Here’s a bit of flash fiction for you, inspired by some pretty amazing kids.

“Okay, Lizzy, we’ve got ten minutes left. What do you want to talk about?”

Lizzy looked up at the ceiling as she thought about what she wanted to say. After a few seconds her eyes traveled back down and scanned the screen which had been permanently affixed in a propped position on the tray in front of her.

“I’m…magic.” A young girl’s voice projected from the device’s speaker as Lizzy chose her words from her text-to-talk communication program.

I smiled when I heard her message.

“Yeah? What kind of magic can you do?”

“I…can…make…things…move…with…my…breath.” She finished her message and grinned as she looked up at me.

I laughed and then responded, “True, there’s no other twelve-year-old I know that can do that.”

Lizzy’s eyes sparkled before they dropped back to her screen. To select a word, she had to maintain her eye gaze on that word for a full two seconds, this caused the pauses in the voice output.

“I…can…make…anyone…smile.”

“That is definitely magic,” I said as I nodded in agreement. “What else can you do?”

Lizzy cocked her head in her version of a shrug.

“Other…than…that…I’m…pretty…normal.”

The bell rang before I could respond. Lizzy moved her head slightly and wrapped her lips around a small tube, which, when she blew into it for a prolonged period, caused the chair to turn 180 degrees. She blew again and her wheelchair rolled forward to, and then through the door as she headed to her next class.

You are magic, I thought. Don’t ever forget it, kiddo.

The End

The parts of the story that were specifically about the merpeople, how they transformed, how they began to dry out and yearned for the water after a certain period of time, as well as how and why they needed to absorb human’s energy, were fascinating. I enjoyed Calder and Lily as the main characters and found their interactions to be appropriate for their age but not one-hundred percent engaging for me. I had a hard time with the fact that the merpeople could communicate telepathically under the water, but not out of the water. Once I finished the book I realized it was a necessary and deliberate choice to make all of the pieces work at the end, but every time it happened during the story it threw me off.

Lies Beneath is well written and entertaining. There were some interesting twists and details revealed at the end that kept the pages turning.  Again, I definitely recommend it for the YA crowd (which is the market it’s written for) but not as much for adult readers.

1. What is the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten in public?

I love that whoever wrote this question added the “in public”. This implies that the average person will try truly disgusting things when no one else is around, things too weird to share. For me, in public, it’s squid and poi, both while on vacation in Hawaii.

2. What is the greatest adventure you’ve ever been on?

My solo trip to Colorado, hiking up and down Pike’s Peak, touring Garden of the Gods and Seven Falls, and camping in the back of the truck (with a topper on it).

3. What is the greatest adventure you’ve never been on, but really want to someday?

I would love to go somewhere in Europe, hike the Appalachian Trail, and/or participate in an adventure race.

4. Do you prefer coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

All of the above. I’m a big fan of hot beverages. I do prefer green tea with raw honey first thing in the morning, after that, anything goes.

5. Who, in your opinion, is the funniest man or woman alive today?

How about the funniest man and woman. I love Steve Carell. I also think Tina Fey is hilarious. If you haven’t seen the movie Date Night, in which they co-star, you should. Tina Fey’s book, Bossy Pants, is pretty entertaining as well.

6. If you were given 30 seconds to say something on T.V., what would you say?

Treat others as you wish to be treated, unless you’re masochistic, then, don’t.

7. What is your idea of a romantic date?

I’m sure there was a time in my life when I dreamed of candlelit dinners and walks on a moonlit beach. At this point, anytime I get to talk to my husband in person and uninterrupted for more than ten minutes, I consider it a date.

8. What is your current favorite song?

If you’re like me, your favorite music changes with your mood. I also tend to wear an album out by listening to it non-stop for a couple of weeks and then switching to another. I was on an Adele kick recently ( I love the song Set Fire to the Rain), next it was Christina Aguilera’s new album Lotus, then The Band Perry’s album Pioneer. This week my favorite song is Brave by Sara Bareilles. I didn’t love the rhythm when it first started, but it grew on me because the lyrics are awesome! Especially the chorus. Go listen to it.

9. Where have you lived in your life?

Michigan (Marquette, Indian River, Frankfort). Columbus, Mississippi. Altus, Oklahoma. Derby, Kansas. Spokane, Washington. Okawville, Illinois…so far.

10. Which one person that is still alive today, would you most like to emulate?

My sister.

11. Does anyone actually want to know all of these things about me?

Of course! Why do you think we have Facebook, and Twitter, and Pinterest, and blogs…. so go ahead, it’s your turn!

Pick a question and respond in the comments. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say!

I’m impressed with the author’s development of the intricate (and somewhat prophetic) political underpinnings which initiated the conflict and now perpetuate the war. I’m even more impressed with his ability to convey the maneuverings of the various interest groups while keeping the story very personal. Fantastic details regarding technological advancements, or simply the futuristic world in which Stan lived, were well distributed throughout the story to keep the reader’s interest level high. The novel is still dark overall, but with a brighter glimmer of hope than the other two.

The author has an amazing ability to convey what many war veterans must go through when they find themselves trying to transition from war-time to “civilization” only to discover they’ve become institutionalized by a psychological prison. In this novel Stan hates the satos, the genetically engineered soldiers, and hates the war, yet he only feels like himself when he’s in the throes of a grisly conflict. I was hooked.

I also love how Catherine, the main character from Exogene (book two in the series that starts with Germline) was referenced in Chimera. It makes her story even more relevant when the reader discovers how her life and experiences have affected the other escaped Germline units.

Overall I’m very impressed with this series. For me it’s kind of like Bourne Legacy meets the Vietnam conflict.

You can follow T.C. McCarthy on Facebook, or on twitter @tcmccarthy_ to learn more about what he’s writing now.

I wasn’t sure what to post today. I considered several possibilities over the course of the week and nothing felt right. I considered skipping another week on the blog, but then I would have an item on my to-do list that didn’t get crossed off for two weeks in a row; this cannot happen, so, I’m just going to share what’s been on my mind.

Whenever I hear tragic news, which there seems to have been a lot of lately (I don’t want to go through a list because that kind of goes against the whole idea of this post, so, pick a headline), I tend to internalize the information for a while. I turn off the news, turn off the computer, and give myself time to process what I’ve read or seen. Typically, the hardest part for me is that I want to do something. I want to help and make everything o.k., but I can’t. I can’t change the world and, sometimes, that sucks. Now, global media has made it easier to become obsessed with all that is wrong with the world. Even in my job, I work with kids and families who, in some cases, are in the midst of heart-breaking situations. I could very easily become mired in hopelessness, but that’s not a place I like to dwell. To really be able to help I have to be able to focus on the positive. That doesn’t mean going through life with blinders on, or that the world will suddenly become rainbows and roses because I have a smile on my face. This does not mean be a saint, or to never get sad or angry.  I am well aware that awful things happen, and will continue to happen.  What it means to me is be good; to do what I can, where I can, to the best of my ability. My new mantra is: be good to everyone, everyday. It would be nice if we all tried this, and not just to those we already care about, not just to those who do or believe the same as us, everyone.

That is all.

One woman, Malia, learns the truth about the Jegudun, and her own people’s past. Revealing this truth might force her to live in exile forever, or it might save her people, and the Jegudun.

For the first third of the novel, I did find myself wishing the stakes were higher more immediately for Malia. About halfway through though, the intensity picked up and I was pulled in. The strong writing and compelling characters were the highlights for me of this unique story. Overall, I feel that Shards of History is a very strong debut from Ms. Roland and I look forward to reading more of her work.

I would recommend this to fans of Jean M. Auel, Linda Lay Schuler, and Mercedes Lackey.

You can find out more about Rebecca Roland by following her on twitter @Rebecca_Roland

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have some outstanding warrants,” I replied.

Marie scoffed.

“It’ll get worse before it gets better; you know that, right?” Marie asked as she started down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, probably,” I responded. “But we’ve got to do something.”

“We?” She cast a sidelong glance my way.

I nodded as I answered, “You said you have kids, right?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly.

“What kind of adults are they going to be?”

Marie seemed to consider this for the next block before she stopped in front of a three story apartment building and turned to face me.

“Who are you anyway?”

“You can call me Metamorph,” I answered.

I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

“I won’t always look the same, this is a disguise, but you’ll be able to recognize the outfit.”

Marie raised an eyebrow as she looked me up and down.

“Yeah, that’s kind of hard to miss.”

I smiled as she turned and opened the front door.

“See you tomorrow, Marie,” I called.

“We’ll see,” she answered, then disappeared into the dark hallway.

As I walked back to my own alleyway and unlocked the back door to my building, I thought about the night’s events. I analyzed what I should have done differently and I wondered how long those guys really would stay behind bars. If I had to fight them off every night, Marie might be the only person I ever helped.

One person is better than none, I decided.

Back in my sub-basement apartment, I undressed and then found my scalpel. After a few slow, shallow incisions, I put the blade down and peeled away my disguise. The wig and contacts I saved, of course, but the skin went through a sterilizer before I deposited it into a side door of “the coffin”. After sealing the door I pressed the button that would start the process of breaking down the material and sending it back into the machine to be reused.

A hot shower, with the help of a special blend of herbs and chemicals, removed the last clinging particles of my second skin. I scrubbed vigorously to dry off and then wrapped the terry-cloth around my torso, tucking the top corner in to hold the towel in place.

My reflection was dramatically different than it had been a few hours ago. I once again looked the part of Leslie Baker, owner and manager of the Children’s Science Exploration Center.

The year of intense physical training with genetically improved strength, speed, and endurance had made a significant difference in my overall physique, but my stomach still pooched, and random patches of stretch marks and cellulite still dimpled my skin.  A slow smile stretched across my face, deepening those crow’s feet which had progressed from fine lines to permanent residents. I smiled because I liked what I saw.

The best part of the last year had been learning how to feel good in my own skin again. Along with all the changes and training had come confidence. I looked in the mirror and no longer saw a victim. I saw a woman smart enough to create the viral carrier which had triggered her genetic enhancements. I saw a woman strong enough to overcome her past and face her fears. No disguise necessary, that was all me.

The End…For Now

If you missed the rest of the story, here are the links to Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. Read it, and then go kick some butt! I mean, have a good weekend…

I landed with a splash in a shallow puddle that glistened like gasoline in the faint light filtering from the street. My arms came up, ready to block as Greasy Hair whipped his belt from the last loop, and brandished the heavy gold buckle like a weapon.

“This ain’t none of your business girlie.” His words slurred slightly as he spoke.

“I’m making it my business.”

Greasy Hair smiled, revealing a row of gold teeth.

“Fine by me, but you gotta wait your turn.” He swung the buckle, aiming for my head.

I reached out, caught the belt, and pulled Greasy Hair toward me as I brought one knee up and drove it hard into his soft gut. He grunted, but recovered faster than I expected and came up swinging.

The first punch grazed the end of my nose as I dodged backward. I blocked the next, then moved in and landed a punch of my own square in those bared golden teeth. Greasy Hair cursed and swung again. I side-stepped and drove my fingertips into his windpipe. He let out a choking sound and doubled over as both hands flew to his throat. After driving my elbow down against his temple, I stepped back and let him fall into the puddle with a heavy thud.

Only one man held the other woman now. The second approached me with a swagger and a cocky smirk. His right thumb pressed down on something hidden in his fist and a switchblade flipped out with a soft click.

I stepped into his first thrust, grabbing his right wrist with my right hand. My thumb pressed hard against the pressure point at the base of his wrist as I whirled so that my back was to him. My left elbow connected with his nose as my right heel came down hard on his planted foot. The knife dropped from his hand before I continued to spin away and out of his reach.

Blood poured from his nose, soaking the front of Switchblade’s dirty white tank-top. He paused to wipe the blood off his face with the back of his hand. I used that moment to draw a taser from my utility belt.

Switchblade growled and lunged. I managed to keep my right hand clear as he tackled me to the ground. My breath escaped with a huff as my back hit the pavement. The stench of alcohol and rancid body odor almost made me gag as I pulled air back into my lungs.

My right hand came up and pressed the flat end of my weapon against Switchblade’s neck. I heard the buzz as I pulled the trigger, and then the smell of burning hair joined the mix of unpleasant odors which filled my nostrils.

Switchblade twitched, then went limp. I squirmed and pushed, feeling claustrophobic as the man’s weight pressed down on me like a boulder.

All but one foot had worked free when pain exploded through my ribcage. An involuntary cry escaped from me as I turned to see the last man preparing for another kick.

I half-turned and tried to block the blow, but grunted as the toe of his boot caught me in the stomach. Wrapping my arms around his leg, I twisted and rolled, pulling him down with me as I also jerked my foot free.

I heard him curse, and felt him fall; then I heard a dull thunk. Kicker stopped moving.

I rolled clear and turned to see the other woman standing about a foot from the man’s head. She clutched a short metal bar in both hands. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths.

“Thank you,” I said as I stood and walked a wide circle around Kicker.

“Thank you,” she replied, looking me up and down. “Now what?”

I scanned the three inert forms as I tested the damage to my ribs. They didn’t feel broken.

“We get away from them and call the cops.”

“Done,” the other woman replied, holding up her cell phone.

“Nice,” I said with a nod. “Let’s wait at the corner.”

I retrieved my rope and hook with a flick of my wrist as I passed the place where it hung from the rooftop, then stuffed it back in my pack. As we approached the street sign on the corner, the woman let the bar fall from her hand. The clang echoed down the silent alleyway.

“You all right?” I asked.

She took a long, shaky breath, then nodded.

“For now.”

“Do you know those guys?”

“One of ‘em, yeah.”

We stopped and leaned against the post. I watched the alley, she watched the street.

“It’s happened to you, hasn’t it?” she asked.

I nodded slowly.

She nodded in response.

“He waits at that corner bar most nights. He knows when I get off work, knows the closest subway stop is three block from my house.” She sighed. “This is the first time he’s brought friends.”

I glanced down toward the subway station.

“Do you have a friend that can pick you up?”

She shook her head before she answered.

“The only person I know is my neighbor and she’s watching my kids.”

I chewed my lip a few times, then straightened and turned to face her.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll meet you at the station and walk you home from now on, agreed?”

The woman cocked one eyebrow.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you help me? You don’t have anything better to do than walk me home every night?”

“Nope, I don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she asked, “And why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to trust me, but I am going to help you. It’s my job.”

“Your job? Says who?”

“Says me.”

The woman smirked. “You gonna save everyone?” she asked. “You’re gonna be workin’ overtime like you wouldn’t believe.”

I smiled.

“I probably can’t save everyone, but I’m gonna try.”

After tightening the straps of my stream-lined backpack, I took off down the dark alley at a steady run. My stride lengthened and my foot speed increased as I turned a corner and started down a long stretch of empty sidewalk. I pushed my pace to a sprint; a sprint I felt confident I could maintain for at least a mile. The treadmill training I’d been doing had thus far proved that my increased production of red blood cells and the genetically-enhanced endurance of my fast-twitch muscles were the perfect combination.

My silver sneakers created a blur in my peripheral vision as I caught glimpses of my reflection in the barred shop windows. I smirked as I thought of all those movies that showed women running in ridiculous high-heeled boots. Clearly whoever decided that was sexy had never actually tried it.

As I approached the end of the straightaway, I slowed to a walk and recovered from my prolonged sprint with a few deep breaths. A few more blocks and I’d be in the sketchy part of town, which is exactly where I wanted to be however, I didn’t want to be taken by surprise.

I turned down the next alley and took a running leap to catch the bottom rung of a ladder which hung from a series of switchback metal staircases. The alternating stairs and platforms extended up the length of the four story brick building. As I hauled my body weight up rung after rung using only my arms, I marveled at my own strength. A year ago I couldn’t even do one push-up. A year ago I’d been a different person.

Without making a sound, I ascended the stairs until I’d reached the flat top of the building. I started across in a half-crouch, even though I doubted anyone watched the rooftops. I stopped and straightened when I was about two body-lengths from the opposite end of the building. After taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, I propelled myself into a sprint, pumping my arms and legs with all I had until my right foot hit the last few inches of rooftop. I pushed off and sailed through the air. My arms and legs kept moving, as if I could run on air. My heart hammered against my ribs and I felt sweat create a slick layer between the real me and my second skin.

My left foot connected with the solid surface of the adjacent rooftop. I immediately pitched forward into a roll and came up running. A grin of pure delight spread across my face; this was fun.

The grin faded as I approached the next gap between buildings. From the street below, I heard a high-pitched scream of pure terror that made my hackles rise. A few feet from the drop, I lay down on my belly and inched forward so that I could peek over the edge. The scene below made my blood run cold. Two men held the arms of thrashing woman, while a third man unbuckled his belt.

I slid my backpack off and pulled out a rope with a grappling hook on one end. As quickly as I could without drawing attention, I hooked the line to the lip of the roof, slid my pack back on and then made sure I had a good grip on the rope. Feet first, I walked out over the edge of the building and prepared to rappel down to the alley.

Sorry boys, tonight is not your night.