… well, I *can’t*.

I have two short stories that I’ve written, both are SF and yet very different. Later this year a small publishing house is going to publish an anthology of Swedish SF and I’ve decided to send one of my stories. I’ve asked people on the interweb what they think and so far it’s my SF Romance that’s in the lead.

So I thought, why not ask you guys as well! 

planet_marsMy oldest short is the Romance SF: Dancing in the Temple, here’s the beginning (quickly translated from Swedish so try not to mind any weirdness):

“Every day I dance for you in your temple. The veil covers my face, hiding my tears when I perform the ritual that is my lot in life. The black silk dress billows lightly with my movements, it fits tightly around my waist and flows down to hide my bare feet. Sometimes ecstasy  takes over and I can’t do anything but follow its savage whims. In those moments, I want you to take human form and dance with me, here before the altar. Other days grief swallows me whole and the only thing I want is to escape; away from the temple, from the sisters, from you. I look into your eyes, give me an answer, do you hear my prayers?

At night I dream of the cracks in the surface of the planet, how you walk over the red sand and bless us with your presence. I put my spacesuit on before I leave the temple, the dancing is done for now, through the glass dome all the stars in the Milky Way shine down on me. With one last glance up at your stone face I close the airlock. My bed is waiting for me over at the sisters’ dorm and so are my dreams, of you.”

 

 

 

mutant-chronicles-filmThe other one is a Demon SF: The Last Chronicle, first few paragraphs (again, translated from Swedish):

“We did not know any better, that much is now clear after I have read more of the lost documents. Seraha and Malik got out alive from the buried city, but they have now disappeared into that cursed Darkness and the madness that follows. Among the things they had with them, we found the old letter, which beyond any doubt tells of another reality before this. I have now resigned myself to the fact that the world was once a paradise, a place where people thrived and where a single moon lit up the starry nights.

Poor Malik, he really wanted to be the one who discovered the past, the man who gave us back our humanity… he got more than he could handle. I hear him mumbling in the cell next to mine, obscure words, repeated over and over again. They tied him up with ropes so that he won’t throw himself against the walls in his attempts to unite with his ruler. The cell reeks of feces and vomit, he now refuses to eat and if nothing is done soon, he will starve to death. The ropes have broken the skin around his wrists and ankles and the monks try to ease his pain with opium. His eyes, which used to be full of curiousity and hiding a sharp intellect are glassy. They see something beyond the walls that we can’t. When we found them, he was silent, distant; it was Seraha who made us understand what had happened.”

 

Do you feel as if you want to read more (or do they both suck? no, don’t tell me that if that’s what you think!)

Anyhow, I might give my romance (no SF, just plain romance) a go… just hope the little one sleeps a little while longer.

xoxo

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