Annual 2019

By Neil Shooter

A collection of Neil Shooter's published stories from 2019, along with a few little extras.
Includes:
"New Year"
"Anti Hero"
...and more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Shooter
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463253267

Neil Shooter

I grew up in Robin Hood Country, spent some time in the sprawling metropolises (?) of London, England, and Toronto, Canada, and now I've found a quiet corner of rural Ontario to put myself out to pasture in.I'm always in search of my serenity and my muse.I try to read, and to write, a little bit every day, so that my gears keep turning...Some of the results can be found on Medium at medium.com/@nshooter11.Thanks for reading!

Book preview

Annual 2019

by

Neil Shooter

Copyright 2020

All Rights Reserved.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the author.

Smashwords Edition

Cover design, copyright Neil Shooter, 2020

Contents

About Annuals

Intro to New Year

New Year

About New Year

Q&A

Intro to Anti Hero

Anti Hero

About Anti Hero

The Vault

Intro to An Old Prologue

An Old Prologue

About An Old Prologue

Intro to Another Old Prologue

Another Old Prologue

About Another Old Prologue

Intro to Flyby

Flyby OR Chance of a Lifetime

About Flyby

Poetry Corner

Connect with Neil Shooter online

Also By Neil Shooter

Blurbs

Coming Soon

Thank You

About Annuals [Back to top]

I write a lot. Some days more than others, I grant you, but most days to some extent. I am a firm believer that for the water to flow, you have to turn on the tap. I believe that if my brain notices that I want to write, and that I am trying to write, that it will be more likely to oblige.

There have been a lot of ups and downs in my life over the past few years. I don't suppose that is unusual, overall, but my circumstances are much changed over this time. I've moved from city to country. I've traded neighbours for chickens. Other things too, of course, but you don't need to be told everything...

There are times of stress, and times of peace, and I'm not sure which is best, or worst, for writing. I've had success and disaster in both times. But so many times my writing plans have changed. The Edge was conceived in 2014, and wasn't published until 2018. Catch was conceived in 2016 as part of my 366 project that year, but wasn't published until 2018.

I try to write every day, and I try to focus on projects that are closely to completion. I try to get things out there, into the world, to sink or swim, to exist on their own, to give them their chance. And yet most of the stories I have started are still squirreled away in a dark corner, drawer, or hard drive, awaiting their day to be made whole.

Whenever I do put out a story in a given year, I feel a sense of accomplishment, and celebrate by issuing, at the end of that year or very early in the next, an Annual, a collection of everything from that year that I have released, along with some hidden treasures that have surfaced along the way.

2019 is one of those lucky years which has an Annual (along with 2013, 2016, and 2018). It is, of course, my hope that every year sees enough writing victories to warrant an Annual. I am determined that I will make the Annual an annual tradition.

So even though it is already 2020, here is my Annual for 2019.

Intro to New Year [Back to top]

Naamah is not happy, and you can easily see why. You might get what you think you want, but all too often you come to realize you were mistaken, and that it is too late to do anything about it. Or is it?

New Year [Back to top]

1

Naamah lay on her side facing the curved wall of the habitat. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing slow and controlled. She was not asleep: she was waiting. Her bladder ached. Her back throbbed. She needed to change position, but the discomfort kept her awake.

The others had been still for some time. They had to be asleep by now. She couldn't afford to wait any longer.

She cradled her abdomen as she swung herself upright, careful not to let her feet brush against the lump of shadow on the floor that was her sleeping husband. The banks of green lights were good news: all systems performing normally. Her eyes were adjusted to the dark, and she could see her path well enough.

She could make out more lumps of shadow on the opposite bunk: Jacob and Leah, still in each other's arms after the lovemaking which preceded every sleep period. Noah had let her sleep alone in recent weeks.

The clock announced the late, or early, hour in long red light.

She reached under her pillow for her personal tab, keeping the screen dark.

Having the tab with her was not suspicious in itself. She kept it with her at all times, and slept with it, so she could keep an eye on life support systems and power levels. A part of her hoped they might fail in the night, and that the siren would also fail, and then they wouldn't wake up, any of them, ever again. She could turn off the warnings. She could even shut down life support deliberately if she wanted to. It was easy enough to do. And then they would all sleep forever, and the mission would be over. She could turn everything off, and lock them out of all systems, with just a few taps on her tab.

She carefully stepped around her husband, steadying herself with one hand on the edge of the storage hatch above her bunk, her tab in her other hand as she shuffled through the night.

The washroom was the only bit of privacy the tiny hab offered. She slid the door closed carefully behind her, taking particular care to dampen the click of the latch. She sat on the toilet, and activated the screen on her tab.

The sound was already off--she had made obsessively sure of that.

The minutes marched on as she initiated the connection. It wasn't a particularly fast or reliable connection, having travelled millions of miles through interplanetary space to get to her, to get to Mars, but it was enough if she kept the resolution low. The stream sputtered and lagged from time to time, and if the sound had been up, strange squeaks and whistles would have interspersed the audio. She didn't mind. This was her only connection to home, to the past she had