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Written by James Mercer
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Monday, 24 January 2011 |
Excerpt from The Scrolls  The Scrolls
If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.
—Albert Einstein, The Human Side
Spring 2002, Dead Sea Region, Israel
Looking down, Mark checked his watch. It was just after 1 PM. They were running late.
“Watch out!” cried Gilda as Mark drove quickly around a hairpin curve on the gravel road.
“What are those?” he asked, looking up in amazement and simultaneously hitting the brakes. In the middle of the narrow road were several deer-like animals he had never seen before. The wheels locked, causing the Range Rover to slow and fishtail slightly, just missing several of the animals.
Bracing herself in response to the sudden stop, Gilda shook her head, smiled, and replied, “They are ibexes, common in this area.” Pointing, she continued, “Those huge, round horns are typical. Ibexes are similar to your North American mountain goat.”
Her slight accent, which Mark found appealing, gave away her Israeli origins. She added, “As you can see, they are large animals and would cause considerable damage if we hit one.”
Mark counted eight. Cautiously, he made his way through the herd, surprised the vehicle didn’t frighten them.
Once past the ibexes, he hit the accelerator and inadvertently kicked up gravel.
Feigning distress, Gilda’s response was immediate, her tone playful, “What’s the hurry? Where did you learn to drive anyway?”
Mark again looked her way. She was smiling, a look that strongly affected him. He responded a little sheepishly, “Sorry.” He added, “I learned to drive in the Florida panhandle, but not in a Range Rover.”
“Huh,” responded Gilda. “Driving a Range Rover is a piece of pie.”
“You mean ‘a piece of cake’,” Mark grinned.
“Whatever,” she said testily. “Pie, cake … what difference does it make? Range Rovers are easy to drive.”
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Written by Our Reviewer
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Thursday, 12 June 2008 |
A New Terrorist Threat in Our Midst, Mike Hogan
Review by Lauren S. Smith
We've heard of bombs on planes, suicide bombers, anthrax and car bombers. A new fictional thriller puts an incredible and unheard of spin on terrorists and what they might be up to that will make the hairs on your neck stand up. The Ovary Wars, written by Mike Hogan, effectively documents a type of bloodless terrorism targeting - American women.
In Hogan's book, American women are becoming permanently sterilized by a method unknown to everyone except an evil foreign power. As the nation's population dramatically declines over a four month period, the American economy begins to collapse and chaos ensues. Everyone is puzzled why women can't become pregnant and are discovering that they've become sterilized by a process they had no part in.
A deadly type of silent terrorism, originating from an unknown, but lethal power, is obliterating America's future - and no one knows how. From a state of overpopulation to almost non-existent, births become so rare in America that new form of crimes are being committed - drugs are rampant, baby-selling becomes a popular black-market affair, female immigrants are selling their eggs and ruthless criminals are selling fertility lists.
As America falls into the greatest and deadliest depression the world has ever known, people become desperate and would do anything to find a way out - even commit murder. In The Ovary Wars, terrorists have found the perfect way to destroy a population - prevent them from being born - and it seems as if their plan is going to work.
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Last Updated ( Saturday, 14 August 2010 )
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Written by Editor
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Friday, 23 July 2010 |
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 The Twenty Dollar Bill
(The name of the person who is narrating the scene serves as the chapter title in The Twenty Dollar Bill) David I get up early. Mom’s on the couch. I guess I have to feed Whitney again. Don’t know where Jay is. I hardly ever see him anymore. It’s not like it used to be, when he would take me to the park and shoot hoops. Now he’s always running around with his friends. People he doesn’t even want me to meet. I’m not stupid. I know what’s going on with him and his so-called friends. I’m twelve, not six. I look in the fridge. Nothing but old ketchup and moldy cheese. I should have known when I saw Mom on the couch, the empty bottle lying on its side on the coffee table, that she hadn’t bought any groceries. My stomach rumbled at the thought of another day at school without lunch. I have to find something for Whitney to eat. I open up the corner cupboard, search behind the half-melted plastic bowls and find the oatmeal. I look on the back of the box. Supposed to add milk. I pour some into a pot and add water instead. I pour an extra cup of oatmeal in to make up for the missing milk, hoping that will make it nutritious enough for Whitney. Don’t have anything else to make, I guess it will have to do. Once I feed Whitney I can walk her over to Alice’s. Don’t want to leave her with Mom. Have to leave by six so I can make it to school on time. Today’s my favorite day, we get to go downtown to the main library. I remember the permission slip and the lunch money for eating out stashed in my backpack. I think about Mom and the bottle. I leave the pot simmering and rush to the door where my backpack leans against the wall. It’s gone. She took my money, the money Jay gave me so I could go to the library and eat at McDonald’s with the rest of my class. I want to yell, to run over to the couch and wake her up and ask her why she hates me, why she has to ruin everything for me. I crumple up the permission slip, holding onto it tightly in a curled up ball in my fist, until my fingernails bite into my skin and draw blood. I open my fist and smooth the paper, place it back into my backpack. Doesn’t matter. I’ll just get my books and find a corner to read, the heck with McDonald’s. I go back to the kitchen and stir the oatmeal. It doesn’t look right, it is too lumpy and I wonder how I will get Whitney to eat it. I hear the deadbolt slide in the door and Jay comes in. He looks tired, like he’s been walking all night. Jay figures out what Mom did. He also tells me what’s wrong with the oatmeal, gives me twenty bucks so I can go to McDonald’s and then says he will take care of Whitney this morning. I love Jay, I do. And times like this, I can tell he still loves me, too. I grab my backpack and put the money in with the permission slip, then take off for school. I’m happy, thinking about McDonald’s and finding books at the library and shooting hoops with Jay. Not thinking about Mom. Nope, today is a good day, and those thoughts don’t fit it. |
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Last Updated ( Friday, 23 July 2010 )
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