Sample of Rafen, First Book of The Fledgling Account (Coming in August 2015)
© Yvette K. Willemse, all rights reserved.
He almost screamed. He saw his life laid out like a map and felt he understood.
After King Talmon had killed his parents, Rafen had lived in a cell from age two upward, and at four they had branded 237 on his ankle and forced him to work in the coal mine. King Talmon of Tarhia wanted many weapons, and for that, he needed coal to feed his smelters’ furnaces. Rafen had gone with the other child workers, following the men as they picked coal away from new tunnels in the mine. The children removed rocks from the tracks and loaded trucks with coal from five o’ clock in the morning until night. Some worked the trapdoors, allowing drafts into the mine to shift any explosive gases. The others told Rafen they were ‘cheats’ because they didn’t work as hard. Mining was dangerous; five children died a week in any one working division. Lucky ones received four dry crusts of bread a day, and the big ones would wrest the food off them. Occasionally, a guard would approach the children with a bucket. He would draw out a ladle, brimming with water. The children became wild … little ones were often crushed in a fight for water. Rafen had received numerous injuries; the worst had been a broken jaw that had taken months to heal.
And so he had lived: 237, a little underground animal who did as he was told. But he itched. He shouldn’t have expected more, but he did.
He would probably be a slave all his life. Yet he wanted a phoenix feather; he was meant to have one. Somehow, he had been cheated.
He didn’t belong here.
Pre-order Kindle version now.
© Yvette K. Willemse, all rights reserved.
He almost screamed. He saw his life laid out like a map and felt he understood.
After King Talmon had killed his parents, Rafen had lived in a cell from age two upward, and at four they had branded 237 on his ankle and forced him to work in the coal mine. King Talmon of Tarhia wanted many weapons, and for that, he needed coal to feed his smelters’ furnaces. Rafen had gone with the other child workers, following the men as they picked coal away from new tunnels in the mine. The children removed rocks from the tracks and loaded trucks with coal from five o’ clock in the morning until night. Some worked the trapdoors, allowing drafts into the mine to shift any explosive gases. The others told Rafen they were ‘cheats’ because they didn’t work as hard. Mining was dangerous; five children died a week in any one working division. Lucky ones received four dry crusts of bread a day, and the big ones would wrest the food off them. Occasionally, a guard would approach the children with a bucket. He would draw out a ladle, brimming with water. The children became wild … little ones were often crushed in a fight for water. Rafen had received numerous injuries; the worst had been a broken jaw that had taken months to heal.
And so he had lived: 237, a little underground animal who did as he was told. But he itched. He shouldn’t have expected more, but he did.
He would probably be a slave all his life. Yet he wanted a phoenix feather; he was meant to have one. Somehow, he had been cheated.
He didn’t belong here.
Pre-order Kindle version now.
Dearest Wishes
© Yvette K. Willemse, all rights reserved.
I wish I were a swallow in swooping, whistling flight.
I wish I were a room full of space and light.
I wish I were a candle no one could blow out.
I wish I were free of horror, loss, and doubt.
If only there were a time without concealment,
If only there were a never-ending moment;
If only I could see the future once and know
That you are not a phantom, and I will never go.
If all the world were candy, and all of time were day,
If all of life was bright, and colours never grey,
If everything were perfect, without one touch of sorrow,
Then there be no grace, and no heaven for tomorrow.
© Yvette K. Willemse, all rights reserved.
I wish I were a swallow in swooping, whistling flight.
I wish I were a room full of space and light.
I wish I were a candle no one could blow out.
I wish I were free of horror, loss, and doubt.
If only there were a time without concealment,
If only there were a never-ending moment;
If only I could see the future once and know
That you are not a phantom, and I will never go.
If all the world were candy, and all of time were day,
If all of life was bright, and colours never grey,
If everything were perfect, without one touch of sorrow,
Then there be no grace, and no heaven for tomorrow.
