wait and see if it goes away with time. Meanwhile, he can offer me drugs to control it.

I decline. We shall wait and see.

The fearful nurse inserts an IV. I keep my mouth shut and my teeth hidden.

When done, she hurriedly puts the instruments in order and leaves. 

The IV begins its slow transfusion of drugs from a clear bag into my bloodstream. It fills me up and drains my power. 

I look out of the window. It has started to rain. A light refreshing mist.

A warm stinging sensation spreads along my arm. I feel no nausea yet, but it will come. And the dreams. 

The nausea doesn’t bother me, but the dreams do. If only I could turn off the dreams.

“Do you have regrets, Ryf?”

I pull my eyes away from the rain. Dr. Mann is still here.

He has never asked me this question before. All in all, it’s a pointless question. Yes, he cares too much.

“No, I don’t.” 

Nausea begins to churn my insides.

Dr. Mann is no longer smiling. He frowns above his wire-rimmed glasses. “We have resources, Ryf. I encourage you to see a therapist.”

“A therapist… For regrets?”

He talks fast. Being sad for long periods is called depression. Regrets can lead to anxiety and hopelessness. The feeling of helplessness can trigger panic attacks and more depression. Do I have headaches?

“I’m fine.”  

Dr. Mann purses his lips. 

I am fighting to stay lucid. I hate those fucking dreams. “It was my decision.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Well, the nurse will be back in an hour.”

I nod. Nothing new.

The drugs are pulling me down.

He gives me one last look before leaving. In his eyes, I catch the very thing he is worried about, regrets.

The rain is falling. The window is streaked with water. The world is a blur…

…I like coffee. Who knew? I like the smell and taste. I even like the texture of the beans and the sounds of the coffee maker as it finishes brewing. Ida thinks I’m funny…

The rain is falling.

…I hear thunder. My braided hair is wet and heavy, and my leather armor is slick. The man is moaning and writhing on the rocky ground. My hands are smeared with his blood. He cries for mercy but I don’t have any. I put my boot on him and push him over the edge. His cries die out as he disappears down the mine shaft…

The rain is falling.

…A missile is hurtling toward the mountain from the clouds. I’m calm. We’ve got what we need. It will never reach the ground. I lift my weapon to the sky and open up my senses. The son of a bitch who shot at us thinks his little plane is too high in the sky for Orinac hunter senses to get a bead on him. He’s wrong. A hard pump of recoil hits my shoulder as I let the rocket loose…

The rain is falling hard. 

…The woman is laughing. Her warm breath caresses the side of my neck. She’s greedy, squeezing hard as I slide in and out of her slick body. Her pretty eyes are searching mine as she gasps in pleasure under me. I know she wants me to stay. I won’t. Pretty eyes… Relief rushes me like a hot wave. For a moment, everything stands still. I’m free. From the darkness, the passion, the drive. Free…

My heart thumps, and I’m awake in the chair. The bag above my head is empty.

The fucking dreams.

The nausea is churning. I take a shuddering breath.

Dr. Mann cares too much. He’s a good doctor. He has regrets.

I don’t.

It was my decision.

I’m free.