1st 5 Pages October Workshop - Bryan Revision 1

Name: Patrick J. Bryan
Genre: Middle Grade: Speculative Fiction/Adventure
Title: The Brothers Kincaid and the Quantum Crystal



A spark of blue light caught Nathan’s attention. It started small as it always did. The light flared and demanded his focus. He stopped walking; it became difficult to move when part of his world vanished. Everything but the light melted away and the sphere of dazzling color expanded before him like a supernova until it stopped and the world beyond came slowly into focus.

“Are you seeing it now,” asked Hank, Nathan’s younger brother.

Nathan tilted his head, his body rigid and his stare fixed. He stood at the edge of the dirt lot that was the Kincaid family backyard. Weeds of varying heights spotted the landscape. When they were flowering, they almost seemed pretty. Though Nathan wasn’t here to look at the weeds. He was staring far out into the treeless landscape. A wasteland was once a farm. Now there was nothing left for anyone to see.

“There’s something. It’s almost in focus.” Nathan remained frozen, spellbound, staring into what seemed empty space, but not to him.

“Are the ghosts back?” asked Hank. Nathan didn’t turn to look at him, he continued to lock his gaze somewhere toward the middle of the field.

“There are people now. At least I think they’re people,” Nathan replied.

“Nate?” Hank’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “When you see these other places, do you ever see mom?” Nathan dropped his head before he spoke. He tried not to snap at Hank. While he was nearly as tall as Nathan and acted fairly mature for a nine-year-old, he was after all just a kid. Nathan pictured tears welling up in his little brother’s eyes.

“I’ve told you Hank, they're not ghosts,” said Nathan with a hint of frustration.

“I know,” said Hank with an affirming nod. “I just wish one of us could see her again.” There was silence between the brothers as Nathan gazed through the tear in space hovering before him. Hank sniffled then pulled the sketch pad out of his pack and flopped down into the dirt.

“So these people, what are they doing?  Do you think they can see you? Tell me everything, I’m ready to sketch,” said Hank.

“You mean doodle,” said Nathan with a smile.

“Hey, my drawings are better than yours.” Hank playfully kicked up some dust in Nathan’s direction.

About twenty feet from where he stood a sphere of blue light cut through Nathan’s field of vision. It hovered just above the ground; a hole about as large as a movie screen. The edges were so bright he couldn’t look directly at them.  Then bit by bit people appeared in the center of this hole in space.

“It’s almost in focus now. When it’s all clear, I need you to help me with the spectral camera.”

“It’s here Nate but I don’t know if it’s gonna work,” said Hank. He pulled a jumbled mess of wires soldered to tiny circuit boards, harvested from old computers and digital cameras, from his pack. A massive camera lens stuck out from one side of the wiry bird nest.

“Just hand it to me when I tell you. Ok?”

Nathan let out a deep breath and tugged the ends of his blue scarf. It was once his mother’s. The three crescent moons embroidered at one end were part of story she used to read.  He remained transfixed on the specters in front of him.

“You know what this thing looks like Nate? I think if a computer and a telescope had a baby, and that baby had a dirty diaper, this is what the diaper would look like.”

Nathan swung an arm in Hank’s general direction.

“There, I can see it all now. Hand me the spectral camera.” Nathan set the nest of wires on his head and pulled the camera lens over one eye. He flipped a small red toggle switch on the side of the lens and a high pitched whirring sound radiated from the gadget.

Having these visions scared him. They scared him because sometimes he saw terrible images; creatures and nightmarish landscapes. But what scared him more was not knowing if he was sick, if he was insane, or if these visions were real. If he could capture an image he would know it was real. And if it was real he would know he wasn’t going nuts.

 “You better get out some colorful pens, Hank. These guys are like human sized birds with long cloaks. And I think they’re gardening.”

At first glance Nathan recoiled, unprepared to see the bare scaly legs that bent in the wrong direction.  The long robes of the birdmen obscured most of their features. Yet as they moved, flashes of a leg or arm became visible. Then a full arm stuck out from under the robe, an arm covered in short colorful feathers and oddly enough they wore straw hats as wide as umbrellas to screen their heads and faces.

“It’s weird. They have these cutting tools and are shaping tall bushes, like sculptures.  The shapes are amazing.”

“What kind of shapes? What are they for? Do any look like animals? I want them to make one that looks like a whale.” Hank screwed up his face for a moment then continued. “But not the ones with teeth, they seem mean. The ones with those big filters for catching shrimp.”

“You mean the baleen whales?” asked Nathan.

“Yeah, baleen. What a weird word. Are they making baleen whale shapes?”

“No. The sculptures curve and spiral, they point in weird directions. You know what they remind me of? Bowers. Do you remember that nature show we watched with the birds building fancy houses of sticks to attract their mates? They decorated them with colored flower petals, shells and trash. That’s what these guys could be. But sort of strange human-like alien birdmen instead of actual birds.”

“Cool,” said Hank as he scribbled feverishly in his vision journal. Whenever Nathan would let him in on what he saw during a vision, Hank would turn it into art and record the details Nathan would narrate. Today Nathan hoped to capture an image of his own, one that could prove he wasn’t crazy.

“You have to tell me more about the Bowerbird-men. All the particulars,” said Hank. He liked saying particulars and mimicked a British accent whenever he spoke the word.  Nathan fixated on the image that only he could see. His eyes darted around, tracking the activity. Hank watched Nathan and glanced to the empty field between scribbles, hoping for something interesting to appear.

“Whoa. There’s something new. Animals,” said Nathan.

“Animal sculptures?” asked Hank.

“No, these are actual animals. Their bodies are like tigers but they have pointed tails, pointed like spears. And they’re massive. Bigger than the Bowerbird-men. I’m not sure if they’re pets or guards. They seem different than the Bowers, darker, threatening.”

“I wish I could see them too,” said Hank.  Nathan’s face contorted.  His expression soured and he shut his eyes.  He slouched forward and shook his head from side to side.

“Why do you say that Hank? You know how everyone treats me. You don’t want that do you?”

Hank stopped drawing feathers and looked up at Nathan, then back to his book.

“No, I guess not. It just sounds so amazing sometimes and this place is, well, not.”

Nathan turned his attention back to the otherworld. He adjusted the camera and noticed the memory card was nearly full. The Bowerbird-men in the vision were working with a rhythm.  Their garden structures were separate, yet the men moved in synchrony, as if they were dancing.  Nathan imagined they were hearing music and trimming the shrubbery to the beat of a tune. Watching their movements, he could almost hear the rhythm of the song.