I made good progress on short story numero uno, a near-future scifi story “Shall I Die, Oh My Daughter, Shall I Die?”
Words so far: 3,359. I’m happy with that. keeping in mind that I am also working on my YA novel at the same time and this was the Locus Awards/ workshop weekend.
If you haven’t already, please sponsor me (and therefore Clarion West) by going to: http://clarionwest.org/events/writeathon/RandyHenderson
Here’s excerpts that should give you the flavor of the story without giving anything away:
EXCERPT 1:
Siku sat on the exam table and glanced at the exit from the small white room. She had hitched rides the 85 kilometers from Naivasha of her own free will, had placed herself in this room on the Nairobi University campus freely. Yet she felt no more free than the animals caged at the nature conservancy where she worked.
The door opened and a white man walked in, followed by a Kenyan woman. Both wore lab coats.
“Hello Miss Abasi,” the man said in English. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” Siku said.
“Good. Your blood and urine tested fine. You’ve been accepted for drug trials. Take this form to the dispensary and they will explain when and how to take the drug. You must return here for exams once a week, so schedule an appointment before you leave. Any questions?”
“You will give me food and water?”
“For as long as you are in the trial. Anything else?”
Siku took the slip of paper. “What kind of drugs will it be?”
“Does it matter?” the man said.
EXCERPT 2:
Siku tucked Zuri into bed, and pressed a hand to skin that glowed like polished midnight beneath sweat and the sunset’s dying light.
“Mama, tell me the story of how come people die.”
Siku shook her head. “Shush child. Why would you want such a story now?”
“Because I am going to die.” Zuri said it so matter of factly.
“No, you are not. I told you, I am going to get you better.”
“Then tell me the story of the girl and the lake instead?”
Siku smiled, and took her daughter’s frail hand. “Fine.”
“There once was a lake like Naivasha that dried up. The land and the crops and the herds went thirsty. But the people went to a medicine man, and he told them to give their most beautiful girl to the lake and the water would return. So the villagers each gave the girl’s father a gift – a goat, or sheep, or a cow – and he gave his daughter to the lake. She was a good daughter, and so she stood where the lake used to be and sang a song. And soon –”
“Sing the song.”
“You know I do not like to sing.”
“Please mother.”
Siku sighed. “Very well.” She cleared her throat, and sang:
“Shall I die, oh my father, shall I die?
Shall I die, boy I love, shall I die?
Shall I die, thirsty land, shall I die?
Rain come down to bless them all and I shall die.”
Zuri closed her eyes as her mother sang. When the song ended, Zuri said, “And her father cried, and her boyfriend cried, and the sky cried.”
“Yes,” Siku said. “And as the rain fell, the lake filled up. The water rose, past the girl’s ankles, past her knees, lifting her dress to float like a flower. And as it rose to her chest, still she sang, and did not try to leave the lake, until the water covered her head and she was gone.”
“But she was not dead,” Zuri said, her voice barely above a whisper as sleep laid its heavy blanket over her.
“You are jumping ahead,” Siku said. “You must let the tale be told.”
“Sorry mother.” Zuri’s voice trailed off, and her breathing became deep and regular.
“Sleep well, my beautiful girl,” Siku said.
