The Search for Reasons was originally titled The Coincidences of Kyle.
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Dominance also has a bonus short story added at the back of the novel called Vindictive.
Excerpt of Kyle's Army at bottom of "About Author " page.
“Excuse me Sir…excuse me,” shouted Arthur to get a tall black man’s attention. “I would like to protest my incarceration under these deplorable conditions and demand my immediate release.”
“Shut the fuck up before I eat your little ass.”
These people do…think I’m food, possibly filet mignon. Arthur’s thoughts then turned to fear. Mother was right…these savages are going to eat our white asses.
The ship sailed two hours later, after a large cargo of crates and barrels were stored onboard. Arthur assumed the crates were filled with carrots, potatoes, and the barrels, topped-off with wine for the feast that was going to occur after they reached their destination.
The next day, the sun rose brightly when Arthur was awakened to the smell of something delicious. Oh no…the darkies have begun the cannibalistic feast. He then looked toward the stern to see what white men were missing, and his eyes opened wide. The hand shackled men were being fed a breakfast fit for a king.
“You slaves better eat all this shit!” yelled one of the three black cooks.
They’re just fattening us up. Thought Arthur as he watched all the white men eating like hungry pigs. He tried to stand up to see if there was a black, man size steel cauldron nearby. There has to be a reason for this feast. He thought seeing nothing. One black cook walked up to him with a plate of scrambled cheese eggs, sausage, and a metal cup of orange juice.
“Sit your skinny ass down.” Arthur sat quickly as the man placed the plate of food in front of him. Arthur just looked at it. “What’s your problem?” asked the angry looking black cook.
“I’m not hungry,” said Arthur.
“Why, this food isn’t good enough for you?”
“These conditions, along with the sea air, and the rocking of this vessel has curbed my appetite.” The cook kneeled down, grabbed a handful of eggs, and shoved them into Arthur’s mouth.
“How’s that taste motherfucker?”
“It’s delicious,” mumbled Arthur.
“Skinny white boys are not profitable…and I’ll feed your ass every day if you don’t eat. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Not really,” he responded while chewing.
“Are you getting smart with me?”
“No…sir, I just don’t understand your language.”
“Motherfucker it’s English!”
Arthur remained quiet thinking the man was emotionally disturb, possibly traumatize during his youth. I hope I don’t act like him when I grow up.
The ship was three weeks into its two month voyage when the deck came alive with excitement. The captive men were cheering and screaming as one of them, a sickly thin white man had escaped from his hand shackles. He had run up from the deck below, trying to reach the top. Arthur excitingly recognized him.
“Father!” he yelled.
“Arthur…Arthur is that really you?”
“Yes.” His dad then ran to him and gave him a hug.
“Where’s your mother?”
“The red heads have her.”
“I was captured at the dock,” said his father. “The vessel sailing to France was a lie…only to lure me to this ship.”
“Where are they taking us?”
“Are they going to eat us?”
“They’re going to sell us, and then make us breed with their mothers.”
“They said…I was to be one too,” said Arthur. “A motherfucker.” At that moment two black deckhands with whips tried to corner his father.
“I’m not for sale!” shouted Arthur’s dad. “I’m only having intercourse with my wife!” He then ran past the black men as fast as a Muslim jogging through a pig farm, and then up the steps to the main deck. A minute later after hearing foul words as the chase ensued, Arthur heard his father’s last words. “Freedom!” screamed his dad before hitting the ocean water. It was the only word that was branded into his mind for the rest of his life.
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This instruction manual will help you write your own novel. It has step by step instructions with sample pages to help you along the way.
Prejudice or Profiling
This short story begins at the end of the novel "Excursion".
In the early morning hours of January 25, 1995 the country of Norway launched an American made missile carrying a satellite to study the effects of the Aurora Borealis known as the Northern Lights. Major countries including Russia were notified of the launch. The message never reached proper channels in the Russian military, and a full scale launch of its nuclear arsenal was released. The American President had no other choice but to respond with a full retaliatory strike. The end of the world was decided by a glitch in Russia’s linguistic translation computer. The American public was not informed that their lives were going to end within a half an hour.
Just as the United States launched its missiles, NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command) while monitoring the Russian missiles trajectory, detected a vertically focused heat signature emanating from a location in the Bermuda triangle. It was a beam of white energy and when it reached the upper atmosphere, it encircled the globe with a blue and red glow that caused the moon to illuminate bright red. The Russian war-heads entering over all major cities in the United States fell harmlessly, one killing an escaped convict who had just left the scene of a deadly accident on the George Washington Bridge in New York. Seven minutes later the U.S. missiles did the same, crashing to the ground all over Russia. Two minutes later, thousands of white flashing balls of light the size of basketballs flew into the air from the same area in the Bermuda Triangle. They encircled the entire Earth in a geometrical pattern and began emanating an EMP (Electro Magnetic Pulse) in waves, temporarily disabling all satellites in orbit and forcing planes to land. An hour later the pulses became one continuous cycle focusing downward to the surface stopping everything that ran on electricity. The world was forced back into the nineteenth century in less than two hours after it was almost destroyed.
The President was given the all clear to leave the fallout shelter deep under the White House. It was completely dark as his Chief of Staff briefed him as to what happened prior to the blackout.
One secret service man who took the point, guided the President, his family, and key members of his cabinet up the dark stairway with a pocket cigarette lighter. “Sir, NORAD indicated the source emanated about fifty miles southwest of the Bermuda islands.”
“What caused the blackout?” asked the President as they continued walking up the endless stairway.
“Several orbs from that same location in the Triangle, took up geometrical positions in a low Earth orbit. We think it’s a high frequency EMP burst that’s constantly bombarding the surface. Nothing electrical is working.”
“When we reach my office,” ordered the President. “I want some form of communication established. Send out couriers to our top scientist including NASA and have them find a solution.”
Five years had past and a solution was never found. The world was working powerless once again, and chaos fell upon cities and small towns. Food shortages were everywhere because of inoperative transportation and the equipment including refrigerators to preserve perishable foods. Plowing fields was done by animals once again and it was only for survival.
Washington DC was in ruins as the city was abandoned and the government dissolved. The people of America believed the world would have been better off if the bombs had exploded.
The scenario determined by the military after a nuclear war had come true except for no radiation and destroyed cities. Man was predicted to live savagely, killing and raping, acquiring property by force, and even committing cannibalism, resulted from starvation. Darwin’s theory had somewhat come true about how only the strong would survive. He didn’t predict it with the interference of aliens that eliminated all forms electricity.
England had maintained order throughout most of the country since it was small and prior to the incident, not allowing its citizens to have guns. The British military had planned and maintained a multitude of food warehouses. They learned from the famine of World War II that people cannot work hungry. This enabled them to ration and create a workforce of farmers to feed the public, restarting a way of life before electricity.
The United States government hadn’t given up on the country. Their top scientists were ordered to a secret underground base. They developed a way to block the EMP pulse, and create a new form of electrical transference through a thin metallic crystal the size of human hair.
In 1998 a secret underground base in Utah had seventy percent of its electrical power restored, running off special concealed surface pipes heated by the sun’s rays to power a crudely designed steam generated turbine. The new form of wiring took a year to manufacture and was installed throughout key sections of the base, mainly in the production science labs.
The scientist knew the orbs in orbit were supplied powered from the same area in the Bermuda Triangle. What they didn’t know was who or what was controlling them.
Pilots Kyle Jameson and Joe Madison were trapped at the base when the EMP first hit. They were to fly the FBI to New York, to contain a mutant form of canines that lived and bred in a sealed section of an old train subway. Both men were sitting in a temporary well lit cafeteria set up on level 5. The main cafeteria on level 2 was too close to the surface. All electrical equipment on levels 1 and 2 didn’t work. The science labs located on level 5 and 6, all focused on finding a way to stop the pulse.
“I am tired of eating cold MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat). My clogged behind can’t take it anymore,” Joe said almost angry.
“Tomorrow night we’re having a hot meal,’ said Kyle. “I heard it’s only for one night a week.”
“If they let me build a fire…I could probably down this crap.”
“Joe, you do know a lot of people are starving in this country?”
“I know…I shouldn’t be complaining.”
“I heard a mission is being planned if the special package arrives.”
“Let me guess?” asked Joe. “It’s coming in by mule.”
“Horse, I think.”
“That could take months.”
“It’s coming from Salt Lake City.”
“What is it?”
“One of the Russian warheads.”
“We’re in Utah, and a nuclear warhead is being muled in from Salt Lake City,” stated Joe. “We are then going to horseback ride it to Florida. Catch a sail boat…and then drop it on whatever is controlling the orbiting orbs.”
“I only know…that the warhead is going to be operational after we rewire it.”
“I bet you the commander has decided to leave this world in a blaze of glory…and take us all with him,” Joe said simulating with his hands an explosion.
The night crew is preparing the ship to transition from Ion to fusion inducted propulsion. It uses special particle accelerators that collide stable hydrogen atoms. The protons of those atoms produce same-color hadron quarks of baryon energy, then focuses that repelling energy through boson faceted nacelles which stabilize meson quarks into producing thrust. It is the latest and most efficient design in nuclear fusion using deuterium, hydrogen, and tritium isotopes. The stabilized energy produced by the Excursion’s main fusion reactors maintains an unlimited supply of fuel for propulsion that increases its speed exponentially.
“I’m a nut-less monkey…simplify that for me?” asked Tyrone.
“This is a test ship. Our deuterium chambers cannot be reused like her sister ship the Extrusion. Once the fusion reaction is stopped after 24 hours, we must find the nearest star and live onboard this ship forever.”
“Are those tanks that are the size of Manhattan Island, the deuterium chambers?” asked Sharon.
“So you’re saying…once the fuse is lit, you can’t stop this ship to make repairs,” stated Tyrone.
“That is…kind of correct.”
“So this is a one way trip if those engines are started,” stated Sharon.
“They can be stopped and restarted within 24 hours, but I want to be heading to Earth when that happens.”
When Timbuku took the last spoonful, he told Suni he urgently had to take a dump. He walked to the back of the restaurant as his stomach began to gargle like boiling water. He knew the soup was about to leak out his butt and saw his toilet, a single palm tree in the distance. Then a smell of rotting flesh hit his nose. In the back of the restaurant, he saw layers of fly infested meat hanging in an open steel cabinet as a thin man had just cut the head off a dead camel. I knew that meat wasn’t beef. He thought while dropping his pants. He then held onto his knees and grunted in pain like a little dick Chinese man getting circumcised.
After fire-hosing the palm tree with his booty fertilizer, Timbuku and Suni walked for about an hour in the direction of the train station and were exhausted.
“Daddy,” Shara said softly as Grandpa Zula opened his eyes. “Timbuku is back.” He tried to sit up while noticing how tall he got.
“Get your black rectum over here and give your old grandpa a hug.” Timbuku ran over and hugged him joyfully with closed eyes.
“Boy, you smell like zebra crap.”
“I stole a camel and escaped.”
“Did you screw it?”
“Daddy, that’s not a nice thing to say,” said Shara.
“Son, you were to stay in Dongola two more years,” Hareek said sternly. “And then come home.”
“I hated it.”
“We had no choice, but to let you go,” said his mother. Timbuku then looked up at his father.