Happy New Release to Rosa Sophia
and her new science fiction, A Siren for the Dead!
Aldon never got anywhere on his good looks, at least not according to his late wife.
At forty-two, his only companion is a cat named Tilly, and he’s turned to drinking in his off-hours to quiet the discontent in his head. As a city cop, he carries a heavy weight on his shoulders. Though he’s troubled by his own problems, he never lets them get in the way of helping people.
Now he’s needed more than ever. When the daughter of a nobleman goes missing, Aldon is sent to an alien planet to retrieve her.
But there’s one catch. The woman he seeks is unique. She is a siren, and she can raise the dead.
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A Siren for the Dead by Rosa Sophia
In Loam Square, at the center of Nalakien City, hordes of under-dwellers thrust up from the tunnel that led straight down to the sewers. People chanted and hollered on the sides of the square, watching them spout forth, all wielding weapons and shouting.
General Kemmer signaled his constables and watched as the cops strode forward, weapons in hand. The general, a man in his late thirties, was a wild-eyed, paranoid sort, who tried his hardest not to let the job affect his senses.
It was hard to do, and every city cop knew that. In most rural places, paperwork was the main part of being a cop. But a city like Nalakien had layers, secrets—and Callin Kemmer had unearthed enough of them to know there were more beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.
He slunk into a nearby alleyway and listened to the ensuing brawl while crouching behind a dumpster. His black armored vest pushed forward as he leaned against the stone wall. He wasn’t being a coward, no, not ever; he was calling for backup.
He reached into an inner pocket with a steady hand and retrieved a small silver device. It had a short, stocky antenna in the top right corner. Below that was a compact screen that showcased the date and the year—1972—as well as how much battery power was left on the device. The general flipped open the top; the buttons and screen were illuminated by a soft blue glow.
From beyond the alley, he could hear screaming. People were dying, and it wasn’t just the under-dwellers, it was the cops too. Kemmer keyed his password, then accessed a list of contacts.
He pressed a button and put the flip-phone to his ear just as a blood-curdling shriek filled the air and the body of a constable was thrown violently into the alley. A loud crack and the sickening way in which the man had been killed told Kemmer this wasn’t any ordinary brawl.
He stared at the body as the ground shook.
His eyes darted around the alley, searching for a way out.
There wasn’t one.
About the author:
Giggling at this fantastic, witty piece by Elan Mudrow. Truly a fun read. Three of my fave lines just to whet the literary appetite…
“Nylons want to make
Believe they are free and easy
But run when the going gets tough”
Ain’t that the truth.
Argyles are in cahoots
With high waters
And can recite, from memory,
Dialogue from Star Trek
Nylons want to make
Believe they are free and easy
But run when the going gets tough
Woolens are overprotective
Leg warmers brag
And want to be looked at
Especially if teamed with cut-offs
Knee-highs play games
But are slipped off easily
No-shows always peek, peep,
and take a gander at bony ankles
Crew socks are players
Dress socks have personality disorders.
They go to church, weddings, funerals
And dinner parties, Otherwise,
They stay at home in the drawer.
Panty hose, Ahh fuck, who named those?
Tights need to keep it together
Stay positive, be sensible, never droop
Or get too down about things
Toe socks get overly attached
Sock puppets are imposters
Never believe them
They are gloves! I swear!
Tubing needs to be outlawed
Fishnets catch more then they can handle
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