Currently drinking: Drip coffee with vanilla creamer (wiggity whaaaaaat?)
Hey all! One of the things on my list to do for this year is continue working on my book. I started working on it over the holidays, but have lost steam as all these changes in my personal life have been going on. I have decided to post the first two chapters of The Machine, I'm still working on the title, to A) see if it's worth continuing and B) keep myself accountable for writing it. If I do get positive feedback on my first attempt at novel writing, then I will continue struggling away with the story. Please now sit back and enjoy the adventures of the 10 year old super genius Marin and let me know what you think!!
Chapter 1
Click
The last piece of the contraption was in place. It’s done. His life’s work was finally complete, at ten years old, Marin felt accomplished enough to just lay down and die right there. The small boy felt half of a smile creep up behind the stern composure he struggled to keep.
A man of science never celebrates until all tests have been run.
The computer his mother had bought him for Christmas two years ago sat there waiting to be turned on. itching to run the numbers. Flexing his delicate fingers, Marin lovingly pressed the on button. It would take several days for the program he spent six months creating to make sure all was in working order, but he could wait. With the hard part, namely the justification of collecting and assembling what his father called “random bits of scrap metal,” now over, he was free to let his mind wander from the obsession that had possessed him so many countless nights.
He was grateful that his parents supported his scientific ventures. Marin was a frail boy and was encouraged to stay in doors “for health reasons” as his doctor had put it, and so his mother and father jumped whole heartedly on board when he declared that he wanted to be a man of knowledge.
Turning from the low hummmmmm of the computer, he got up to check the rest of the order of the room. He was not a particularly organized boy, in fact, it was not a rare occasion when old, forgotten homework was found stuffed in between materials lists and random musings on the flight patterns of various insects. Yet, he liked to think of his room as perfect example of organized chaos. In one corner there lay stacks and stacks of various Science Weekly and The New Inventor magazines. Charts and mockups of his latest schemes plastered the main wall while his library collection, which lay currently all over the floor, ranged from books on basic chemistry to advanced string theory. He did have the occasional social commentary scattered here and there, but hey, he was ten, didn’t he have the right to be a little kid once in a while?
The room was already dark, so there was no need to turn the light off as he shut the door quietly behind him. Being an “indoor boy” as he liked to call himself, meant that he constantly had to monitor his own behavior. No running about the house screaming like a little savage would give him the freedom to walk to the library or frequent the local Comp-u-mart as he fancied. In fact, his mother regarded him even trustworthy enough to open up an account for him at the store and make purchases as he pleased, as long as he later made a full presentation about the necessity for said items.
Marin found himself wandering aimlessly in the general direction of the kitchen. His mother was no great cook. To be honest, she was downright horrible, but it mattered to him little; he was a child of rare appetite. Humming tunelessly, he scrounged around through the cabinets till he found a packet of instant ramen. After putting some water on to boil, he proceeded to plop himself on the stool at the counter and wait.
He hated being in the kitchen, and spent as little time in that room as possible. The peeling yellow walls, which were originally meant to be cheerful and bright, now looked like the putrid color that came out of some of the bugs that he squished for “experimental reasons.” It wasn’t just the color of the walls that he hated about it, but the idea of a kitchen itself. Food was for those who had time, and Marin’s was not to be wasted on something that was strictly meant for fuel.
His sister, Sheryl, had loved to cook. He remembered her propping him up on her lap while she spoon-fed him all her ridiculous concoctions. She would always throw random items from the cupboards together hoping to come up with the next greatest recipe. Sometimes it would work and the dish would be delicious, like her Macaroni-Choco Extravaganza, while other times it would come out purely disgusting slop.
The pot started boiling over and Marin jumped up to turn the heat down. Dammit…every time! He almost always became lost in thought when he went to the kitchen. Emptying the contents of the flavor packet on the now too-soggy noodles, he thought to himself, only a few more days.
Sheryl had been the reason for his existence. She was five years older than him and the perfect sister in every way. There was never a time when he didn’t remember her long, beautiful chestnut hair and giant brown eyes, full of mischief and intelligence. She never failed to take care of Marin, making sure the bigger boys at school didn’t beat him up too much, and even went out with one of the boys for a whole month just so he would leave Marin alone.
She was also an inventor, making them the dynamic duo. When he was too small to do any of the work himself, she would let him sit there and would explain the way physics works and how to balance chemical equations. She would tell him stories about the ancient Greek gods, carry on about the history of the Americas and the failures of today’s economic structures, adding in her own comments and never failing to entertain him. Sometimes though, Marin would walk in to find her sitting alone in her room, crying silently to herself. No, Sheryl wasn’t always laughter and sunshine. Her sense of humor sometimes bordered on the verge of too dark. Cryptic comments like, “we need to test the borders of humanity” would sometimes spring from her mouth, then she would sit there and smile as if it was all some big joke.
But it wasn’t a big joke the day Sheryl disappeared. Four years… he thought as he began to clean up the dishes. Marin hadn’t even tasted the soup. He looked at the clock; 6:30. Soon mom would be home. Dad wouldn’t get home till around 8 or 9; Marin suspected he never really wanted to come home.
It was all too surreal. The apartment resembled more an empty shell than a place of loving family. Mom had taken down all of the pictures of Sheryl, hoping to ease the pain of her disappearance, but that also meant nearly three quarters of their family pictures had vanished as well. In their stead, she put up multitudes of sickeningly adorable pictures of baby kittens and playful puppies, nothing ever too offensive or exciting. Marin inspected his fingernails; cut short for practical use, his eyes traveled farther down his hands, now wrinkled from being submerged in the scalding dish water, these hands can change everything.
Chapter 2
What are you doing Sherrrrrryyyyyllllllllll?
Marin opened the door after knocking a few quick times. At eleven years old, she was already strikingly beautiful, small and slender like her brother, but with a surprising coil of muscles that lay hidden beneath deceivingly slim arms.
I’m working on a new project little one, want to see?
The shy little boy with sallow cheeks and hauntingly sorrowful eyes shuffled in. Shut the door, she said. She spread out the sketches she had been working on for the past few hours and then proceeded to pick him up and set him on the blue plastic workbench so he could see. The room was dark, she liked it dark. In fact, the only light came from the small desk lamp on the drawing table. She watched as he peered closely at the drawings. What is it? Marin touched each one tenderly. So gentle she thought.
It’s a finding machine. It means that, as long as you have a little bit, some hair, a piece of clothing, a swab of saliva, you can find anyone you wish! The concept is a long way from being perfected, but I think with your help, little one, we can make this really happen…
His eyes widened as he stared at her in awe. Sheryl can we really do this? The ability to find anyone I want, anyone in the world…it’s not possible. He turned back to study the sketches once more.
It’ll work Marin the idea is sound. I need your help with the formulas, but I know we can do it. You know what this means don’t you?
Marin nodded and shakily hugged his sister. He knew Sheryl was brilliant, but this was verging on manic. We can find him. They sat there in the dark together and poured over the logistics of the machine and how to gather the appropriate parts without attracting notice from, firstly, their parents, and secondly, the government. The materials needed for such a project were definitely in the highly dangerous and illegal classification, but they were sure a little creativity could get them what they needed.
Dinnertime!
Both children jumped, startled, they had been so engrossed in the planning that neither had realized the clock slowly passing through several hours. Sheryl hefted Marin up on her shoulders and made her way out the room, not caring to turn the lamp off since she would soon return to work on the concept sketches all through the night. Sleep was a skill neither child had quite mastered. Genius has its ups and downs I suppose.
At the table, dad already was happily chatting away with mom about the new assignment he’d just received at work. He was an architect and became borderline obsessive about his projects, but, then again, they all did.
It’s going to be a smaller office complex, but they’re giving me free reign over the space usage and materials. I think I’m going to install solar panels and…
The children sat down at the table and he stopped talking. The solid oak table was a family heirloom, sturdy and undeniably old. Mom already had the food laid out on top of it. Sheryl gave Marin a swift glance, casserole again, they were both thinking it. Both of them attributed their slender build to her interesting flavor choices. Nevertheless, they passed their plates over so that she could dish them up a heaping portion of what could only be described as catguts.
After dinner, Marin and Sheryl took turns washing and drying the dishes. Mother poured herself a glass of wine and headed into the living room to read while father stayed at the kitchen table pouring over National Geographic. He claimed looking at nature gave him inspiration for his designs. Marin wanted to stay up with Sheryl and help draw up plans, but she shooed him off to bed, she wouldn’t let him stay up too late, he already showed signs of yet another cold. She noted his constant sniffling and slightly watering eyes. I can’t let anything bad happen to him.
He hunched his shoulders and made a small huffing noise. Don’t blame me if you make a miscalculation. It was barely a whisper, but she still heard it, and sulkily he sauntered off to bed. Sighing, and smiling wryly to herself, Sheryl wiped her hands and headed back to the workroom.
Something was wrong. Marin’s eyes snapped open and he lay there feeling the quickening beat of his heart. He could hear noises in the next room. The sound of muffled footsteps and paper shuffling went on for several minutes when suddenly, everything went quiet, Marin’s heart began fluttering wildly, and he struggled to remain still as cold sweat trickled down his back.
Slowly he rose from his bed and tip toed to the door. Sheryl shouldn’t be up still, it was about four in the morning, and she usually retreated back to her room around two. He thanked the fact that he knew the layout of his room so well that he could make his way to the door in the dark; he dared not flip on any light for fear of alerting anyone of his awakening.
Just as he reached the door, a small scream sounded from Sheryl’s room. Throwing all thoughts of caution out the window, Marin jerked open the door and ran across the hall. Her door was already open a crack and the light was off. It was eerily quiet as he stepped into the room. He reached to turn on the light, when he heard someone step, ever so softly, behind him.
Whump
The room began to spin in circles, and Marin felt a heavy fog wash over him. The last thing he remembered before the darkness enveloped him, was a strangely familiar voice, it was deep with a slight rattle to it.
Don’t bother…this one’s too much of a runt to be of any use. Let’s get going.
