Broken Pieces

In my hands I hold my heart broken and shattered

I try to put it back together from the pieces I’ve gathered

But some of the pieces are lost, broken, of stole

I’m questioning if my heart can ever again be whole

Then you came into my life and found the pieces that seemed to hide

Revealing pieces I thought I never again could find

Helping me put it back together I hope that you can see

How broken and fragile my heart can really be

So if you’ll hold my hand and stay by my side while it heals

Maybe we can find out how true love really feels

Summer

Cardomon: The Poker Party

     Daytimes Mabutu lingered near the crib door, tried to view as much beyond as possible without being observed himself. He studied the guard’s routines, and he investigated the door.

     It was cheap, solid, swung inward, the latch had no parts on the crib side of the entry.

     He tried an experiment, wadded a small piece of cloth and wedged it into the lock strike. That night, when the guards finished, they dispensed the red pills and left the crib, slamming the door behind. Mabutu didn’t swallow his dose, once the guards were gone he drew out his stash, took half of a white pill and left his red pills. He waited for the cribmates to go silent and he rose, made soft footsteps to the portal.

     Snug in its jamb, with no inner handle, the door was yet a barrier. The cosmetics case contained a short nail file, he got that. It fit into the crack of door and jamb and had just enough grab to pull the door a tiny fraction of an inch. The patient eunuch wriggled his tool back into the slot, pulled again and the door came just a little further—after the seventh nail file probe he had a door edge he could get his fingers onto.

     Mabutu worked at floor level, he gently worried open a crack and checked the scene beyond.

     What he saw of the corridor was empty except for one sentry standing with his back to the guardroom entrance. The man was motionless, feet didn’t shift, eyes didn’t blink, possibly asleep afoot.

     Mabutu waited, resisted drug-jittery nerves, held his lower lip in his teeth and slowed his breathing, fingers twitched, the door wobbled. He closed his eyes, fearing catastrophe.

     The guard didn’t react.

     He watched again, time passed. The guard finally moved, turned around and went through the door behind him. He returned shortly, resumed his vigil.

     Mabutu’s own bladder grew anxious, he decided that he’d seen enough and carefully pushed the door back into its jamb then went into the WC.

      He released his breath, urinated, drank water and was suddenly exhausted. Mabutu stumble-walked to bed, fortunately his was the nearest.

Cardomon: The End of the Brothel

            Another tiring night, the men were in a poor mood and took their pleasure roughly, made bruises. Then the guards did their flush fueled sadism and left the entire crib exhausted. When the red pills came around the babes all dosed eagerly, anxious to get away from the waking World.

            In dreams Salyanna always went blank, nullified reality completely until the drug wore off.

           A harsh sound intruded, pulled her to a state of grogginess and she sat up. The noise buzzed and brayed—on-off-on-off-on-off—and light entered the crib from the window, threw shadows against the wall over her bunk. Mabutu stood next to Kreesha, Honi got out of bed and joined them, they watched the scene outside. Salyanna wobbled to her feet and went to the crowd.

            Past the window men ran, they carried guns, she heard rattling and popping sounds, the gun barrels sparked.

Early Cardomon Part II updated

                                     CHAPTER ONE

Erin Koip Orinitus rose from her camp bed, slipped into a warm robe and fetched her baby out of his crib. Sitting on the edge of the cot, holding Sikar II to her chest, she looked through the open front of her shelter tent down the short graded approach to Lucy’s estate, morning mist smoked the treetops and heavy dew damped the terrain.

A second cot adjoined Erin’s, standing head to head, it was empty, only holding disturbed blankets in a heap. Around the foot of her bed a folding mattress lay on the ground, a sleeping figure stretched across it.

Her empty hand took her pillow and threw it at the man, hitting the back of his shoulders.

Cardomon Query

            Hello, bonjour, guten tag, my name is James B. Mielke—take the ‘B’ and call me Ben, please. I’m writing because I have recently completed my first novel, a work of science fiction. I call it Cardomon—Mellisa Shannon, a History and a Tragedy, and it has almost 154,000 words. Let me tell you about it:

            We are in a far future, where ‘Earth’ is merely a word for soil, and people colonize new planets every day. It’s all by the book, no surprises, just stick to the plan. But if your plan doesn’t account for a native fungus that consumes human flesh in moments, or a volcanic eruption that obliterates ninety percent of your population base, or the fundamentally predatory nature of the human species, you may experience difficulties. Meanwhile, families bond, babies arrive, people make love, they make music and they make whiskey. We meet scientists, astrologers and lumberjacks, vigilantes, aristocrats and athletes, beloved teachers, runaway slaves and psychopaths. And a mysterious new intelligence watches.

            Starting with arrival on the planet and construction of a Firstown and finishing with a ragged battle for freedom, Cardomon brews numerous threads and characters through experiences silly and sobering and examines the foundation of civilization, and its lapse.

            The first of an intended four part series that documents five hundred years of human settlement and the evolution of the mysterious being—a planet wide fungus awakened into sentience by encountering people. Part One, Mellisa Shannon, follows the arc of a polarizing pioneer colonist and sees the establishment of two rival communities linked through a shared school. They clash on the athletic field, in wilderness conflict and over a development project imported by a Galactic merchant, a slave trader.

            Part two will take off running in the aftermath of the first part’s action and turns its lens upon the