pitfall/intuition

Recently I've received an acceptance letter and a publishing contract 
from the publisher to whom I've submitted my book manuscript. Brief 
joy evaporated as I read the contract. It says that I market the book 
with my own expense, reasoning that the book has been published before.
When? Then I realized that they meant the book campaign I ran on 
Kindle Scout a month ago. 

Before running the campaign, I had thought I should find a literary 
agent or publisher first. But I didn't want to wait a few months to 
get a response from them. So I ran the campaign unsuccesfully which 
turned out to be a pitfall that hinders my effort to find 
a publisher.

This publisher wants e-book publishing right also. I've converted 
my manuscript into an ebook format myself, and I want to keep 
e-book publishing right to myself. So I've decided not to sign 
the contract. I've published it with Amazon.

The editor of the publishing company says that my book 
Infinite Deluge resonates.  

To buy the book, please click the link below
Thank you so much for your support.

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by Byung A. Fallgren

The Reason I was Freed

A week after I started working at the Perion Field One, Clive came to the prison to see me.  “How do you like your job so far?”  he asked.

“I like it better than being your assistant,” I said, glancing at his dark suit that matched his shiny dark hair.

With a cold smirk, he took a pack of cigarette from his coat pocket, lit one, took a deep inhale, and gazed at me through the smoke.  “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Unless you accept my demands, I will stay here.”

He scoffed.  “Our leader told me to teach you a lesson to be a loyal servant.”

“So, what are you going to do with me?”

“I could throw you into a torture chamber but I am too nice to do that.  I don’t want to waste your quality, so…” he paused.

I waited for his next word, curious.

“You are not good enough to be my assistant.  So, I recommend you to be a common security guard,” he said condescendingly.

“I can live with that.  Where will I be working?”

“Let’s go,” he said, walking toward his vehicle.

(from THE SPACE HERMITS)

The Winged Great Dane & the Mysterious Whistle

Looking out the tiny cell window, I saw several torabus, the Great Dane-like animals, at the edge of the field.  Then a sudden whistle came from somewhere.  Some inmate was trying to get the torabus’ attention?  One torabu was moving toward the prison building and the rest trailed him.

When they came near my window I admired the magnificent creatures with their dark coats and folded wings glistening in the moonlight.  They appeared a mixture of a Dane and a horse but much larger than a horse.  The smallest one in the group turned its head to look at me with its intelligent looking eyes.  I remembered that #268 didn’t like torabu’s meat.  I understood him now.  How can they eat such beautiful creatures?

The whistle blew again.  The smallest one’s ear twitched at the sound as if he recognized the whistler.  He glanced around.  Seeing no one, he listened more.  As the whistle stopped he flew away, the others following him.

(from THE SPACE HERMITS)

The Dame & the Baby

They sat next to each other at the airport
The baby in his mom’s lap fixed infectious
Gaze on the girl who had never seen
Others gave him
A smile

A dame next to the girl followed her eyes to
The baby and put a long frown on
The innocent face, turned her head
To another baby to stick a bright
Smile on him

The frowning woman, two different babies
The girl was troubled by the thoughts
What’s with the unfairness, lady?
Despite the dissimilar hue
Of their skins, the two are
Brothers

Open your eyes wider
And you’ll
See it

Many years later, the memory was still fresh
In the girl’s mind when she saw the dame
Now a stooped old woman and the baby
A man crossing
The road

With a screech, a car halted to a stop
At the hobbling woman’s foot the
Startled man turned and put
His arm around her back
A smile spread on the
Woman’s face

The girl’s eyes brimmed
The haunting memory
No more

The Misery

The guard threw me a new empty bag.  The filled bags were taken to the truck at the edge of the field.  As my empty stomach growled I opened a perion-seed pod that was a-food  long.  There were green seeds that were thrice larger than the peas in it.  I ate them.  They were sweet and nutty.  I ate some more.

“Don’t eat the seeds, you pig!”  the Makumban guard barked.

I fought not to pulverize him, for I knew the consequence of my action.  I didn’t want to be killed and become a wandering ghost in  this field.  Stay alive, Marlon.      

“Eat this,” #268 gave me his sandwich from the bag.

“Keep it for yourself.”

“Come here,” he whispered to me, moving toward a nearby shady area where several pickers were smoking.  He rolled the dried perion leaves in a piece of paper, grabbed a dried stick of perion branch from the ground and rubbed it vigorously against the side of his metal ankle-cuff.  A minute later the stick burst into a flame.  He put it to the rolled cigaret and puffed.  “Perion stick is the best,” he said.  “Other sticks don’t burn easily.”

I bent to feel my ankle-cuff.  It was hot, heated by the scorching sun.  My socks protected my skins from getting burn.

He gave me the cigaret but I didn’t take it.  Perion-cigaret was highly addictive, stronger than marijuana.  I used to smoke marijuana when I was in high school and knew it made me lazy and unmotivated.  I didn’t want that now.  I must stay sober if I want to survive.

“This is how we cope with our misery,” #268 said.

(from THE SPACE HERMITS)

The Unjust Demote

“You are a seed-picker for the rest of your life,” Clive said angrily.  He pressed the button on his coat to call a security guard.  A minute later the guard came in.  “Take him to the Perion Field One,” Clive ordered.  “He’s a picker from now!”

Outside, the guard thrust me into the rumpom.  “Get in!”

Half an hour later, we reached to the field suburb of the city, the same field I had visited the day before.  As we walked toward the guard station, a tall security guard appeared at the door.  “I brought you a new picker,” the guard who brought me told him.

The guard looked confused a second then nodded.  “Start working!”  He threw me an empty bag.

So, my days as a seed-picker began just like that.  I went toward the workers in the field.  “Stupid son of a machine!”  I cussed, picturing Clive’s cold face.  “I could save the leader’s life by caching wannabe assassins from Rakutan some day.  If he knew what you did to me, he will kick your ass.  You will lose your job!”  I began to pick the seeds.

“Mr. Brumba, what in the world are you doing here?”  The middle-aged man I’d met the day before came toward me, his eyes wide.

“I’m not Brumba.  Call me Marlon.”

“So, what went wrong, Marlon?”

“I didn’t accept the job.  Simple as that.”

“How come you threw out such good opportunity?”

I told him what happened.  “If he’s smart, he will come back for me.  But again he might not come.  His head is all screwed up.”

(from The SPACE HERMITS)