William Axtell's Blog - Posts Tagged "the-symbiot-awakening"

O.K. I think that this may have to become a weekly blog after today because the pool of relavent things to say is stretching thin! But I thought that today I would offer up a sample from my book, the first chapter! Here it is
CHAPTER 1
VLADIMIR’S OFFER
“Fatima Khan reporting: Today meteors continued to pierce the earth’s atmosphere and bombard our planet’s surface, spreading widespread fear and panic, even to the point of some people claiming that the apocalypse is upon them.
These meteor showers are of an unprecedented strength and power, with up to 300 meteorites visible per hour, many of which have sufficient size to pass through the atmosphere and crash into the ground across the entire globe. Scientists examining some of these frozen rocks have been shocked to find that most of them contain, frozen inside them, microscopic creatures, each capable of independent movement. When unfrozen, these creatures die within hours. However, when in this state, these creatures do seem to wish to attach themselves to humans in some way. This has led many scientists to the conclusion that the human body must somehow provide the ideal living conditions for them, perhaps through body temperature or the constitution of the blood.
However, this is only a theory as no microbe has, so far, actually been found living within human tissue. On the other hand, there have been several eyewitness accounts of humans behaving in what has been described as a “bizarre manner”. We tried to speak to Westminster about these incidents but they declined to comment…”
Two years later.
Vladimir Sharapov stood, waiting patiently, outside the gates of St. Cuthbert’s secondary school in south London, his breath instantly condensing in the bitingly cold January air each time he exhaled. He was a Russian by nationality and an oil magnate by profession but, despite this, he spent much of his time in London, always renting the same suite of rooms at the Bingley, a five star hotel in Park Lane, whenever he came. This was not through any real preference, but simply because he considered London to be more politically stable than Moscow or Yaroslavl, his other places of residence. Also, from his perspective as a Russian, it was significantly warmer.
In appearance, he was a tall, powerfully built man with piercing, bright blue eyes and short blonde hair. His head was large and had already aged significantly from the good looking youth which he obviously had once been. He looked now at his watch, a fantastically expensive silver object, and then up at the dull grey winter’s sky.
“A quarter past three,” he muttered to himself, snuggling deeper into his long, black Kashmir coat and rubbing his leather-gloved hands together, “Almost time.”
Suddenly, as he had expected, the peaceful stillness which is always so evident on a cold winter’s day was violently shattered by the sound of shrieking children as they poured, like a turbulent wave up a beach, through the school gates. Vladimir raised his hands and grimaced as they rudely pushed past him, jolting him first this way, now that. With great restraint, he endured this treatment, though he desperately wanted to strike several of them, especially the spotty twelve year old who carelessly kicked his shin as he scuttled passed. Vladimir wished that it had not been necessary for him to be here, to do this task, but he knew that the situation needed both delicacy, for which his men were not renowned, and his own presence, another job which, obviously, his men could not fulfil. At last, however, his patience and endurance were rewarded when he saw her, the girl he had been waiting for, Veronica Wright by name. She was walking slowly out of the school gates, alone and with her hands thrust dejectedly into the pockets of her navy tracksuit jacket. As she looked up, Vladimir could see that her face was both unprepossessing and sullen but, fortunately for him, he was not interested in her looks. Indeed, this girl had other attributes about which Vladimir wanted to talk to her. He pulled a surprisingly warm and kindly smile and began to fight his way towards her against the great tide of schoolchildren which was still issuing from the gates. He raised his hand in greeting and tried to call out to her but his voice was drowned out in the general babble. At last, though, he managed to struggle to within speaking distance of her and politely addressed her.
“Good afternoon. Miss Wright is it not?”
The sixteen year old in front of him stopped walking and turned her head to see who was talking to her, then looked him up and down suspiciously and replied, “Who wants to know?”
Vladimir realised from her defensive tone that the conversation was going to be difficult. Nevertheless he persevered.
“I do apologise. My name is Sharapov, Vladimir Sharapov,” he said pleasantly in his thick Russian accent, “I have a job vacancy, one for which I believe you are ideally suited.”
He extended a gloved hand but it was not shaken by Veronica, whose own hands remained firmly stuffed into her pockets.
“I’m not interested in doing porn if that’s what you’re asking and nor am I going to be convinced if you tell me that you could make me a star,” said Veronica, tersely.
“No, no, no!” reassured Vladimir, waving his hand in a placatory manner, “It is nothing like that! It is a good job, though, well paid. You do like money do you not, pretty well as much as you can get?”
“Who doesn’t?” replied Veronica with a shrug, as though he had asked her whether grass was green.
“Quite,” said Vladimir, agreeably, “But I believe that you, like me, are not fussy about how you obtain it, provided that there is ample reward, and that you do not mind stepping over other people. Or perhaps you do, in which case I am wasting your time.”
Vladimir had hoped to provoke a reaction with his last sentence but Veronica remained silent, staring at him noncommittally.
“I hear that your father is a biologist, that must be very interesting,” Vladimir said, beginning to feel somewhat exasperated.
Veronica shrugged again.
“And your sister has received excellent results in her A-levels,” he persisted, “I hear that she is now studying microbiology at one of the London University colleges, the exact name escapes me. You must be very pleased for her.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” came back that curt reply, “I don’t really get along with her.”
“And why is that?” he asked, delighted that he had finally managed to spark some sort of dialogue.
Veronica’s face grew red and twisted.
“Because she’s the bloody apple of my father’s eye, his little biologist,” she exploded, bitterly, “Because, just because she’s older than me, she presumes to lecture me on how to behave. Because she’s always scoring highly in tests and exams and is so bloody enthusiastic about science that she’s always been the biology teacher’s dear little pet, oh wonderful Miss Wright, while I’m shunted to the back of the class due to the fact that I happen not to think that looking at pictures of intestines all day is either interesting or worthwhile. Because, because – why the hell are you interested anyway and how come you know so much about my family?”
Her face had suddenly become full of a deep distrust.
“I have kept an eye on you for quite a while, Miss Wright, to see if you were an appropriate candidate for my job,” Vladimir replied quickly in a placatory tone, “Do not worry, I am your friend!”
“I’ll be the judge of that!” snapped back Veronica.
The cutting tone broke something in Vladimir’s mind. In a split second the smile vanished off his face to be replaced with a deep and unpleasant scowl, as if changed by a switch.
“Very good!” he barked, spittle flying from his mouth, “Have it your way! I have a vacancy and I want you to fill it because of your abilities. You hate your current life, foster no liking for people, and, as far as I have been able to tell, have few prospects ahead of you. I can give you money and power provided you do as I say. If you are interested, come to the Bingley Hotel in Park Lane this coming Sunday and ask at the reception to be taken to me. They will be expecting you and I shall be available all day. If you are not interested, then you are a fool and I shall not regret the loss of your services!”
With that he turned on his heel and stormed off across the now empty school car park.
Veronica stood, impassive and motionless, watching the Russian’s purposeful march away towards a large Rolls-Royce parked on the other side of the road. Little of the car’s beautiful silver paintwork could be seen, though, as it appeared to have a group of schoolchildren stuck to it, like fish pressing their mouths against the algae-covered glass of a fish-tank. Vladimir roughly shouted at them to clear off and, as they scattered off in all directions, he flung open the back door and paused, turning his head back towards Veronica.
“What does the world owe you, Miss Wright?” he shouted over the noise of the crowd before climbing into the back seat and closing the door.
The car started and pulled out into the road. Veronica felt a sharp pang of jealousy in her heart, the majestic power of the car as it quietly began to glide away, its paintwork glittering even in the watery winter sun, was simply enthralling. It was at this point, while she was watching the car drive into the distance, that a tall woman with long black hair and fierce eyes approached her. She was one of the teachers, the French mistress, and, after scowling suspiciously at the Rolls as it disappeared around the bend, she turned to Veronica and asked with a French accent, “Who was that?”
“Nobody,” replied Veronica, blandly, still looking at the spot where the Rolls had disappeared only a moment ago.
“You know, you shouldn’t really talk to strange people,” the teacher said, ever so slightly reprovingly.
Veronica, however, picked up on the tone immediately and snapped her head around to look up furiously at the teacher.
“Oh, piss off!” she barked, before, like Vladimir earlier, she marched off through the car park.
As Veronica walked slowly home, she began to think furiously over the meeting she had had with Vladimir. How had he known her name? Perhaps he had been watching her. Perhaps he had his own people tailing her at this very moment. With this in mind, Veronica spun around suddenly to confront her imagined stalker. However, she found that nobody in the street was even looking at her. Slightly disappointed, she thrust her hands back into her pockets and resumed the walk home. He had spoken of a job, Veronica thought to herself, a well paid one as well, and she considered that she was developing expensive tastes which would need to be financed somehow, everything from fine chocolate to clothes. She loved clothes. But what exactly was this job? He had been very hazy on the detail, though he had seemed to indicate that the job might contain certain illicit activities. But then again, Veronica thought with a shrug, what did that matter to her? Why should she care about others to her own detriment, especially since they all seemed to care so little for her? Nobody wanted to be her friend, not with the dumpy, stupid girl who was always getting herself in trouble. Anyway, as the man had commented, she was achieving little at school and it seemed to her unlikely that she would be able to find any employment which was suitable for her needs without an academic record like her blasted sister’s. This job might provide her with just such an employment. Also, she considered, it would be so nice to be able to beat her perfect big sister at something. And what better way to beat her than to become richer than her and to be able to rub her face in it. She was sure that a scientist, which is what Angela was working towards being, did not make much money, no matter how good they were. Smirking to herself, she pictured a scenario of Angela begging her for a loan to her keep up with her mortgage payments while she fiddled with the diamond rings upon her fingers and said that she would think about it.
But maybe all this was foolishness. What if Vladimir was attempting to con her out of something or sell her as a white slave? She had seen such things on the television. Perhaps she should at least look him up on the internet to make sure that he was who he said he was? Also, how had he known so much about her? Although Veronica could not see anybody now, she judged that he must have been following her for a long time while simultaneously asking questions about her and her family. This being the case, just what was it that he had found out which made her so suitable for this position of his? He had mentioned assets. She wondered if perhaps he found out about those assets. No, surely not, she had been careful. Yet still, what if he did know her secret, a secret which she had not even disclosed to her family?
Veronica had become so engrossed in her thoughts by now that she almost walked past her house without realising. Indeed, had it not been for the fact that the small front garden stood out so dramatically from all the others in the street due to its untidy and overgrown state, she probably would have continued walking straight past it. Verity looked up at the house now, a reasonably sized semi-detached residence in a street full of reasonably sized semi-detached suburban residences, each with a plain tree planted in front of it. As a feeling of gloom filled her like a grey cloud casting its shadow over a previously sunbathed hill, her eyes drifted from the house and she glanced about herself dejectedly. Same old street. Same old trees. Same old houses. Veronica felt a powerful sense of the mundane nature of her surroundings and an even stronger feeling that this was not her. It was too safe, too ordinary. Her wandering eye then fell upon two elderly ladies who seemed to have stopped on the pavement for the sole purpose of pointing and tutting disapprovingly to each other at the length of her, admittedly fairly short, denim skirt. Outraged by what she perceived as plain impudence from a pair of old witches, Veronica reacted immediately, narrowing her eyes and hissing venomously at them. A broad grin of satisfaction broke out on her face as she watched them start and quickly turn around before hobbling off away from her as fast as they could. Nobody dared to push Veronica too far in this neighbourhood. A useful example of what happened if you did had been shown when she was eight and her sister eleven. It had been just a couple of months since their mother had died of an unexpected stroke and Angela was taking on as many of the household jobs as she could manage, their father being out at work all day. The much dreaded time had finally come for a haircut. Veronica had been fearing this day for some time and had even begged her father to allow for her to go and pay for one. However, Andrew Wright was an exceedingly thrifty man, often excessively so, and had insisted that Angela should perform the operation. Therefore, one Saturday, while Andrew Wright was out working, it had happened. Just as Veronica had feared, the result of letting an eleven year old, armed with a pair of scissors but no previous experience of using them, loose on a head of hair was disastrous. The cut she had been left with was peculiarly lopsided, as if she were wearing a wig which had slipped from its proper position, and the edges of her hair were jagged and uneven. Veronica was furious and could not even be consoled by the fact that Angela, who had also had to cut her own hair, had made an even worse job of it than her sister’s, partly because she could only see using a mirror, but also partly because she had attempted to “layer” hers. However, the worst was still to come, when she had to return to school on the following Monday. Throughout the day she was mocked and laughed at, in particular by a Terry Connors, a weedy seven year old with a loud, harsh laugh, who had insisted on concocting a barrage of badly thought-out, but nevertheless hurtful, little rhymes, all delivered in a taunting sing-song voice. Eventually, one too many recitations of “Look at Veronica, face like a hag; had her hair done, looks like a ragbag” had succeeded in reducing her to tears and she had spent the rest of the school day hiding behind the bike sheds. Unfortunately for Terry, however, Veronica did not forgive easily and nor was she ignorant of where he lived. That same evening she had taken a pair of garden shears from her father’s shed and savaged the roses which had been planted in the Connors’ beautifully kept front garden. Of course, Veronica was in enormous trouble for this but, partly due to the savageness with which she had attacked the roses and partly because she showed no sign of repentance for her actions, nobody had dared to insult Veronica again lest she turn her wrath on them.
Veronica now turned away from the sight of the hurriedly retreating ladies and, passing through the small wrought-iron gate at the bottom of her garden, she began to walk up the path which led to the front door. She glanced with disapproval at the garden either side of her as she passed through it, with its overgrown grass and untidy beds of assorted weeds. Her father was not much of a gardener. Taking out a key from her schoolbag, Veronica inserted it into the lock but stopped short of turning it. A feeling of dread passed over her as she stood on the step, wiping away her previous smirk. She wondered if she would have to endure another conversation with her father about school. These conversations always followed exactly the same lines. He would ask her how her day had been and she would answer with an evasive “O.K.”. Then he would pull that expression which he always did on such occasions, the one where a slight wrinkle would appear just above the bridge of his nose, and a row would ensue. At least, though, she thought encouragingly to herself, neither her father nor her sister, who usually added her own penny’s worth to these arguments, would be home yet as the former was still at work while the latter was at the library picking up some books. However, when she turned the key in the lock and opened the door, she received a nasty surprise as the sound of both their voices emanating from the kitchen reached her ears. Veronica swore under her breath as she realised that her father must have got off work early and picked up Angela on his way home. Deciding that it would be far better to meet them now rather than try to postpone their meeting until later, she made her way into the kitchen. Her father smiled at her from his seat at the table, where he was nursing a cup of tea between his hands.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, sounding weary at the end of what had been for him an extremely long and trying week, “How did you get on at school today?”
“O.K.” came back the swift reply.
Sure enough, as Veronica had predicted, the wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose.
“What do you mean by O.K.?” he asked pushing back his light brown hair, the same colour as Veronica’s.
“Well, you know, O.K.”
After a pregnant pause her father suddenly erupted.
“You’re coming up to your GCSE’s, Veronica, I don’t want to keep hearing this!”
“I’m doing the best I can, alright!”
“Not really, no. It’s not alright, Veronica. Your marks are abysmal,” he paused before continuing in a softer, more imploring tone, “Veronica, this is your future, can’t you see!”
Veronica stood on the spot, staring at her father but saying nothing. To her, there was nothing to say.
“Well,” asked her father, impatiently, “What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” replied Veronica, blankly.
Andrew Wright exploded once more.
“You don’t know! What do you mean “You don’t know”!” he bellowed, “You need to know. Come on, think!”
Veronica just stared blankly back at him.
“I don’t know,” she said again.
“You’re a disgrace, a total disgrace!” snapped her father, pushing himself away from the table and looking away from her, “I’m only glad that your mother isn’t alive to see what a little failure she’s produced. Just look at your sister, you don’t see this kind of nonsense from her, do you!”
Veronica shot a hate-filled glance at her sister, expecting some little comment in support of her father, but for once Angela was not getting involved. Her head, in striking contrast to Veronica’s for her finer, though not particularly beautiful, features and for the vivid ginger hair which grew from it, was resting on the rim of her mug of tea, in a gesture of weariness at the situation. She contrasted again with Veronica in her height and choice of clothing. She was just about six foot tall to her Veronica’s five foot and three inches and her shirt and v-necked sweater combined with black trousers were quite different from the denim miniskirt and tracksuit jacket of her sister.
Andrew Wright started to speak again with a stream of even more violent invective but Veronica simply turned away slowly and began to walk up the stairs to her bedroom. Outraged, her father called after her, “Veronica! Veronica! Come back here immediately, I haven’t finished talking to you yet!”
However, Veronica continued to walk upstairs. She already knew what he was going to say anyway. A wave of self pity flowed over her and tears began to flow down her cheeks as she walked into her bedroom and blocked out the noise of her father trying calling her down by slamming the door shut. Her thoughts drifted to what he had said about how her mother would have been ashamed of her. Veronica missed her mother terribly and she always felt a desperate pain whenever her father brought her into one of their arguments, which he so frequently did.
Meanwhile, Andrew Wright groaned and slumped over his tea. He was by now desperately worried about his daughter’s future as he knew from her school reports that her academic prospects were far from “O.K.”. Also, he had been disturbed recently by unconfirmed reports that Veronica was bullying other girls. Angela now lifted her head from her mug and placed a comforting hand over her father’s, which he gratefully held.
“It’s no good, Dad,” she said, quietly, “Veronica’s only going to do what she’s going to do. Getting cross like this will only make things worse.”
“But what else am I supposed to do?” Andrew asked his daughter, twisting his fingers about, “She’s got to understand somehow. Would you mind having a word with her? You know, try and knock some sense into her.”
Upstairs in her bedroom, Veronica’s self pity had turned violent. Much like a child she was pummelling her pillow and raging against the injustice of the world. Why should she have to follow this stupid school system? It was not like she was going to have anything to do with Geography or French in her lifetime. It was alright for Angela, she actually liked her subjects, even maths, but she, Veronica, most certainly did not like them. Also, what was it with her father with his stupid expression, she thought, screwing up her face into a ridiculously exaggerated impression on the nose wrinkle. It was not his life which was going to be ruined if she failed her exams. At length, her thoughts turned back to the meeting at the school gates and Vladimir’s proposal. As she pondered over the events with a fresh perspective now, she decided to go and see the man on Sunday. She had her secret to protect her, after all. She would be quite safe. Just then she heard a knock at the door.
“Go away!” shouted Veronica, turning over on her bed so that she faced away from the door.
Despite her command she heard the door open behind her and, by listening to the lightness of the following footsteps, Veronica guessed that it was Angela who had come in.
“What do you want, Angela,” Veronica asked, sulkily.
“Hey, Veronica,” said Angela gently, “Look, I think Dad went a bit over the top downstairs but he does have a point, you know.”
“No, Angela, I don’t know,” said Veronica, rolling over to glare at her sister.
“Veronica – ˮ
“No, Angela, just shut up, O.K!” interrupted Veronica, “I’m not interested. Just clear off!”
“Look, if I can do it, then you – ˮ
This was a bad mistake.
“No, I can’t, actually, Angela!” Veronica bellowed, rearing up to a seated position on her bed like an angry cobra, “You never got that, did you Angela? Not everybody is made like you, Little Miss Perfect!”
Angela took a step backwards and looked stunned.
“I know I’ve got problems,” continued Veronica, violently, “But, frankly, neither you nor Dad are one ounce of help with them so shoo, go on, shoo, ran back downstairs to Daddy. I don’t need your help, I don’t even want it.”
Angela looked into her hate-filled features for a few seconds before bursting into tears and running out of the room. Veronica then just sat and stared at the door through which she had departed, not a shred of remorse in her cold, ice-blue eyes.

O.K. I really hope that anybody who read this enjoyed it even if you are not interested in buying the book lol !

Just a quick update to keep everybody informed about my blog (if anybody is reading it lol !). I plan to post one message a week starting sunday :) !
Also, I would like to thanks Mehwish Naqvi and Pri ❥ ℰspaña ℰ uro 20!2 ツ ♛ for adding The Symbiot Awakening to their to read lists - thank you very :) !

Well, Amazon has put a little bit more on for itself so if anybody was at all interested in my novel it is now only $1.21 (77p in the UK) on amazon Kindle and well worth a punt if anybody is looking for something a bit different :) !

Hi everybody, I have finally made up my mind to join KDP select, so my novel The Symbiot Awakening is now in the kindle lending library - yay! But I have more news, on Thursday, November the 8th it will be availabe free to download from Amazon Kindle! Please, if anybody reading this knows of somebody who might like to read my book, they will have my undying gratitude if you tell them about the promotion and generally help spread the word!

O.K. Today is the day! My book is out there and free to download. I really hope that I can shift a few copies but who knows how it's going to go. Here's hoping anyway :)!

Oh my goodness, I just have to say a MASSIVE thank you to all those who took up the offer at my free giveaway! Honestly, I had come to this hoping to sell 5 copies, maybe 10 in an outlandish dream, but somehow I managed to sell 112!!! I'm am more moved than I can say at the moment, as it is all I dream of as an author, that people will see your book and go "Hey! that looks like a good read!". I sincerely hope that all you who have bought it enjoy it immensely :D !

I would also like to give a big thank you to the good people at Amazon Kindle for their fantastic facility and also to all those who helped in any small way to making yesterday such an astonishing success!

Finally, I would like to thank two people very, very much for making what I feel were instrumental contributions! I would like to thank my friend Charlie, for a wonderful review which no doubt encouraged some people to take the extra step from thinking about it to downloading it, and my friend Kerry Parsons who not only liked my book but also shared the link to it on her facebook book club, which put it out on the largest social media site in existance. Thank you very much both of you :D !

The News!
Thank you everybody who dowloaded my book in the free giveaway and extra special thank you to the TWO people who actually BOUGHT my book - what a lovelly suprise! Anyway, I am delighted to report that I sold 267 copies in my sale which is super-duper awesome - I just have to hope that I get some good reviews from it! Anyway, if anyone who is reading this downloaded or bought my book, a heartfelt thanks :) !

My Reading!
Well, I've rejigged the order of my life and now I have a bit more time to read - woo! So, with that, I have managed to finish this book, The Ancient Greek Olympics by Judith Swaddling - http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17...! It was a truly lovelly book, the small size irrelevant as it packed more actual information, minus waffle, than many other books. Absolutely lovelly - here's my review:
The Ancient Olympic Games: [2nd Edition] by Judith Swaddling

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


This book is wonderful! It covers every single aspect of the games in great detail, answering the sort of question most books skirt around with blather. Excellently supported by beautiful and well chosen photographs, this book covers everything from the ceremonies, organisation, setting, training of athletes and the events themselves. Added to this is a fascinating chapter on the modern games and the various other attempts to resurrect them. The writing style is lucid and engaging and I cannot recommend this book enough, a great book!



View all my reviews
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