This weeks My Fiction Thursday is going to be the Prologue of Lumen. As you know, Lumen is not far from being released and I really want you guys to have a taste of it before you drink from the deep end. Please, tell me what you think, but remember that this is still a draft.
Prologue
It’s normal for a child to die on Templar Island. It’s natural selection. Each child born had energy flowing through its blood, but only some lived to be able to manipulate it and keep the flow of energy in order. Natural selection is pure, spilling blood in order to clean away impurity, even if it had been in the form of a new born.
The little boy, Daniel, played with his miniature blue aeroplane, running around the coffee table in the middle of the living room. The toy sat on his fingertips as he jumped around trying to make it fly. His father told him that it could.
“That was my favourite toy too,” the boy’s father said, sitting back in his chair with a smile. “Your great-granddaddy gave me that when I was little. He told me he got it from another island. A large island, far far away from here.”
A burst of laughter came from the kitchen. “Erik, don’t fill the boy’s head with nonsense, nobody has ever set foot off Templar,” his wife butted in.
“It’s true, Roan,” he grinned and rolled his eyes, then set them back on his son. “We don’t have them, but there’s somewhere that does. Is that what you want to do when you’re older Daniel? Fly in one of them?”
Daniel continued to play with the toy, his arms outstretched as he ran around barefoot, pushing up onto his tiptoes. He watched the toy on his fingertips with awe and berated breath, letting the little air in the back of his throat tingle and dance around in his lungs.
“Daniel,” his father said, leaning forward on his chair to try and catch his son’s eye. “Daniel, look at me.”
Daniel continued to run around, circling the tree stump coffee table, over and over, while his father watched him, wanting to talk more about his grandfather and about the peculiarities of the childhood he had and the stories he’d been told. He sighed, sitting back into his chair, reflecting on those tales. Daniel knocked his father’s concentration when he began ducking and dipping with the aeroplane and his blissful smile. His father called out to his son again but it went unnoticed, as did a fine piece of white string trailing off behind him. Erik reached out and caught a strand of it. He observed the thinning thread and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes fluttered to a close, as his fingers fell numb, relishing in pure energy. He opened his eyes again, to see the mess his son was creating; the string had become thick and ashen yellow, falling thicker by the moment. Until the first fluffed feather slipped out of the back of his t-shirt.
He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. “Roan,” he called out to his wife.
“Erik, please stop fretting, he’s not gone deaf,” she chortled in her gentle voice.
He turned his head sharply to the kitchen quarters, keeping watch in his peripherals. “Just come through—I—I need you to look at something.”
She huffed. “Okay, what is it?” she poked her head around the doorway. There was no doubt that Roan had answered her question, but she had a thousand more swollen in her throat. She locked eyes with her pasty faced husband and couldn’t look away.
He cleared his throat. “It’s his change. Right?”
“Of—” she cleared her throat, “of course.” She shut her eyes and forced a deep breathe, wondering if she‘d ever regain herself. She pressed her fingers into the collar of her neck and swallowed hard at all the stressed vowels inside.
“What’s—” he started, and turned to see his wife’s calm ignorance.
She moved her hand to her chest and opened her eyes to see her son still running around. Her glistening tears, ready to pop, shaded her violet eyes and bit her lip to stop it from trembling. She wavered on the balls of her feet and then the first specks of red marked the back of her son’s white t-shirt.
“Hun,” Erik said.
Their little boy continued to run around, his t-shirt tore at the seams and fell to his waist like excess skin. It revealed two thick white stumps of bone at the top of his shoulder blades that had sliced through his skin, and around the base, little pockets of blood dribbled down his back.
His mother nearly fell, resting herself against the chair and reaching around for her husband’s hand. She blinked at a few tears and took another deep breathe. “He’s fine.” Their son continued to run around with his aeroplane in tact on his fingertips. And the blood continued to drip down his back and freckle the floor, and the thin feathers were now growing in bunches at the bone and then falling out in clumps, falling behind him.
They watched him as he moved around in the syrupy air, his movements locked in slow languid strokes, letting the last couple of seconds settle in time as minutes. One cacophony of coarse crunches broke as Daniel fell to his knees and his aeroplane came loose and crashed into the wall ahead. He dropped to his chest in a small pile of feathers. The protruding bones on his back crumbled and congealed with the blood, making a paste against the feathers.
Roan kept a tight grasp of Erik’s hand, and it got tighter when he’d tried to jump from his seat. “We don’t want to intervene,” she said, sniffling, and gripping a tight hold of the star with seven spokes on a chain around her neck, drawing her own blood.
Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. He massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to push the tears back. Daniel screeched and his limbs flailed for a moment. “Daniel.” His father dropped to his knees beside his son as his wife’s arms flopped to her side, she watched, the whites of her eyes turned pink, as a nurse she was taught to steer clear of it, only to aide and never to get emotional. “Hush, Daniel, hush,” the boy’s Father said cowering over his son. He stared up at his wife. “They can’t. They can’t decide his fate. We have to do something, Roan. We have to help him get through this change.”
She pinched at her lips with her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No.” she grabbed her husband from under his arm and pulled him back to his feet. “No.”
Blood pooled inside the Daniel’s ears, thickening and drying; engulfing sound. His eyes were screwed shut, but beneath them it was scratched film. Trapped inside the skin, like it wasn’t his to be felt, and as a cough shook the vessel, blood stained phlegm broke the lips, tainting them. He pulled away. This wasn’t his fight.
If you want, you can add Lumen to your Goodreads 'to-read' list! Lumen (Blood Luminary, #1)
-Joseph
The little boy, Daniel, played with his miniature blue aeroplane, running around the coffee table in the middle of the living room. The toy sat on his fingertips as he jumped around trying to make it fly. His father told him that it could.
“That was my favourite toy too,” the boy’s father said, sitting back in his chair with a smile. “Your great-granddaddy gave me that when I was little. He told me he got it from another island. A large island, far far away from here.”
A burst of laughter came from the kitchen. “Erik, don’t fill the boy’s head with nonsense, nobody has ever set foot off Templar,” his wife butted in.
“It’s true, Roan,” he grinned and rolled his eyes, then set them back on his son. “We don’t have them, but there’s somewhere that does. Is that what you want to do when you’re older Daniel? Fly in one of them?”
Daniel continued to play with the toy, his arms outstretched as he ran around barefoot, pushing up onto his tiptoes. He watched the toy on his fingertips with awe and berated breath, letting the little air in the back of his throat tingle and dance around in his lungs.
“Daniel,” his father said, leaning forward on his chair to try and catch his son’s eye. “Daniel, look at me.”
Daniel continued to run around, circling the tree stump coffee table, over and over, while his father watched him, wanting to talk more about his grandfather and about the peculiarities of the childhood he had and the stories he’d been told. He sighed, sitting back into his chair, reflecting on those tales. Daniel knocked his father’s concentration when he began ducking and dipping with the aeroplane and his blissful smile. His father called out to his son again but it went unnoticed, as did a fine piece of white string trailing off behind him. Erik reached out and caught a strand of it. He observed the thinning thread and rubbed it between his forefinger and thumb, his eyes fluttered to a close, as his fingers fell numb, relishing in pure energy. He opened his eyes again, to see the mess his son was creating; the string had become thick and ashen yellow, falling thicker by the moment. Until the first fluffed feather slipped out of the back of his t-shirt.
He couldn’t take his eyes off his son. “Roan,” he called out to his wife.
“Erik, please stop fretting, he’s not gone deaf,” she chortled in her gentle voice.
He turned his head sharply to the kitchen quarters, keeping watch in his peripherals. “Just come through—I—I need you to look at something.”
She huffed. “Okay, what is it?” she poked her head around the doorway. There was no doubt that Roan had answered her question, but she had a thousand more swollen in her throat. She locked eyes with her pasty faced husband and couldn’t look away.
He cleared his throat. “It’s his change. Right?”
“Of—” she cleared her throat, “of course.” She shut her eyes and forced a deep breathe, wondering if she‘d ever regain herself. She pressed her fingers into the collar of her neck and swallowed hard at all the stressed vowels inside.
“What’s—” he started, and turned to see his wife’s calm ignorance.
She moved her hand to her chest and opened her eyes to see her son still running around. Her glistening tears, ready to pop, shaded her violet eyes and bit her lip to stop it from trembling. She wavered on the balls of her feet and then the first specks of red marked the back of her son’s white t-shirt.
“Hun,” Erik said.
Their little boy continued to run around, his t-shirt tore at the seams and fell to his waist like excess skin. It revealed two thick white stumps of bone at the top of his shoulder blades that had sliced through his skin, and around the base, little pockets of blood dribbled down his back.
His mother nearly fell, resting herself against the chair and reaching around for her husband’s hand. She blinked at a few tears and took another deep breathe. “He’s fine.” Their son continued to run around with his aeroplane in tact on his fingertips. And the blood continued to drip down his back and freckle the floor, and the thin feathers were now growing in bunches at the bone and then falling out in clumps, falling behind him.
They watched him as he moved around in the syrupy air, his movements locked in slow languid strokes, letting the last couple of seconds settle in time as minutes. One cacophony of coarse crunches broke as Daniel fell to his knees and his aeroplane came loose and crashed into the wall ahead. He dropped to his chest in a small pile of feathers. The protruding bones on his back crumbled and congealed with the blood, making a paste against the feathers.
Roan kept a tight grasp of Erik’s hand, and it got tighter when he’d tried to jump from his seat. “We don’t want to intervene,” she said, sniffling, and gripping a tight hold of the star with seven spokes on a chain around her neck, drawing her own blood.
Erik closed his eyes and shook his head. He massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to push the tears back. Daniel screeched and his limbs flailed for a moment. “Daniel.” His father dropped to his knees beside his son as his wife’s arms flopped to her side, she watched, the whites of her eyes turned pink, as a nurse she was taught to steer clear of it, only to aide and never to get emotional. “Hush, Daniel, hush,” the boy’s Father said cowering over his son. He stared up at his wife. “They can’t. They can’t decide his fate. We have to do something, Roan. We have to help him get through this change.”
She pinched at her lips with her teeth and rolled her eyes. “No.” she grabbed her husband from under his arm and pulled him back to his feet. “No.”
Blood pooled inside the Daniel’s ears, thickening and drying; engulfing sound. His eyes were screwed shut, but beneath them it was scratched film. Trapped inside the skin, like it wasn’t his to be felt, and as a cough shook the vessel, blood stained phlegm broke the lips, tainting them. He pulled away. This wasn’t his fight.
If you want, you can add Lumen to your Goodreads 'to-read' list! Lumen (Blood Luminary, #1)
-Joseph
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