Bullets From the Heart – Part 1

I’ve had a new revelation over my holiday.  Several things have been made clear which were in darkness before, and I have new purpose and a plan for 2018. 

Nothing, not a President who doesn’t respect his people, not my depression which tells me I am worthless, and not even my weight which has me out of breath every time I try to do anything will keep me from this purpose. 

This new knowledge is burning within me, and it’s not a fire which shall be easily quenched.  I will carry it around within me, and hone it until it is both sword and shield, wielded by my will.

Prepare yourself.  This year will be a wild ride.

As for stories, I honestly have other things I wish to do with Dynamo.  I love the protagonist, the world, and the story I actually wanted to tell.  That’ll be my next writing project however.  I will be taking the child to daycare tomorrow, and finishing up Action Jackson, and the new Part 1 of Temple in the Stars, which my wife and editor both agree should be at the front rather than the fourth part. 

So, that’s on the docket.  I’d be much happier with a part one rewrite.  My amazing friend Dr. Scrivner did me an enormous favor and recorded part one and two.

I will not let my pride waste this effort.  It is selfish for me to keep it hidden like it was something shameful.  The writing is bad, yes, but it’s not awful.  It’s a learning experience, and in the meantime I’m suppressing the ambitions of my friends with my shame.

That’s wrong.  I’m a better friend than that.  He deserves more from me than what I’ve given him.  I’ve already apologized, and I will be pursuing that aspect of my career as part of my desire to rekindle my momentum in 2018.

I have several releases planned, several irons in the fire, and a lot of things I want to get accomplished.

First and foremost will be seeing the Temple collection in print.  Parts 1-4.  I think that will do a lot to make all of this effort more real to me. 

So, that having been said, new idea time.  I thought that it would be amazing to do a fusion necromancer cyberpunk story.  People will enslave souls, using their power as batteries in their machines.

Part magic, part technology, set against a dystopian backdrop.  I love it already, and I’m tingling all over thinking about it.   Let’s get cracking.  I’ve got the Black Panther trailers on loop, I’ve got some whiskey, and it’s time I rose above my inadequacies to show the world what I can really do.

I am better than 2017.  Better than the year I’ve had.  Better than my problems.  I have things to say, and the world deserves to hear them.  I may labor in solitude for all of my days.  So be it.  You can either let your forge fires make you better, or make you bitter.  There’s nothing else to do but choose.

I refuse to be bitter.

Bullets From the Heart – Part 1

The lance of blue striking the wall above my head was a jarring way to start my Monday.  The bullet, losing form as it struck the solid surface, evaporated into a puff of etheric vapor.  Several more shots followed in it’s wake, but I was already haring off before the first shot had finished dissipating.  I pulled my own korin from the concealed holster slung across my back.  My large rain coat flared as I swung the weapon around to fire blindly behind me. 

I didn’t have to worry about civilians, because no one had lived in this midwest town in over thirty years.  Fallout radiation and contaiminated soil will destroy a populated city with disturbing rapidity.   I continued belching purple-pink projectiles towards my unseen attacker, never bothering to look back as I navigated the broken ruins and rotten buildings of the town I had been sent to investigate. 

Eventually, my korin wound down, no longer humming with the active indication of power for additional shots.  I cursed, swearing vociferously as I pulled it back around and furiously began dialing through the various displays to see what had given out on me.  The tiny animal spirit which handled diagnostics for the weapon was stupid in ways that boggled the imagination, but the information it showed was accurate as usual.  The soul I had spent so many weeks coaxing to my will, had gone through so many rituals to capture and entrap, and taken such great pains to maintain had just been consumed.  Not exhausted, not worn down; it was simply gone.

The string of obscenities I let loose would’ve destroyed the buildings around me, if they hadn’t already been blown out by a nuclear blast.  As it stood, several bricks dislodged as I screamed in panic and fury.   Blue bolts continued to hound me, and they were beginning to come closer and closer to the mark.  My pursuers were much faster than me, and I didn’t have anything to defend myself any longer.  Bitter didn’t even begin to describe it.

I went through the options as I muted the continuously running numbers, ejecting the small cylinder from the rear of my korin, staring with smoldering hatred down at the rune covered traitor.  It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.  Souls, even those from a weak and dying man as mine had been, weren’t supposed to just vanish.  I hadn’t had it working for more than a week, at most.  It should’ve lasted years.  Thousands and thousands of shots.  I hadn’t even got a dozen out of it.

Something must’ve been screwed up.  I kept one eye on the dark road as I ran flat out, and swiveled the other around to stare at the cylinder as I rotated it in my hand.  My eyes refocused, and I adjusted to the slightly disorienting loss of depth perception and the green-washed light of my night vision.  I turned the cylinder slowly, looking for holes in the net my runes and rituals had woven into it. 

I must’ve looked crazed as I ran, mouth running in a ceaseless string of curses, eyes pointing two directions like an overlarge chameleon, rain coat flying behind me like some vengeful flag as blue bullets of soul energy spat and sizzled around me.  I had never gotten the hang of Monday’s, and today was proving to be no exception to a dazzling career of horrendous situations.  I still didn’t know who was trying to kill me, nor did my frantic study of the cylinder reveal any answers.  It was flawless, displaying the fanatic attention to detail that necromancy demanded if you didn’t want to be dead along with your power source.

So I ran, swearing and sweating, as certain doom nipped at my heels.

To be continued….

Soulfully,
Justin