Cyclop can see other people’s futures, but his own is clouded by a past he can’t escape and a man he calls Master.
It’s not Cyclop’s albino skin and mismatched eyes that make him stand out, but his ability to see the future and a dark past he escaped. Only those close to him know his secrets, and with their help, he has carved out a normal life. But his past refuses to let him go, and when the man he calls Master finds him, he is forced to return to his old life.
Imprisoned, Cyclop clings to the hope of freedom. To do so, he must break Master’s control over him. Will he find the strength to become the master of his own life? Or is his past destined to be his future?
A mix of science fiction, speculative fiction, and self discovery, Snapshots is a YA story about facing the past and being in control of your own life and future.
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It’s not Cyclop’s albino skin and mismatched eyes that make him stand out, but his ability to see the future and a dark past he escaped. Only those close to him know his secrets, and with their help, he has carved out a normal life. But his past refuses to let him go, and when the man he calls Master finds him, he is forced to return to his old life.
Imprisoned, Cyclop clings to the hope of freedom. To do so, he must break Master’s control over him. Will he find the strength to become the master of his own life? Or is his past destined to be his future?
A mix of science fiction, speculative fiction, and self discovery, Snapshots is a YA story about facing the past and being in control of your own life and future.
AVAILABLE AT FOR $2.99 AT YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER!
Add to Goodreads
EXCERPT
The funeral had the feel of a cocktail party, men in dinner jackets and ties, and women in low-cut dresses speckled with jewelry. They clustered in groups, cocktail glasses in hand. Their voices were soft, as if afraid of waking the figure lying in the coffin at the head of the room. Mountains of white lilies surrounded the casket. Gold and wood gleamed under the soft light. The white silk lining the inside of the casket created a stark contrast with the stiff black wool the deceased wore. Every so often, a person approached to murmur a farewell.
When the last wave of mourners receded back to the safety of the living, a small boy was left standing alone. Unlike the mourners, he wore a white one-piece that hung loosely over his frame. His skin was pale, and he had white blond hair. He kept his chin tipped to his chest. No one paid him any heed.
No one except Antony Hammond. He watched the boy tiptoe toward the coffin. A pang of sympathy pierced his chest as the child leaned up, fingers clutching the edge.
“Please wake up.”
When there was no response, he pushed to his toes and reached out. He cried out in pain and protest as the widow of the deceased jerked him away from the coffin. A black veil covered her eyes, but not the scowl on her lips.
Antony felt another pang of sympathy for the boy. The widow would give him no comfort. She barely gave her own son a moment’s glance. Had she told him about the funeral? Antony doubted it. Then again, the commotion the teen would have caused was best avoided.
The widow’s contempt extended to the bundle in her arms. Instead of the gentle embrace of a mother, she held the baby away from her body and minimized contact. It confirmed Antony’s suspicions. His late colleague had a reputation for sleeping around. It seemed even in his last days, his nights had been spent in the arms of another woman as opposed to his wife. But Antony wasn’t too surprised, given his colleague married this woman for her money. Money he needed when he parted ways with Antony and the project they had been working on for almost twenty years.
“What are you doing?” Long red nails pinched the boy’s face. She forced his gaze to meet hers. His body went rigid and his eyes glazed over. It was like he was no longer there. The moment passed when he squeezed his eyes shut. A tremble rolled through his body and he looked disoriented for a second.
Once his body relaxed, he opened one eye, his voice curious, “Who was that man in the bed? It wasn’t Father. Will he wake up soon? I promise to try harder. He’ll be proud of me.”
She recoiled from him. When the baby in her arms fussed, she thrust it into another’s arms. “Get it away from me. Both of them. I will not care for these things. I refuse!”
Silence fell over the room. No one spoke up in defense of the two children. Even Antony remained silent. Eventually, conversation picked back up. The widow took the baby back, but the boy stood alone. He peered back into the casket. One last pang shot through Antony, this one piercing his heart. He turned away, ashamed by his cowardly actions, and left the boy to wait alone for his father who would never wake.
READER REVIEWS
M.B. Mulhall rated it four stars.
Snapshots is an interesting tale of a boy with a power and a past he can't explain. Cyc only wants to belong, to be human and know he doesn't belong to anyone but himself. The story takes some unexpected twists and turns that will keep you turning the pages, eager to get to the end.
Lynne keeps the story interesting and different from most of the other YA stories that are out there right now. It a nice change to see a male main character as well. They are rare in current YA lit. Snapshots was a pleasure to read!
The funeral had the feel of a cocktail party, men in dinner jackets and ties, and women in low-cut dresses speckled with jewelry. They clustered in groups, cocktail glasses in hand. Their voices were soft, as if afraid of waking the figure lying in the coffin at the head of the room. Mountains of white lilies surrounded the casket. Gold and wood gleamed under the soft light. The white silk lining the inside of the casket created a stark contrast with the stiff black wool the deceased wore. Every so often, a person approached to murmur a farewell.
When the last wave of mourners receded back to the safety of the living, a small boy was left standing alone. Unlike the mourners, he wore a white one-piece that hung loosely over his frame. His skin was pale, and he had white blond hair. He kept his chin tipped to his chest. No one paid him any heed.
No one except Antony Hammond. He watched the boy tiptoe toward the coffin. A pang of sympathy pierced his chest as the child leaned up, fingers clutching the edge.
“Please wake up.”
When there was no response, he pushed to his toes and reached out. He cried out in pain and protest as the widow of the deceased jerked him away from the coffin. A black veil covered her eyes, but not the scowl on her lips.
Antony felt another pang of sympathy for the boy. The widow would give him no comfort. She barely gave her own son a moment’s glance. Had she told him about the funeral? Antony doubted it. Then again, the commotion the teen would have caused was best avoided.
The widow’s contempt extended to the bundle in her arms. Instead of the gentle embrace of a mother, she held the baby away from her body and minimized contact. It confirmed Antony’s suspicions. His late colleague had a reputation for sleeping around. It seemed even in his last days, his nights had been spent in the arms of another woman as opposed to his wife. But Antony wasn’t too surprised, given his colleague married this woman for her money. Money he needed when he parted ways with Antony and the project they had been working on for almost twenty years.
“What are you doing?” Long red nails pinched the boy’s face. She forced his gaze to meet hers. His body went rigid and his eyes glazed over. It was like he was no longer there. The moment passed when he squeezed his eyes shut. A tremble rolled through his body and he looked disoriented for a second.
Once his body relaxed, he opened one eye, his voice curious, “Who was that man in the bed? It wasn’t Father. Will he wake up soon? I promise to try harder. He’ll be proud of me.”
She recoiled from him. When the baby in her arms fussed, she thrust it into another’s arms. “Get it away from me. Both of them. I will not care for these things. I refuse!”
Silence fell over the room. No one spoke up in defense of the two children. Even Antony remained silent. Eventually, conversation picked back up. The widow took the baby back, but the boy stood alone. He peered back into the casket. One last pang shot through Antony, this one piercing his heart. He turned away, ashamed by his cowardly actions, and left the boy to wait alone for his father who would never wake.
READER REVIEWS
M.B. Mulhall rated it four stars.
Snapshots is an interesting tale of a boy with a power and a past he can't explain. Cyc only wants to belong, to be human and know he doesn't belong to anyone but himself. The story takes some unexpected twists and turns that will keep you turning the pages, eager to get to the end.
Lynne keeps the story interesting and different from most of the other YA stories that are out there right now. It a nice change to see a male main character as well. They are rare in current YA lit. Snapshots was a pleasure to read!
