I'm currently in search of a beta reader or two to help give feedback on my WIP, maybe even hash out ideas.
In the present moment, she awaited the inevitable. She strayed from Oktavia even more so—to the point the human noticed her odd looks and disappointment; their hands had bumped into each other when trying to reach for the artificial sweetener jar—and Mischa flinched like a fish waiting to be gutted by their captor. In retrospect, however--
"...I am not even flattering you, she probably just glanced at you and decided what she would feel, like clockwork,” he snapped his fingers. “You need to end this.” "And how do you expect me to do that?” Mischa didn’t dare break away eye contact. Respect was the only thing she had left, if it wasn’t love. "You do it carefully, Koch. Very carefully.”
I created a soundtrack for the most brutal scene yet in the ongoing Identify novel collaboration.
I realized this sounds apt for the holidays, so now its purpose is tailored for... that
Hope this soundtrack could depict a bit of weirdness, a bit of surrealism, and a bit of fear in the midst of it all too--I pretty much am looking at it through Lauren's perspective, how everything is fading in seconds before she believes it is her time.
I have recently composed an intro soundtrack to the Identify podcast project I’ve been working on. For those that do not know, Identify is an ongoing novel collaboration project that delves into a mysterious island that has different uses for people.
"But, you're neglecting to tell me everything. I know that, Mischa. What have you been hiding from me?" She looked almost sad as she put their dishes in the sink. 'Your memories, Oktavia. That's what I'm hiding.' "Mischa? Where are you going? Don't walk away from me."
Darcy knew better than to play with time—it wasn’t cheap after all.
I lost myself in the music—I often did, just like when my guitar strap fell off while in the middle of a song we were playing once. I didn’t stop a beat as I got down on my knees to keep playing.
How fucked is that? She mused in her dreamscape.
“You're the first of your kind—”
She could barely remember the former king, but she knew enough modern history that the colonies dispersed before killing each other in a series of small wars. It was knowledge that felt natural to her. She was in enough battles, recalling in distant psychological experience, to warrant the existential solipsistic dread that when she held the sword, she was the only one that mattered in anyone's eyes. Including her father's.
“Mischa, have I done something to upset you?” Oktavia’s terrifying presence made her flit for the knife, before dropping it back down on the cutting board. “What?” “There is some… type of vomit on the vegetable cutting board.” “What are you—No, no, I just chopped up the carrots—over and over again.”
At her feet, she found something joyful. The horizon cleared and she too sat on the ground. Her gaze locked with Mischa. "I didn't think we'd see each other again." "Given what you do? It was likely," Mischa was hoarse, hesitating to move from the ground. The glow suppressed Oktavia's features, in which the illusion was consolable that she was safe. Her head rolled to the side, almost touching the robot's knee.
“Did you think I’d forget you, my Mischa?” Somehow, her voice didn’t falter into emotion, yet her chest sunk as she looked into the human’s eyes. She swallowed. Focus. Oktavia, in her dark moment, squeezed tightly before dropping Mischa to the ground. At her feet, she found something joyful. The horizon cleared and she too sat on the ground. Her gaze locked with Mischa. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
Anastasia was stirred to the sound of heavy breathing. “You are surely to die.” “Then perhaps you will too.”
“Why do you feel connected to this devastation? It took many lives from the world, including ours. You feel, what, pity for a world that’s been long gone? Face it, it never existed.”