I have been writing this book off and on for years. I am finally close to completion. Sci Fi saga of a post catastrophic civilization is how I describe the genre. Hope you guys like it
Indalands
Scene 1 Chapter 1
They say we chose to leave the Wall about one hundred years ago. My father says we did it for freedom.
I don’t know what that is. All I know is my stomach is growling and I won’t even ask dad. Because he’ll probably go into this long lecture.
That I’ve heard since I started second studies. How he won’t always be here, so I’d better learn how to hunt.
Honestly I can shoot. I just miss on purpose. I don’t like killing. So I just keep my mouth shut and stare at The Wall in the distance.
Glowing in the blackness of The Outdalands. As the moon moves across the sky.
The shape seems to change. An optical illusion we learn to follow very young in studies.
The Wall reaches twelve hundred feet into the air. Rounded towards the top to protect the Sphere.
At night the base shadow is a thin shadow that runs along its entirely rising up at the edge.
It looks like a moon hovering in the middle of the Earth. Probably why our Ancestors nicknamed it Luna.
Night is never quiet Indalands. The squeaking, buzzing, and rustling is almost deafening. The random strikes of the E.Y.E followed by. The cry of whatever animal that dared to stray within 10 miles of Luna
As if it could hear my thoughts. The E.Y.E. struck something close, scaring the absolute crap out of me. My father witnesses me jump ten feet in the air and finds it rather amusing.
His laughter stops suddenly, I feel his hand on my shoulder and I immediately drop down on one knee. I hear the gun cock then turn away and close my eyes. Before I could open them.
I hear my father say you’re gonna have to look one day. Yeah but you’re still alive so not today. I joke and run off towards the kill. Dad’s shot was perfect.
As I clean the rabbit my thought drifts back to my first trip to the farm with my father. I was nine and scared out of my mind.
My father drank way too much rye by the fire. I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping.
I wasn’t supposed to hear him rambling. When he started talking to his dead brother Jamison.
I was frightened at first, thinking an Outlander was trying to rob us.
Then my father started laughing,
“I wish you could see her now Jamison, She’s so much like you” He chuckles again,
always trying to bring home orphaned critters
Studying biology, and she’s an awful shot just like you kid,
I just worry, you know.”
He pauses and swigs the last of his rye.
Then says this is just no place to raise a girl.
I wasn’t old enough to understand exactly what my father ment.
One of my earliest memories
Sitting indian style wide-eyed
Looking up at my Dad
with a six-string propped
Across his knee
He’d always tell me shhh
Listen to the words, this song tells a story
As he strummed the melody
I got lost in the tales he told me
Even before I could speak
I fell in love with beautiful words
Now I am grown and all though,
I wish I could play the guitar like him
I enjoy playing with these words like a platinum artist
Insight
My Father taught me to listen and appreciate good writing music and literature. This is one of my favorite poems about him.
~resilient~bold~prolific~inspiration growing from a gutter no matter where you come from you can raise above
Worded Warrior 