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THE RESURRECTION ARC, Literary Fiction - Cavis Adams.


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Name: Cavis Adams

Novel: The Resurrection Arc

Genre: Literary Fiction

Comparables: The revived spirit of Total Recall meets Inception for a journey of Memento

Hook Line:

    Finding the strength to wrest an immortalizing technology from the enslaving hands of a world techno-giant means to die trying. 

    For Justin, what begins as an imaginative game along a cutting-edge of role-playing plunges deeper into the real world than he ever suspected, a world turned deadly with the struggle to save all he has ever believed in, starting with the very memory of himself.  

Pitch:

    Justin has it all on the outside: wealth, status, a beautiful family and house in a gated community. It is on the inside that he is desperately fenced by this white-picket existence. 

    When a tech-development entity approaches his firm with the lure of a technology that will revolutionize the world of gaming, Justin's fate is to become involved in the most personal way. He volunteers to undergo that cutting-edge himself, one of the first to experience that immersive thrill of life-like scenarios digitally replayed on the instrument of his brain... or so he thinks.  

    Unbeknownst to Justin, the stakes run higher than the heart-stopping thrills of death he experiences in that virtual world. This first-person role-play is one of digital reincarnation, the resurrection of memories from the dead into the mind of a living host. He is now the latest, poised to lay on a pathway towards immortality and global dominance for the techno-giant. 

    Beneath those shaded eyes of science, Justin must stave the technology from dark hands while uncovering the nature of the experiments they have wrought on his mind--the truth about the stranger memories that are taking over his mind and who he is becoming... before all is as lost as a memory of who he used to be, in a mind no longer his own. 

Prose Sample

    "What do I want?" The man spoke in childish way himself, glaring down from over a vested chest. "I want you to answer my fuckin' question," he spit, his eyes flaring as much as they could in a dismal space. 

    "Man I...." 

    "You think I don't know who you are?" the cop cut him off with fiery recognition in place of listening. "I know you, Israel." 

    "But I'm not Israel... I'm Just--" 

    "--You're just what? Go ahead you lying little bastard. Israel Washington. Yeah I know you." The man screeched with a voice held low, the hiss of his rage focusing through tight lips. "Oh yes.... You posting and crying on-line about police brutality this and you want justice that...." 

    Israel stood speechless as the words escaped him, his smaller frame seized with confusion. 

    "But I didn't do nothin' man...." 

    "Let me tell you something you little black motherfucker. You haven't seen brutality or justice the way I give it out like candy. You want some? " 

     The man's hand moved at is hip, fiddling with the Glock there... not pulling it out. 

    Israel read that large body language, heard the words and recognized the dare--a man to man thing? 

    It went over his head. He didn't wanna fight this big, pushy man who had the whole police force behind him. It wasn't fair. But then the man was saying it was okay.... The way that he nodded an encouraging look... blue eyes seducing with invitation. 

    It didn't make sense. It didn't look real. 

    A streetlight lifted from the pale as that bald head leaned closer--an optical illusion. That's what it was called. Because it looked like the man had a halo just for an instant.... It was a glimpse of how policemen were supposed to be maybe, an angel in the instant when it looked like everything was gonna be okay. Not okay in the sense that the man wasn't gonna hurt him or make him bleed, but in the stranger sense that it was all as good as done. It was part of his story to suffer what was about to happen, but outside of this moment there was nothing else they could do to hurt him.

    Israel felt this as sure as a memory relived, a Deja-vu of assurance in spite of the air of rage that blew in the huff of cold space. 

    The man stood high--head and shoulders blocking that halo like it wasn't supposed to be seen. And his face came close with the shadow of the down side. 

    "You wanna show how fuckin' badass you are now boy?" 

    It was a tone raising high with the white-knuckled intention.

 

Author Bio:

    I am a career Firefighter for the city of Minneapolis, Minnesota where I hold the position of Battalion Chief. I moonlight as a Spanish/English medical interpreter for Hennepin County, Minnesota. 

    A Black man who has walked stages of the world, from the infamously touch-and-go streets of North Minneapolis to the graduated stage at the University of Minnesota's Liberal Arts ceremony (a Spanish Major affair), is bound to be rifted and made of bittersweet experience--very real and imagined--that words simply can't express... but then there is writing.  

 

 

 

 

 

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