Emerging From Death ~ 1
Some of you will remember Born From Death, my best novel I was "meant" to write. Centred on the characters of ex Air Training Corps cadets Peter Westcott and Abigail Thomas. Abbie is a Christian and atheist Pete is determined to crush her faith in a lifelong battle that culminates in a prison camp.
Pete submits Abbie to a torture no woman should endure, and resulting in the birth of a baby girl.
Not to spoil the end of my book... :P
It finds its sequel in the book Emerging From Death, with main character Martha Thomas, abused teen in the State Displaced Children's Orphanage, searching desperately for an identity outside of the one she knows...
The link with her past? One silver watch.
Do the mysterious, mindless janitor, the silent midnight observer and the subversive anti-state group have anything in common?
I present Chapter One of EfD. Critiques and comments both WELCOMED, BEGGED FOR AND APPRECIATED! :D
Chapter One
Child of Fiction
“Abbie, did you ever forgive me for what I did? The God that we both serve has, although the remembrance of my sin at times weighs on me heavily; the more so as no word has reached me of the child to whom I pledged I would make it up for your sake. I am so sorry – more than you can ever know. I can only hope that when we meet up there all will be made well between us. I shrink from the horror that tomorrow will bring, and only my trust in my Saviour, that in my right mind, I proclaim Him as Lord, reassures me. God knows I cannot help what they do to me – what I say when my mind goes. I rest on His mercy and grace, and I know He will be with me. He has promised it. The light is fading; I must close. May whoever reads this diary learn from my mistakes, and be encouraged by my God! By His mercy alone, I dare to call Him mine. Peter Westcott.”
The musical voice of Nara Faheen faltered a little as she drew to a close. Hard-backed copies of the textbook slammed shut and shoved to the side. One fell on the floor. I glanced around at the hate-covered faces of my fellow students and then up at my teacher. For a brief moment, his eyes met mine, before he turned away.
“And that is yet another example of how the Christians and their teaching creep into our society and corrupt our finest and best, seeking to destroy the foundations of our glorious state.”
I bit my lip to stifle a yawn. Most of us were thankful that the students were ordered to read the book for this session of “social training.” Mr. Wallace droned on in a monotone that bored us most of the time, and combined with the afternoon’s heat, quite a few would have ended up in the head teacher’s office.
Mike Daniels, next to me, spit on the cover of the book and glanced over at me with a smile. Mr. Wallace shot a quick glance of approval at him. I frowned and picked up my own copy.
Never mind that it is a record of someone’s failings. He still held a glorious career in the state past, and we should be learning from his errors afterwards. This book needs to be preserved for future generations.
I flipped open the cover and glanced down at the page which normally held the dedication.
“This book was originally entitled ‘Born From Death’ by its author. However, considering the author’s status as a traitor, and the oxymoron title, we have published it under the state-approved title, ‘Lessons from a Traitor’ as no. 19 in the series, ‘Enemies of the State’.”
I couldn’t think of a more oxymoron title that the one which now labelled the front cover of the book.
They could’ve at least kept the name! It wouldn’t have hurt.
I touched the black and white shiny cover. A sharp “Ahem!” made me look up. I blushed and pushed back my chair, dropping the book on the desk.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Wallace,” I said, stepping to the side of my desk.
The teacher scowled down at me, black brows drawing together.
“You seem to have a strange fascination with this book, Ms. Thomas.”
I gave an inward sigh. Mr. Wallace appeared to have a strange enjoyment in picking on me in front of my fellow classmates. I stared straight ahead.
He picked up my copy and waved it in front of my face.
“It has been noted that you hurry through your lessons to reach English Literature. Perhaps you have secret sympathies with such people as these, Ms. Thomas? Or maybe you feel there is a link to identity in the likeness of names between the Christian and yourself?”
I couldn’t prevent an inward start, and the gleam of triumph on his face showed that his random shot had told. One more moment and I’d be in the head office for sure.
“Perhaps I simply enjoy learning from you, Mr. Wallace,” I gave a tiny smile up at him, hoping my eyes expressed sincerity. “You train us so well in hatred of the State’s enemies; how could I wish to join them and lose the sacred right of defending the State and learning from you?”
I threw into my gaze and smile the girlish wiles I could use so well. He shifted his weight, gaze darting around the room, looking anywhere but at me. With conscious effort, I prevented my smile from becoming sarcastic.
“You may sit down, Ms. Thomas.”
I sat, hating the name and hating still more the man who used it. Nara shot me a sympathetic glance, and I met her eyes with desperation in mine.
I never meant to...I mouthed. She nodded but shrugged, looking helpless.
“Class dismissed.”
A headlong rush ensued as students raced in mad disarray for the door. I tried to keep to the middle of the press while searching for Nara, but stopped as a tight grasp fell on my arm.
“That was a good answer, Ms. Thomas.”
I felt goose bumps rise on my skin as Mr. Wallace looked me over approvingly, waiting for his next words.
“You may go.”
I stared up at him for a brief, stunned moment, before the realisation of his words sank in. I turned and pushed violently into the group.
“That was close.”
Nara fell into step beside me as we started down the corridor, heading outdoors.
“I know,” I shuddered, my hands clammy. “I thought...I thought that...”
“I know,” Nara said, putting her hand on my shoulder soothingly. “You thought after last time with his beating you that he wouldn’t want you again.”
I nodded.
“And the principal beats me worse than he does, so I thought I could risk flattering him...”
My stomach knotted and my voice trailed away. Nara stopped and looked at me, chocolate brown eyes dark with concern.
“Why don’t you go to the principal, Martha?”
I bit my lip.
“You really think he’s going to believe the word of a State orphan over one of his most loyal teachers? I’ll end up in solitary for several months, if not in a camp.”
Nara sighed, but didn’t argue. We both knew that I was right.
“All right, Martha. Just don’t risk yourself like that again, okay? We’ll pull through this, together. We’ll get into the military organisation, and then things will be better for us, eh?”
We stopped beside a tender young plant in a concrete box on the parade ground. She touched my cheek tenderly, a rare kindness in this place.
“They will have to stop looking at us as the ‘Christians’ brats’, hmm? We’ll conquer the world, you and me. We’ll prove our heritage is nothing to us and no reason to shame us.”
I blinked hard and gave her a small smile back.
“Thanks, Nara.”
“Nothing doing,” she said, easy. “What else are friends for?”
As the cold finger of the cheerless sunrays touched me, I could not suppress a shudder at the memory of Mr. Wallace’s eyes.
Pete submits Abbie to a torture no woman should endure, and resulting in the birth of a baby girl.
Not to spoil the end of my book... :P
It finds its sequel in the book Emerging From Death, with main character Martha Thomas, abused teen in the State Displaced Children's Orphanage, searching desperately for an identity outside of the one she knows...
The link with her past? One silver watch.
Do the mysterious, mindless janitor, the silent midnight observer and the subversive anti-state group have anything in common?
I present Chapter One of EfD. Critiques and comments both WELCOMED, BEGGED FOR AND APPRECIATED! :D
Chapter One
Child of Fiction
“Abbie, did you ever forgive me for what I did? The God that we both serve has, although the remembrance of my sin at times weighs on me heavily; the more so as no word has reached me of the child to whom I pledged I would make it up for your sake. I am so sorry – more than you can ever know. I can only hope that when we meet up there all will be made well between us. I shrink from the horror that tomorrow will bring, and only my trust in my Saviour, that in my right mind, I proclaim Him as Lord, reassures me. God knows I cannot help what they do to me – what I say when my mind goes. I rest on His mercy and grace, and I know He will be with me. He has promised it. The light is fading; I must close. May whoever reads this diary learn from my mistakes, and be encouraged by my God! By His mercy alone, I dare to call Him mine. Peter Westcott.”
The musical voice of Nara Faheen faltered a little as she drew to a close. Hard-backed copies of the textbook slammed shut and shoved to the side. One fell on the floor. I glanced around at the hate-covered faces of my fellow students and then up at my teacher. For a brief moment, his eyes met mine, before he turned away.
“And that is yet another example of how the Christians and their teaching creep into our society and corrupt our finest and best, seeking to destroy the foundations of our glorious state.”
I bit my lip to stifle a yawn. Most of us were thankful that the students were ordered to read the book for this session of “social training.” Mr. Wallace droned on in a monotone that bored us most of the time, and combined with the afternoon’s heat, quite a few would have ended up in the head teacher’s office.
Mike Daniels, next to me, spit on the cover of the book and glanced over at me with a smile. Mr. Wallace shot a quick glance of approval at him. I frowned and picked up my own copy.
Never mind that it is a record of someone’s failings. He still held a glorious career in the state past, and we should be learning from his errors afterwards. This book needs to be preserved for future generations.
I flipped open the cover and glanced down at the page which normally held the dedication.
“This book was originally entitled ‘Born From Death’ by its author. However, considering the author’s status as a traitor, and the oxymoron title, we have published it under the state-approved title, ‘Lessons from a Traitor’ as no. 19 in the series, ‘Enemies of the State’.”
I couldn’t think of a more oxymoron title that the one which now labelled the front cover of the book.
They could’ve at least kept the name! It wouldn’t have hurt.
I touched the black and white shiny cover. A sharp “Ahem!” made me look up. I blushed and pushed back my chair, dropping the book on the desk.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Wallace,” I said, stepping to the side of my desk.
The teacher scowled down at me, black brows drawing together.
“You seem to have a strange fascination with this book, Ms. Thomas.”
I gave an inward sigh. Mr. Wallace appeared to have a strange enjoyment in picking on me in front of my fellow classmates. I stared straight ahead.
He picked up my copy and waved it in front of my face.
“It has been noted that you hurry through your lessons to reach English Literature. Perhaps you have secret sympathies with such people as these, Ms. Thomas? Or maybe you feel there is a link to identity in the likeness of names between the Christian and yourself?”
I couldn’t prevent an inward start, and the gleam of triumph on his face showed that his random shot had told. One more moment and I’d be in the head office for sure.
“Perhaps I simply enjoy learning from you, Mr. Wallace,” I gave a tiny smile up at him, hoping my eyes expressed sincerity. “You train us so well in hatred of the State’s enemies; how could I wish to join them and lose the sacred right of defending the State and learning from you?”
I threw into my gaze and smile the girlish wiles I could use so well. He shifted his weight, gaze darting around the room, looking anywhere but at me. With conscious effort, I prevented my smile from becoming sarcastic.
“You may sit down, Ms. Thomas.”
I sat, hating the name and hating still more the man who used it. Nara shot me a sympathetic glance, and I met her eyes with desperation in mine.
I never meant to...I mouthed. She nodded but shrugged, looking helpless.
“Class dismissed.”
A headlong rush ensued as students raced in mad disarray for the door. I tried to keep to the middle of the press while searching for Nara, but stopped as a tight grasp fell on my arm.
“That was a good answer, Ms. Thomas.”
I felt goose bumps rise on my skin as Mr. Wallace looked me over approvingly, waiting for his next words.
“You may go.”
I stared up at him for a brief, stunned moment, before the realisation of his words sank in. I turned and pushed violently into the group.
“That was close.”
Nara fell into step beside me as we started down the corridor, heading outdoors.
“I know,” I shuddered, my hands clammy. “I thought...I thought that...”
“I know,” Nara said, putting her hand on my shoulder soothingly. “You thought after last time with his beating you that he wouldn’t want you again.”
I nodded.
“And the principal beats me worse than he does, so I thought I could risk flattering him...”
My stomach knotted and my voice trailed away. Nara stopped and looked at me, chocolate brown eyes dark with concern.
“Why don’t you go to the principal, Martha?”
I bit my lip.
“You really think he’s going to believe the word of a State orphan over one of his most loyal teachers? I’ll end up in solitary for several months, if not in a camp.”
Nara sighed, but didn’t argue. We both knew that I was right.
“All right, Martha. Just don’t risk yourself like that again, okay? We’ll pull through this, together. We’ll get into the military organisation, and then things will be better for us, eh?”
We stopped beside a tender young plant in a concrete box on the parade ground. She touched my cheek tenderly, a rare kindness in this place.
“They will have to stop looking at us as the ‘Christians’ brats’, hmm? We’ll conquer the world, you and me. We’ll prove our heritage is nothing to us and no reason to shame us.”
I blinked hard and gave her a small smile back.
“Thanks, Nara.”
“Nothing doing,” she said, easy. “What else are friends for?”
As the cold finger of the cheerless sunrays touched me, I could not suppress a shudder at the memory of Mr. Wallace’s eyes.
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