Jay Nichols's Blog - Posts Tagged "violence"
Better than The Hunger Games
Bold statement, sure, but do you know of a better way to advertise?
Book of Suburbia is free on Kindle today, May 16th, if you're interested. Here's a snippet:
http://www.amazon.com/Book-Suburbia-J...
Reflected in a rippling pool of gutter water a metal hawk razored across the midday sky, belching a long trailing shriek as she crossed zenith and descended talons-first into her nearby nest on the horizon. The prophet Austin’s shined black loafer described a high arc over the pool and onto the waydrive of a one-story dwelling. Close behind followed his brother in Christ, Chad, though his loafer did crash into the pool-water and split the image of the metal bird asunder.
“Brother Austin,” called out Chad, quickening his pace. “Brother Austin, I regret to inform you of this matter, but I wetted my pant-cuff in the puddle we just traversed.”
“Fear not, Brother Chad,” Austin replied, turning and tugging at Chad’s saturated pant leg, administering to the crease, “for to these earthly eyes it is not noticeable. We wear dark slacks for occurrences such as these. As you know, the elders have prepared us for every possible misfortune we may encounter along our way.”
The prophet Chad lifted his gaze and met Austin’s. “I—I do not wish to misrepresent the Lord. My shoddy garment, I fear, may hinder the fulfillment of our charge.”
Austin lay his palm on Chad’s shoulder and said, “Brother, you merely stepped in gutter water. The Lord will not look unkindly on your mistake. Come along now. Our duty calls.”
Austin and Chad advanced toward the front door, then stopped immediately thence. A fake water sprite in the meadow to their right vomited rain onto the waydrive, thwarting their forward progress. Slowly she arched her back and blew her torrent onto the lush ultragreen grass.
“Now, brother. We go now.”
Austin and Chad hurried over the wet concrete, pulling paper-gospels from their shirt pockets as they went. On the porch, Chad rapped the oaken plank. He smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt, straightened his posture, and constructed his face into a most pleasant visage. Austin did much likewise, but while his brother was making his preparatory groomings, he stepped slightly ahead, into the position of prominence.
After much time, Chad knocked again. Waiting, he coughed into his fist, ran his knuckles over his temples and down the nape of his neck, then flicked the accumulated perspiration from his fingertips to the greeting mat and porch-floor. His thumb he pushed into the bottom of the paper-gospel and constructed a fan for his face.
Noticing the blasphemy, Austin called out, “What do you do, brother? You do not use the Word in such a way! God will smite us if you continue to do that! Here, now, unfold the gospel and set it right.”
Ashamed, Chad looked at Austin sullenly. “You will not tell the elders, will you?” he asked, unbending the slight crease in the paper-gospel and sliding it back into his shirt pocket.
Austin ignored the question, sniffed once, and said rightly, “Henceforth, we shall only discuss matters of the Lord.”
Another metal raptor whirred into sight overhead, straight-shot for its nesting grounds in the pits of the nearby metropolis. Chad looked over Austin’s shoulder at the crying bird. Her body caught the sun, and a silver shard lightninged down, piercing Chad’s eyes.
Book of Suburbia is free on Kindle today, May 16th, if you're interested. Here's a snippet:
http://www.amazon.com/Book-Suburbia-J...
Reflected in a rippling pool of gutter water a metal hawk razored across the midday sky, belching a long trailing shriek as she crossed zenith and descended talons-first into her nearby nest on the horizon. The prophet Austin’s shined black loafer described a high arc over the pool and onto the waydrive of a one-story dwelling. Close behind followed his brother in Christ, Chad, though his loafer did crash into the pool-water and split the image of the metal bird asunder.
“Brother Austin,” called out Chad, quickening his pace. “Brother Austin, I regret to inform you of this matter, but I wetted my pant-cuff in the puddle we just traversed.”
“Fear not, Brother Chad,” Austin replied, turning and tugging at Chad’s saturated pant leg, administering to the crease, “for to these earthly eyes it is not noticeable. We wear dark slacks for occurrences such as these. As you know, the elders have prepared us for every possible misfortune we may encounter along our way.”
The prophet Chad lifted his gaze and met Austin’s. “I—I do not wish to misrepresent the Lord. My shoddy garment, I fear, may hinder the fulfillment of our charge.”
Austin lay his palm on Chad’s shoulder and said, “Brother, you merely stepped in gutter water. The Lord will not look unkindly on your mistake. Come along now. Our duty calls.”
Austin and Chad advanced toward the front door, then stopped immediately thence. A fake water sprite in the meadow to their right vomited rain onto the waydrive, thwarting their forward progress. Slowly she arched her back and blew her torrent onto the lush ultragreen grass.
“Now, brother. We go now.”
Austin and Chad hurried over the wet concrete, pulling paper-gospels from their shirt pockets as they went. On the porch, Chad rapped the oaken plank. He smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt, straightened his posture, and constructed his face into a most pleasant visage. Austin did much likewise, but while his brother was making his preparatory groomings, he stepped slightly ahead, into the position of prominence.
After much time, Chad knocked again. Waiting, he coughed into his fist, ran his knuckles over his temples and down the nape of his neck, then flicked the accumulated perspiration from his fingertips to the greeting mat and porch-floor. His thumb he pushed into the bottom of the paper-gospel and constructed a fan for his face.
Noticing the blasphemy, Austin called out, “What do you do, brother? You do not use the Word in such a way! God will smite us if you continue to do that! Here, now, unfold the gospel and set it right.”
Ashamed, Chad looked at Austin sullenly. “You will not tell the elders, will you?” he asked, unbending the slight crease in the paper-gospel and sliding it back into his shirt pocket.
Austin ignored the question, sniffed once, and said rightly, “Henceforth, we shall only discuss matters of the Lord.”
Another metal raptor whirred into sight overhead, straight-shot for its nesting grounds in the pits of the nearby metropolis. Chad looked over Austin’s shoulder at the crying bird. Her body caught the sun, and a silver shard lightninged down, piercing Chad’s eyes.
