When the Cherry Blossoms Bloom will soon have a dyslexia-friendly e-book! Subscribe below for updates!
​
I look forward to adding more fun stuff here (like the official playlist, aesthetics, author Q&A, etc.)
​
However, to start the year off, I'm adding excerpts from two stories I have been working on. One is titled Nagi and the Boat. Nagi is Akihito's younger brother (from When the Cherry Blossoms Bloom). This story unexpectedly took shape when I was working on Regrets. The longer excerpt will be below, but here is a brief overview:
​
As a storm approaches, Nagi sneaks to his family’s boat, where he speaks to his dead father and tries to understand why grief has quietly reshaped his once-close relationship with his older brother, Akihito. Alone on the water, Nagi tries to make sense of changes no one has explained to him and finds himself turning over answers to the small mysteries of his life.
The other story is titled Continent Seven. This story takes place inside an Antarctic simulation built to prepare students for a future shaped by climate collapse. The Simulation Test they are trying to pass is modeled after Robert Falcon Scott’s doomed expedition. This piece began as a writing exercise (wherein I was trying to write a complete story no longer than 500 words). The longer excerpt will be below, but here is a brief overview:
RJ and her crew have been trained to follow Robert Falcon Scott's Terra Nova route. They approach their Simulation Test as an act of historical correction – save the explorer and his crew. As systems falter and conditions worsen, it becomes clear that the Simulation Test was never about Scott or his crew surviving. The true lesson laid elsewhere.
​NAGI AND THE BOAT EXCERPT:
Nagi grabbed an old bar of soap, turned on the water, and sat down on the counter. He swung his leg up and over the sink. With one hand, he adjusted the position of the wounded knee. He flinched when his skin met the steady stream of cold water.
​
Before his dad died, he used to gently scrub Nagi’s wounds clean, and it never hurt. Nagi didn’t have that same touch. He winced more than once as his fingers passed over the entwining rivers of blood. A few minutes passed before the bleeding stopped and he could pat his knee dry.
​
The first whispers of the storm reached the boat as Nagi pressed the towel to his head and dried his wavy, black hair. He took no notice of them. Instead, he tossed the used towel onto the deck to soak up the small puddles he’d made, grabbed the flashlight and pulled his windbreaker out from his backpack. He uncovered the manual and placed it on the table. His dad picked it up, flipping through the pages with a nostalgic chuckle. I haven’t seen this in ages! Where’d you find it?
“Tomo gave it to me.”
Ah, yes. His dad smiled. He was a good friend. I wish I had listened to him and stayed home that day. I miss him. You’re not going to actually read this with that flashlight, are you?
“It’s all I have. The electric’s not working. But now that I have the manual, I know I can figure out what’s wrong,” Nagi assured his dad. He walked over to the wall and flipped one of the switches, adding, “I promise I’ll fix it.”
His dad went over and squeezed his son’s shoulder. Thanks, kid.
Nagi settled into his usual spot. Outside, the stars were still visible, but the wind howled around the edges of the boat, making some of the ropes rustle. Nagi didn’t notice. He already had the flashlight illuminating the manual’s first words. “Welcome Aboard!” he read aloud. “Buying and owning a boat is a very special experience. We want your experience to be the absolute best. That means providing the descriptions, explanations, and technical support that you need to enjoy your new vessel with confidence and security.”
He smiled, flipping to the table of contents in search of a quick explanation to why the lights weren’t working. The boat had been repaired, so he knew the problem had to have a simple solution. He figured someone killed the power switch during repairs and forgot to turn it back on afterwards. He needed to find the electrical panel.
There had to be one.
“Customer information…”
“Safety…”
“General Information…”
“Performance…”
Where was the electrical panel?
As Nagi continued reading the manual, he adjusted himself into a sideways position on the seat, his back pressing firmly against the side of the boat and his legs stretched out along the length of the table’s seat. When he didn’t see an immediate answer to his problem in the manual’s table of contents he began flipping through the pages, his fingers quickly turning them whenever he finished scanning the text and diagrams.
Until, on one page…
Instead of diagrams, he found what he initially assumed was a piece of paper. But, penned in his mother's handwriting were the words “Generations 7, 8, and 9.” He flipped the paper over.
It wasn’t paper at all.
It was an old picture…one he’d never seen before.
From the look of it, his mother had taken it when they bought “the new boat”—the one he was sitting in now. He’d been a baby at the time.
“Everyone looks so happy,” he told his dad.
Some say pictures are like time machines, his dad’s voice echoed in his head. They’re powerful. One glance and you’re somewhere between your present self and your past self. They convey a truth in a moment of a moment and talk to the soul in a way that the spoken word cannot.
In the picture, Nagi’s grandpa had Akihito perched snugly on his shoulders while Nagi clung securely to his dad’s chest. His dad wore a proud smile as he looked down at his youngest son.
Nagi picked up the picture and pressed it to his chest. His emotions suddenly felt bruised.
And, like any physical bruise, this one took a long time to show itself.
“I really miss you,” Nagi whispered to his dad, his lower lip beginning to tremble. He couldn’t see his dad in the cabin anymore but knew he was there somewhere. There weren’t many times he felt like this, but tonight…
“-GI!”
The sound of Akihito’s voice startled Nagi. He immediately turned off his flashlight and slouched down in the seat. He knew Akihito would never forgive him for sneaking on the boat.
Then Nagi heard another voice and groaned. Sam was on the beach too. What were they both doing out there? Without thinking, he craned his neck to peek out the window. He was surprised to see rain battering the glass. There was no seeing out…no way of knowing how far away everyone was.
Nagi cursed. His brother was going to kill him.​​
​CONTINENT SEVEN EXCERPT:
Then I toggled my SimCollar one more time, initializing Simulation Mode—Testing.
The Message Board, the Aldrin Assembly, all the panels and texts melted away. The world around me tilted. The hum of the Core faded, and my body itself seemed to dissolve as a soft flutter in my stomach reminded me of the first chip. It synchronized. Then a shiver rippled down my cervical spine, and my ocular lens chip adjusted. Lines of light stretched and twisted, reshaping everything I knew into the Simulation’s landscape.
A shimmering grid stretched around me.
A final alarm buzzed from my SimCollar, a warning signal to prepare for the Simulation’s commencement and a reminder that the world outside was still watching.
We picked up where we left off.
When I “reassembled,” I wasn’t me anymore. I was Captain Robert Falcon Scott. I had started Expedition Terra Nova with a slender, sturdy build. I had the kind of lean muscle that came from years as a naval officer. I stood upright and looked commanding. Now, I stooped under the weight of exhaustion and starvation. My face was pale and hollowed, skin cracked and windburned, eyes heavy with a thousand miles of ice. My fingers were stiff and frozen into my mittens, and my boots, numb with frost, made each step a battle to not drop into the snow.
Breath was a battle against the Antarctic wind.
And that struggle for “just one more” breath each time our Simulation’s character died was—
“Agony,” I said to no one in particular. “Everything about this is agony.”
But in that agony laid clarity.
In the distance, smoke billowed out the vent at the top of the red tent. Inside, by the fire, Robert Falcon Scott’s sledge crew—Oates, Bowers, Wilson—ate a measly portion of hoosh. I wanted to join them. Eating pemmican and sledging biscuit stew wasn’t extravagant, but it tasted better than the fish I ate every day.
However, according to the Simulation’s books my role as Robert Falcon Scott meant I’d need to wait.
Evans, my second-in-command, was missing.
I could feel the emptiness where his presence should have been.
The Simulation didn’t give pause. Neither could I.
Evans had been the backbone of the sledge crew. He was a powerfully built man with a broad, muscular frame. Compared to the others, Evans looked like the one meant to last, but even he succumbed to frostbite, repeated falls, infection from an old hand injury, and the unrelenting starvation. Since Matthew was pre-med, he chose to take the role of Evans. He hoped to catch whatever caused Evans’ death early, instead of hiding it like Evans did.
In the very least, Matthew hoped to be able to relay medication information to Hati to explain to her how to save the man when he arrived comatose. So far, nothing we did changed the results. Evans still collapsed the previous night and couldn’t keep pace.
As much as we didn’t want to, we knew the only choice was to leave him behind while the rest of us went ahead toward the next supply depot.
Historically, Robert Falcon Scott and his crew camped for lunch near Monument Rock. They weren’t alarmed at first, figuring it would take Evans a while to reach them. But, eventually, the entire sledge crew retraced their steps to find him. When we tried that, we failed the Simulation. So, for this run, we decided on just me going after him.
It was possible Evans let go of that red cord, but if he did?
Well, he would remain left behind.
​
Wind scraped across the surface of the landscape, driving fine powder into my face and stinging my skin where the furs didn’t cover it. Snow crackled underfoot as I adjusted the empty sledge and continued on my way. Soft, recently fallen snow clogged the skis and runners of the sledge at every step. Eventually, the strange ache of motion came. It was a rhythm my body had grown used to slipping into.
Until my legs betrayed me.
I fell, punching the snow once in frustration. For a moment I stayed there, cheek pressed to the cold, just breathing. Then I forced myself upright. The wide leather harness crossing my chest and waist caught and the sledge ropes drew taut, biting into my shoulders. I groaned as I leaned forward, transferring momentum from my legs, back, and core to move the sledge again.
As I continued on, my breath came in shallow bursts. Each step had to be measured and continuous. The red cord Bowers had given Evans to hold on to glowed faintly. I followed it, knowing it was a fragile lifeline in a world drained of color. With the grey skies and dull white snow, the red cord was my only guide against the elements. Without it, I was sure to get turned around and lost in what the Simulation manuals called a blizzard. Something my generation didn’t get to experience.
When I did reach Evans, I found his appearance shocking.
Like every run before, he was on his knees. His clothing was disarranged. And his hands were uncovered and frostbitten. There was a wild look in his eyes, only this time that look belonged to Matthew, not the Simulation’s Evans character.
“What’s the matter?” I asked Evans, hoping Matthew realized I was talking to him.
He replied with slow speech and followed the Simulation’s script verbatim. “I don’t know. I think I must have fainted.”
Then came the Neural Whisper—I’ll tell you later.​
If you liked these excerpts,
email me and let me know!
Kris@WhenTheCherryBlossomsBloom.com
​
Subscribe Below for Updates!