Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Well hello there, all of you boisterous boys, gilded girls, and everyone or thing in between… How the hell are ya?

I’m okay (despite the borderline depressing blogs last week) and in a surprisingly good mood! “Why,” you ask (…you didn’t). As it turns out, this is my FIVE-HUNDREDTH POST!!! Because I totally have a life and am in no way mentally ill. 

THAT BEING SAID… 

Rather than my standard spiel—sensually obsessing over the various widths and lengths of unicorn horns and mermaid tails—I’ve decided to do something a little different to commemorate the occasion.

As some of you may know, I’ve been working on a project for the better part of a year, and (…should everything go well and the amulet remain secure) it should be available for pre-sale and purchase before year’s end… But you deserve a little something for sticking with me—or for taking a peek at a humble(ish) indie author, such as myself. I tried to send nudes, but most of you have me blocked.

ANYWAY… 

It’s my genuine pleasure to present you with the first glimpse of my upcoming novella,  “Lucid.”

Enjoy!

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Lucid

A blood orange sky.

A howling wind that carries dust. 

The wiry wails of weary machinery.

Sunsets were scarred by the industrial runoff of legislated contempt. The smell was tart, like rotten eggs, and the air burned virgin eyes. The harbor was unlivable. The streets were soaked in once-gaseous oil. Layers of slick black glazed the roads, filled in cracks, and spilled from tar-stained surfaces. The powers that be called it progress. Nasty but necessary. Crude but constructive. Trivial yet transformative. At least drugs were honest.

“Fucking scumbag,” Zique said. “That’s twice its worth.”

“Thirty,” the dealer sneered. “Supply and demand, sweetheart.”

“Fine…” Zique offered his hand. “—you’d better not be sticky.”

The dealer gripped Zique’s palm and shook. Bio-pay. “Pleasure doing business.”

“Wasn’t.” Zique took the baggy and shoved it under his balls. “Won’t happen again.”

“Sure.” The dealer laughed. “You’ll be sucking my dick for it in two weeks.”

Zique thought of hitting him. Then didn’t. “If you live that long.”

The dealer flinched. Zique kept walking, waiting for shots that never came.

Violence was for idiots and jailbirds who couldn’t hack it in polite society. Though there was the occasional righteous cause, everyone looked guilty in handcuffs. Fights were loud. Streets were monitored. Drones filled a dying sky. Offenders wouldn’t make it a minute before the law showed up to bash heads. The city would bill you. The state would enslave you. Jailers would dedicate their lives to keeping you in a cage for minimum wage.

Kill or chill. Zique thought. He likes his life.

“Yo.” Meena looked up from the driver’s seat. The rusty car rattled. “And?”

“Solo.” Zique dropped into the backseat and crawled to the front passenger side.

“How can you tell?”

“No tats. Scared of jail. Mildly predatory.”

“Shit.” Meena slapped the steering wheel. “Goddamn roaches.”

“I know.” Zique reached down his pants. The baggy was warm. White. Liquid. Sweet.

“Don’t finish it.” Meena started the car. “We’re sharing.” She fingered the wet from her eyes–the bleeding cry of wanton withdrawal.

“I won’t.” Zique poked the bag with a syringe and pulled the plunger. “Barely half.”

“Uh-huh.” Meena pulled onto the road, signaling traffic with her arm. “Stash it.”

Zique twisted the baggy, stuffed it back down his pants, then injected himself in the eye. Bliss.

The drug’s name was “soop.” It was an insight-paralyzing synthetic, first sold as an anesthetic. Then an antipsychotic. Then an anxiety drug. Then street candy. You could sniff it, lick it, dip it, drink it, smoke it, inject it, insert it, absorb it, or stare at it until someone did and coughed on you. It was a potent hallucinogen. A fierce opiate. A premier poison. A cheap vacation.

Zique preferred his fix straight to the head. He’d get high and see other lives. 

He’d awaken hours later with ‘panda eyes’, dark and sagging signs of abuse. 

“Don’t get cozy,” Meena said. “One more stop.”

“I won’t,” Zique answered. Drifting. “Trust me, Sarah.”

“Sarah?” Meena mocked. “Cabrón.” She turned on the radio to drown out Zique’s babble. 

The advertisement was for Thrash Industries. “—a rare financial opportunity.”

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RIGHT?!?!?!

Keep an eye out for the pre-sale…

Thanks for taking this weird journey with me!!!

Until Next Time,

–Antwan Crump

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Want to familiarize yourself with the world of “Lucid”???

Check out my debut novel APOSTATE! On sale now!!!

(FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED)

“A vivid, layered, and masterful debut that transcends its cyberpunk roots.”

The year is 2049. Earth is dying. Society is broken. Man and machine have merged.

As omnipresent AI systems regulate a fractured world, average citizens are left to starve under the tyranny of broken social safety nets. Public unrest soars while the rich pursue industries that cripple the planet in their relentless quest to evolve—seeking to transcend mortality and God, at any cost.

That cost is Ava, a cybernetic hybrid foretold to bring both an end and a beginning—a demon, a deity, a child. Hunted by those who seek to control her and revered by those who believe she holds humanity’s salvation, Ava faces a fractured world teetering on the brink of collapse.

If you loved:

• The Water Knife
• Snow Crash
• Children of Men
• Brave New World
• 1984
  
  
  …then Apostate is a must-read.