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Shoot the Muse
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Aspen Mountain Press
Type: Fiction
Copyright: March 27, 2009
A collection of speculative fiction writer Celina Summers' short stories--horror, fantasy, and alternate history that can be either horrifying or hysterical.
Metamorphosis is a journey through the short stories of critically acclaimed author Celina Summers. Every story deals with a transformation--from a world where the Church places the blame for original sin upon men to a New Orleans garden that brings a play to life. The collection culminates with a previously unpublished prequel to Summers' best selling epic fantasy series The Asphodel Cycle. Sometimes funny, sometimes horrifying, Metamorphosis is a romp through the realms of speculative fiction--where anything can happen and nothing is quite as it seems.
Excerpt
The frigid air was biting, vicious, without mercy or reprieve. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the icy reality of it. I clutched my coat around me, shivering. The clouds swept over the gray fields, scudding like depression over the empty lands. No snow yet; that was something at least. Behind me, the woods stood as a sullen reminder of the season—the cold, wet Southern winters that I hated.
The turning time, the temper of death.
There was nothing left for me here. The trip back to my childhood home brought no comfort, no resolutions. I’d cherished hope of finding something that would show me my path, some recognition that I had surpassed the low expectations this cursed place held for me. There was no absolution tucked among the frozen grasses and naked trees. There never had been for me, only more bitterness, more anger and more accusations.
It was a sop thrown to convention, a lingering moment of duty that brought me back to pay my respects at my mother’s grave. Respect was a strange term for it. We hadn’t respected each other in years. The last time I’d seen her, five years before, she screamed obscenities at me in front of a group of amused strangers. I’d walked away then and I hadn’t looked back.
Now I wished I had.
It was regret that chilled me to the bone, not the weather or the gloomy day, but regret, untainted and effortless. I repressed the superstitious shiver that raced over my skin at the thought of how my anger had lasted until she was dead and reconciliation was no longer possible. Sighing, I turned to the long, low building at the top of the hill.
Regardless of where I wandered, this was always home. The sprawling house with its haphazard additions was one of the only fond memories I had of my childhood. It was a solid reminder of my origins.
I turned my back on it, just as I had five years ago, and walked back to the car Id rented in the city. It was your typical mid-size sedan, neutral-toned and immaculate. The interior smelled like the cigarettes I’d consumed endlessly as I had driven the familiar yet changed streets of my hometown.
Something cold and wet fell on my head, trickling through my hair as I glared up at the sky.
Had to think the ‘snow’ word earlier, didn’t you Jackie?
I pulled another cigarette from my half-empty pack of Camels and lit it, cupping my hand around the lighter until the jumpy flame finally ignited the tobacco. Taking a deep breath, I looked at my childhood home one final time.
It belonged to me now and I belonged to it. I considered it while I sucked in the last, stinging fumes of smoke, then I threw the cigarette to the ground, not even bothering to grind it out. As the sleet pelted the ground around me I hurled myself into the car and took off without another look.
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