Mythos : LILI G MUST DIE's Prīmulī Universe derives many of its concepts from classical mythology/religion. Lili's Uncle Michael (really her grandfather) was once known as St. Michael the Archangel, as well as Thor, Osiris and Apollo due to his infrequent interactions with humans throughout the ages. These days, Michael works as a curator of ancient Earth arts, while preventing Lili from melting everything she sees into slag. Lili also has another uncle: Gabriel (a.k.a. Ares, God of War). After her parents, he's her favorite relative. 29th century Azul differs completely from what the reader would believe, based on today's popular offerings. There is no social media. No one has a smart phone. The DataNet is highly regulated. Biotech implants, which had turned Earthlings into virtual zombies, were outlawed before the Exodus' arrival. Movie stars were long ago replaced by CGI and artificial intelligence created for the entertainment industry. In fact, celebrity sta...
It was my final night in Moscow. The World Cup so far had been nothing short of amazing. I had met people from all over the world, but what affected me most was the warmth and kindness of the Russian people. From English-fluent hotel employees, to not-so-English-fluent cabbies, I was astounded. Everything I had been taught throughout my life was that Russians were alien, cold and quick to take advantage of foreigners. I couldn’t have been proven more wrong. On this one last night, after strolling through Saint Nicholas Street with my wife, Marielena, (and eating the most amazing hamburger ever) we decided to go back to our hotel, situated in a Soviet-era apartment apartment block fairly close to the Domodedovo Airport. And that’s where it all began. We boarded the Green line (#2) southbound. It was packed. Like sardines. I stood up in the back after I managed to secure a seat for my wife. Looking around, it seemed Marilena and I were the only non-Russians on the car. Now, let me...
A complimentary, sample chapter from LILI G MUST DIE FIRST KILL W here am I? I move through the pitch black, feeling my way along an icky, stone wall of sorts. It is slimy and gross, like snot, yet for some reason I am unable to smell the moisture's composition. The clanging of cold steel rings in my brain like a hammer against a bell of iron, and to make everything worse, I feel sick to my stomach. I truly fear I will vomit again. But I must not, for the enemy shall detect the scent of my discharge, and thus easily track my location. Then they will eat my face—and my eyeballs. Vampires enjoy eating eyeballs. I find it difficult to move. The boots I pilfered last week are ill fitting, and have filled with mud. They make an unsettling sloshing sound with each delicate step I take in this unfamiliar passage. Worse yet, I fear I will be heard...
Comments
Post a Comment