Absolute Power book release!

djmatticus:

You have to read this book! I was lucky enough to be a beta reader for Grayson and I could not stop reading this story once I had started. The same will happen to you.

Originally posted on Posting Tuesdays. :

rcover

Everything changed the moment Super-humans became a reality; laws, politics, and society.  They built the Office of New Entities to govern the Super-human population.  But you can’t please all of the people all of the time.  Norms afraid of Super-humans.  Super-humans afraid of government.  Government afraid that they’re losing control.  One side versus all sides.

In any group, the further you look, the clearer the individuals become.  They are children, men, woman, lovers, families, hopes, dreams, futures and pain.  They are people torn apart by something they have no control over.  And despite all that, there are some that choose to bear the burden of responsibility.  They fight to protect those who can’t protect themselves.

The legendary and invulnerable John Porter.  Alien/human poster boy Robert Day.  Abandoned telepath Shruti Pandey.  First functional teleporter Eve Levitas.  People with a past and future, all caught up in something bigger.

They are heroes.

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one down

She cowered and trembled in the darkness, rain lashing against her, soaking her robes and sending rivulets of drops running down her face.  Her drenched hair, loosed from its normal jeweled bind in her flight, clung in patches to her cheeks, forming channels for the water.  Her knees sank into the pooling mud.  The wind whipped branches snatched at her unprotected shoulders and back.  In her haste to flee to safety she had neglected to invoke any of the spells that would have saved her from the indignity of the weather.

The lightning highlighted her disheveled state and the thunder rolled in peals of laughter.

The panic in her eyes was replaced with rage as she watched her tower burn.  The orange flames, tinted with nuances of purple and green as her stores of magical components tasted death, reached through the windows to defy the fury of the storm.  The rain would win in the end, but that wouldn’t, that couldn’t, keep the fire from showing its defiance.

Some of the magical tomes would protect themselves from the fire and looters and others would be lost forever.  She could replace the stores of ingredients.  She could recreate her trove of potions.  She could rebuild the tower.  But, she could not salvage the ancient texts she had been studying from, the histories and scrolls that she counted as her most prized possession.

Her ex-apprentice had started laughing, and she’d felt, as much as sensed, the hands reaching for her from the darkness behind her and she had panicked, whisking herself along the corridors of magic without thinking about what she was doing.  She cursed herself as a fool.  She should have trusted her protective enchantments.  She should have trusted her superior knowledge of the craft and met her cowardly enemies directly.  Instead, she had shown herself a coward as well.

“I’m a coward and a fool.”

The words, though swallowed immediately by the force of the rain and wind, rang clearly in her head for a long moment.  She had uttered them before.  They had been her truth before.

Her fists clenched, and she pushed away from the sodden earth.  “Never again,” her whispered words rose to rival the thundering electricity.  “Never again will I act so.  Never again will I allow myself to cower in response to the threats and posturing of bullies.”

She spoke the arcane words that distanced her from the weather’s onslaught and brought peace to her mind and soul.  The magic flowed within her, giving her balance and renewing her strength and purpose.  The sorceress closed her eyes and let the enchantment’s embrace envelop her.

When she opened her eyes and cast them back to her tower, they shown with equal parts rage and clarity of thought.  The next spell encased the flames in a vacuum, silencing their threat immediately.  Then she stepped through space and appeared instantly back in her study.  The chair that had held her captive was empty.  The shadows, however, happily divulged the secrets they had witnessed, and she smiled as she planned her next moves.

The sorceress had hunted bullies before and she knew just what to do.

a windy night

I feel the cool caress of the sheets, twisted about my contorted body, and the sensation helps me stumble from my thin sleep.   My eyes blink away the vivid colors of my dream and absorb the darkness of the room.  All is quiet, all is still… except for the demons loosed from my imagination.  They stir in the shadows and their nightmarish whispers swirl around me.  The monsters are at the window trying to get in.  My breath sticks in my throat.

There are no monsters, there is just the wind, singing bawdy sea shanties, dancing across the window.

The normal, though jubilant, ocean breeze running its course from the sea to the inland foothills shouldn’t be enough to coax forth the worst of my demons.  It is harmless.  It is playful.  Alone, it poses no threat.  But, it is never alone.

Anytime the winds come wandering up from the coast to browse voyeurishly through my neighborhood, they bring the past with them.  They bring the memories of the harsh and biting desert winds from my youth.  They bring the monsters that haunted my nights then.

I try to breathe normally but the air rattles in my lungs and I’ll can manage is a sharp gasping.  My pulse races after drinking heavily of the intoxicating adrenalin that has flooded my body.  My gaze frantically searches the shadows for the threat I know is there.   I don’t dare move.  I don’t dare close my eyes.

The room suddenly explodes into contrasting angles, wrought by my distorted depth perception and rampant fear.  The shadows are larger and closer than they should be.  The pools of light sneaking through the cracks in the blinds shrink away until they seem more like the forgotten tangent of a false memory than something concretely real I could cling to in my terror.

The darkness presses down on me, suffocating me, and I’m six again.  Blown sand, picked up from the miles of empty desert and carried to my house by an unseen force, taps at the window, urgently seeking ingress.  Does it want to escape the horrors of the night?  Or is it the horror trying to get to me?  The pressure of the storm sucks at the same window and the moans and groans echo in my mind.  The demons are calling for me.  Their giant maw wants to strip the flesh from my bones and devour my soul.  The long shadow arms break free of the corners and reach for me.  I can feel the twisted talons inches from my body, preparing to rake across my skin.

I turn my eyes away from the window, towards my only possible exit to safety, towards my last hope of surviving the nightmare and my gaze is met by the ghost from the hallway stepping through the open door into the room.

I want to scream.

I turn, the sheets no longer cool against me, and assess the clock to determine how much of the night is left.  I ignore the ocean breeze and the haunted memories that traveled in its wake.  I close my eyes and focus on calming my heart, on deep breaths, and on trying to salvage some peace and rest.  When all but a small tremor of fear have been banished, I drift back into a thin sleep, awaiting the hint of rising sun that will set me free.

INSOMNIA

djmatticus:

I finished off my visit with The SisterWives this week with a poetic duet with the one and only Hasty. It’s a follow up to the Insomnia post from yesterday and it is, in my opinion, one of the best poetic endeavors I’ve been a part of. Pop on over and give it a read.

Originally posted on The SisterWives:

This week the Sisterwives were honored to have Matticus guest post twice.  The first post was about the perception of cowardice and the second was about insomnia.  Today I have an extra surprise for the SisterWives community; a poetic duet titled Insomnia written by Matticus and I.

399px-Face_of_an_old_clockWritten by Matticus and Hastywords

Tip-toeing through mind’s shadows,

Desperate to avoid the dangling drop,

And tightening noose of the gallows:

The dark memories that refuse to stop.

 

Thoughts, like ants, cover every surface

The walls and ceilings alive with rumors

A bizarrely unorganized mental circus

Insomnia, playing its endless maneuvers

 

To toss and battle or turn and retreat,

There is too much chaotic crawling to ignore,

Even flight would require a rising beat,

Indecisiveness furthers the internal war.

 

Yesterday visits needlessly unresolved

Twisting the debris inside my mind

Into this raging storm, anxiety evolved

Now hastier than the tick…

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THE CLOCK

djmatticus:

I visited The SisterWives again today to share … well, I’m not really sure how to describe it. It was inspired by memories of when I struggled with Insomnia a few years ago. Step on over, give it a read, and share your thoughts.

Originally posted on The SisterWives:

I am what you would call empathetic. I will read, discuss, or overhear something that will invariably cycle itself over and over inside my brain as I am trying to find sleep.  Most nights my mind is a steady stream of notions that pace themselves with my husbands quiet snoring.  So, it is no surprise, that I was able to empathize with the submission we received below from Matticus.  For some people the night is a time for rest, rejuvenation, and a time for emotions to re-calibrate; but for others it is a time of anxiety and dread.  Do you have trouble with insomnia?

After more than half a year of sleepless nights I found, for me, it was a major contributor to my depression.  Learning to turn my empathy into compassion went a long way towards finding sleep again.  In other words, I am learning to soothe people in…

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Whatever it will be...

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...You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.

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