War Stories
So I’m still playing around with the Cayden character in the post-apocalyptic future setting. There’s an earlier snippet with him and another soldier named Icarus; this part in particular is one attempt at trying to find a beginning to the story.
Not Far From Here
Cayden dreamt that he was dying. As far as he knew, it was the first time, but he was aware it was common to forget dreams.
Choking back blood, pooling like pneumonia in his lungs, he knew the bullet couldn’t be retrieved. Even if it was possible, there was no field medic to tell him so, and none would hear him over the run of midnight mortar shells. He began to hope that there was a trajectory with his name on it, or that an explosion would kick up a large enough chunk of asphalt to crush his head entirely—the prevailing side would march through the next day and be scraping him off their boots by nightfall. But sometimes deliverance is as clunky as an old service revolver.
Cayden laid flat, spitting equal parts blood and saliva, looking like a child, all bundled up for the winter, ready to make a snow angel.
Outside of his head, in the world of permanence, his body was settled in, unmoving, amongst quiet debris. He was well-hidden from any straggling ranks of a battalion that might still be milling about the city. A smile rested with him, in his lips, and both of them would go the rest of the night undisturbed.
In the morning, Cayden was alone. His dream had flitted away along with his smile. The fringes of his death lingered in his head, and he tried to remember what it was he had been dreaming about. He couldn’t. All he knew was that it had been pleasant. Perhaps it had been a moment from his childhood.
He picked up his helmet—he didn’t sleep with it on anymore; although, his gasmask still clung to his face like a spider. Gathering up his gun, and slinging the strap over his shoulder, he peeked out over the edge of his hole: a prairie dog in a war zone. He appeared to be the only survivor, at least in his part of the city. Months had gone by with him assuming little else.
The city—of course—was Freedom. Freedom, US of A. From tip to tip, it ran just over 300 miles but in most parts was seldom more than 50 miles wide. It was the one battlefield that nobody could leave alone. Not the East, not Europe, not Russia, and certainly not the Americas. Africa was still mostly busy fighting itself, which seemed a good deal safer. Cayden didn’t know which nationality was which anymore; he only knew what languages he didn’t speak and what uniforms weren’t his own. That was how he decided who to shoot at. With so much paranoia, it was almost funny how often he could get close enough to hear his enemies talking.
None who enter will leave unchanged
Another book that I finished recently was Brandon Mull’s debut novel Fablehaven. I just saw the book for sale at Barnes and Noble’s, and apparently there is already a sequel out, which I will probably read as well. It’s a fast read, and while the writing does flow fairly well, it’s mostly a fast read because it is intended for a younger audience than myself. I’d imagine this book for more of the 12 year old crowd. Still, it was fun to read. The story is imaginative and original (something impressive with all the other books trying to find their way into this category since the fame of Harry Potter). It played it’s fantasy elements well, it was creative, and there were fairly solid characters. I had 2 problems with the book: 1) the characters can be self-analytical at times, but it comes off in the way a literary critic might look at a character archetype rather than how I think a human being might think about other people, and 2) the writing has moments where it clearly establishes itself as for younger readers and it almost feels condescendingly redundant, to the point that I think even the target audience might get annoyed with it; however, these instances are rare and the book makes up for it by telling a splendid, well-woven story. It’s $7, snag it at Amazon.
He moved in a way that suggested he was attempting the world speed record for the nonchalant walk.
So, I finally read Terry Pratchett’s The Light Fantastic. I read Color of Magic, the first book, awhile ago, and had yet to continue to the sequel. This book follows Rincewind, the worst wizard, as he adventures with Twoflower, the first tourist, and is commonly faced with the end of the world. Pratchett is a master of satire and general comedy, above and beyond what many might imagine, and sets it all up in his own fantasy world, Discworld. I really love his books, and they always put a smile on my face. Even if you’re not a fantasy fan I’d recommend them. This book was on par with the first one, which is to say that it is masterfully written in such a way that I would aspire to it as a writer, but I fear it is so distant it might be simply too far-fetched. The situations and general humor of the story will make you laugh, but the characters are undoubtedly what you’ll come back for. One might think that such a style of writing would only be useful for simple amusement, but with this series that has gotten simply massive, the other people I know who read the books tend to look for the novels centered around their favorite characters. You really do need to read the books to see what I mean, and if you don’t like a certain character, but something about the style interests you, look for the books that center around someone else.
The paperback is $8, get it at Amazon.
