Welcome
to the first Charity Sunday of 2020.
My
post today supports the victims of the horrific fires that have been
ravaging Australia. While the world watches in horror, Australia burns.
I have many author colleagues from “Oz” and this post is
particularly in solidarity with them.
There
are so many charities supposedly working to alleviate the suffering
of the people and the animals affected by the fires that is it quite
difficult to choose. I’ve decided to be conservative and dedicate
this post to the disaster relief campaign of the Australian
Red Cross. I love animals and I’m tempted to donate to help the
unique and severely threatened fauna of Australia, but this month,
I’m focusing on the human cost. (Maybe I’ll donate to an
animal-related cause next month.)
Image by Monika Schröder from Pixabay
Anyway,
I will donate $2 to the Australian Red Cross for each comment I
receive on this post.
Meanwhile,
I don’t have any books or stories that feature bush fires, but
here’s a bit from my MM paranormal romance Necessary Madness
involving paranormal visions of catastrophic fire.
Blurb
Nineteen
year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world
apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop
who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience
has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially
devastating.
Since
his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to
do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny
his attraction
to the beautiful, tortured young man – an attraction that
appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the
black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility
that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of
darkness.
First
came the flames. Then, the screams. Each cry was distinct to Kyle’s
ears—the men’s hoarse yells, the women’s shrieks, the
inarticulate wails from the infants. He couldn’t see them, not yet.
Sooty smoke billowed up, hiding the plummeting bodies, making his
eyes sting. Orange tongues of fire pierced the black cloud. The cries
grew louder as the heat intensified.
He
took a big swig of cheap vodka. The bottle was already half empty.
His head spun and he knew he couldn’t stand, but the awful screams
still rang in his mind.
Please,
he thought. No more. I can’t take any
more. Let me pass out soon. He drank
again, his gut churning as the raw liquid splashed into his empty
stomach.
He
tried to focus on the present—the rough stone pressing against his
back, the chill wind biting through his ragged jacket, the faint
smell of urine that filled the passageway under the highway. Useless.
The sensations of the real world seemed thin and frail, powerless to
overcome the horrible scenes in his head.
Every
time, it got worse. It took more alcohol to remove him to that state
of blissful oblivion. I’m adapting,
just like any drunk. Before long, I’ll need a whole bottle to drown
out the visions. Eventually, it will kill me.
The thought was a relief.
The
spells came more frequently these days, and not just during his
waking hours. Nightmares stalked him, full of bloody flesh and torn
limbs, searing fire or icy floods. He’d claw his way back to
consciousness, howling like an animal, trying to escape. He’d been
kicked out of every shelter in the city. He upset the other residents
too much.
He
could always go back to the hospital. Thorazine didn’t completely
smother the visions, but it deadened the emotional impact. He could
sit for hours, watching disasters play themselves out on the screen
of his mind, and not care.
It
worked for a while, but then he always ended up signing himself out
again. As painful as consciousness was, it was better than the
half-life of being drugged. At least, that was what he told himself,
on the good days when his curse was in remission. The staff looked
relieved when he left. Even the professionals had trouble dealing
with his ‘hallucinations’.
“Hey,
gimme a drink, will ya?” A voice cut through the screams echoing in
his head. The grizzled man lying next to him on the sidewalk smelt
like long-unwashed socks. “Come on, please? Us bums got to stick
together.”
Kyle
handed him the bottle. His hand shook. “Sure, help yourself.”
The
old timer took a deep swallow, then grinned at him. “Thanks, kid.”
The
flames flared up, hiding the man’s pock-marked face and gap-toothed
smile. A woman’s cry rang out, full of terror. “No, please, no
more…” Kyle muttered, closing his eyes. The hungry fire continued
to dance behind his eyelids, mocking his attempt at escape. He groped
for the bottle.
Brilliant
white light flooded his vision, momentarily chasing the inner fire
away. “Okay, boys, time to get up.” The masculine voice held a
natural authority—strength without cruelty. “Off to the shelter
with you. You know you can’t stay here, getting drunk and blocking
pedestrians.” A firm hand grabbed his arm and tried to haul him to
a standing position. “Come on. We’ve got a wagon right here.
Wouldn’t you rather be in a nice warm bed than a stinking
underpass?”
Kyle
opened his eyes, blinking in the glare of the cop’s flashlight.
“I…no, please…I can’t…” A scream of agony assaulted his
inner ears. He doubled over, answering the pain tearing through his
stomach. Only the cop’s grip kept him from collapsing onto the damp
cement. Another pang knifed through his abdomen. The fire roared
inside him.
“Are
you sick?” Barely conscious, Kyle had a confused impression of the
other man’s face—square jaw, sandy hair, warm blue eyes.
“My
stomach… The fire…”
“What
fire?”
Kyle
couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. The policeman searched his face,
trying to understand.
“They’re
dying,” he moaned. Maybe he was dying himself. He retched and
tasted blood. He was sinking into a rosy, fire-lit haze.
“Who?
Who’s dying?” The policeman gripped his shoulders, shaking him,
trying to bring him back. “What’s going on, boy?”
The
address appeared out of nowhere, written in chalk on a wall of black
stone. “Gardner Street,” Kyle whispered, slipping away. “29
Gardner Street.”
The
last thing he saw was the cop’s handsome face, the mingled
suspicion and concern. The last thing he felt was the man’s
heartbeat as he clutched Kyle’s body to his chest.
Don’t
forget to leave a comment. Every one means a donation to the
Australian Red Cross. And I hope you’ll visit the other blogs
participating in today’s hop.
Thank
you!
