Does It Hurt to Die

Does It Hurt to Die

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WpMetadataNoticeÚltima publicación mar, ene 8, 2013
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Ficción
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~Why I wrote ‘Does It Hurt to Die’ I love to read good fiction and like Mark Twain I believe all good fiction should have reality as a very close cousin. When I was shot and grenaded in a terrorist attack the inspiration was provided to write with a reality base that was incomparable. The challenge that emerged from that horrifying night was not just to thinly disguise the event but to translate that experience into rich fiction. All neophyte writers I'm sure share that ambition. However as the drafts flowed, reader feedback indicated that this was indeed an action thriller which gripped and held the reader’s attention and surrounded them with a conspiracy theory of believable proportions. To have The Australian compare my writing to Dan Browns and Stieg Larsson, was hugely gratifying. Professor John Coetzee the Nobel Prize winner in literature has described it as evocative and enjoyable, but the most enjoyable part has been writing it. I trust that if you read it you will enjoy it as much The background to writing this novel came after spending almost 10 years in South Africa during the era of the apartheid government. While the majority of that time was studying medicine at the University of Cape Town/Groote Schuur hospital, two of those years were also spent researching in the area of politics as part of a Ph.D. The impact of that experience was significant. Being part of a society which segregated people according to their race, and legally accorded them a position in society according to their colour was an experience created for controversy and writing
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chemical
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Static

{COMPLETED} "now that you've had your fun electrocuting me, would you care to hop in the backseat?" ---------------------------------------------------------- Freak DNA. That's what I like to call it. The fault to my genetic code. More often than not, it's a curse. The static running through my blood gave me a name. A cruel, daunting label of a measly bug. A roach. That's what I am to them, to the government. Roach; the nameless monster with electricity for a sense and lightening as a second nature. It ruined my life, the sparking currents playing tag in my mind, running around and bumping into everything, shaking me loose. The government, actually. They ruined my life. My curse just gave them a reason. You see, the normal population with ordinary DNA, they don't know about the people like me. The roaches of the world. We don't get that kind of recognition at the camps. There, we are only one thing in the military's eyes. We are weapons and we will act like it. Everyone else out there, bathing in the goodness they don't know they've got, they don't know about the roaches their stepping on. As long as their getting closer to the sky, they don't care what they stand on to reach it. They don't know about the sparkling dreamer that's killed 7 people before her 17th birthday. They don't about the ghost of a girl peaking around corners for her entire life because even home wasn't safe. They don't know about the fighter of steel and iron sucking on his bloody lip courtesy of the wars he battles in as nothing but a shadow. They don't know about the masked villain who would do anything to see the army they lead claim the throne They don't know about us. But they will, because we will rise. And when we arrive, we will arrive violently. ___________________________________________ Started: 10.06.15 Finished: 3.17.16

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