Where He Belongs
The hottest name in network news is Daniel Halstrom. He is a sensation, a rising star. He is also a slave, owned wholly and completely by NewWorld Media.
But before he was a star, he was a frightened child from a bad place with a promising, if limited, future ahead of him. In The New Kid, young Daniel begins his schooling. Then, for a slave, the simple pleasure of a Bathroom Break is sometimes the only pleasure to be had. Later, Daniel doesn't know it, but A Chance Encountermight be the most important of his life. Next, in Camera Obscura, one of Daniel's colleagues reflects on the fact that as much as the camera may show, it can hide even more. Finally, when you're a slave, Independence Day is just another day.
This collection of vignettes is set in the world of Anchored's "Belonging" universe, but it is not at all necessary to have read Anchored to enjoy them.
Exclusive Bonus Content
- Excerpt of Anchored by Rachel Haimowitz, the debut novel in the Belonging series
- The never-before-published prequel to Anchored
- A sneak peek at Counterpunch, the upcoming Belonging novel by Aleksandr Voinov
Genre: Alternate universe, contemporary, gay fantasy, gay erotica, short stories, anthology
Length: 6,000 words (approx. 20 pages)
Price: $1.99
ISBN: 978-1-937058-16-6
This title is now out of print. Stay tuned for a re-release via Riptide Publishing, included free in the re-released Anchored: Belonging, September 2014.
Immerse yourself in the world of Belonging at BelongingVerse.com!
Reviews
"A short but exquisitely written anthology . . . Each story is a masterful slice of life." --Reviews by Jessewave
"[A] feast for the senses." --Queer Magazine Online
"Rachel Haimowitz has such a talent for world-building in a way that's so subtle and tangible you have to remind yourself that the setting isn't real." --The Romance Reviews
"Each story is a small gem [that] completely sucked me in." --Dark Divas Reviews
"Each of these stories succeeded in drawing me into the Belonging world, and though I haven’t read Anchored, it didn’t prevent me from understanding or becoming invested in them, the characters, and the lives they lead. [It made] me want to go back to the beginning and delve a little deeper into the alternate reality Rachel Haimowitz has so skillfully created." --Top 2 Bottom Reviews
"Wonderfully crafted, vivid in its description, and full of emotion" --Amara's Place
"The five stories were delightful, all of them bittersweet with an aftertaste of hope. Although each was only a few pages, the characters leaped off the page and many straight into the heart." --Between the Covers
"[A] feast for the senses." --Queer Magazine Online
"Rachel Haimowitz has such a talent for world-building in a way that's so subtle and tangible you have to remind yourself that the setting isn't real." --The Romance Reviews
"Each story is a small gem [that] completely sucked me in." --Dark Divas Reviews
"Each of these stories succeeded in drawing me into the Belonging world, and though I haven’t read Anchored, it didn’t prevent me from understanding or becoming invested in them, the characters, and the lives they lead. [It made] me want to go back to the beginning and delve a little deeper into the alternate reality Rachel Haimowitz has so skillfully created." --Top 2 Bottom Reviews
"Wonderfully crafted, vivid in its description, and full of emotion" --Amara's Place
"The five stories were delightful, all of them bittersweet with an aftertaste of hope. Although each was only a few pages, the characters leaped off the page and many straight into the heart." --Between the Covers
"Independence Day"
I've never quite known what to make of this day, this celebration of the nation's independence. On the one hand, there's a party, time off for most of us, and a magnificent fireworks display we get to watch from the roof of our West Side dormitory. It's one of the few nights a year the InfoGlobe slaves can drink—can get drunk, even, but don't expect an ounce of sympathy for hangovers in the morning—can dance and sing and gorge ourselves on barbecue and just... relax. On the other hand, we're slaves, and 'independence' is just another empty word. It doesn't really apply to us.
I think too much, I know. Nobody else looks sad tonight. Nobody else looks introspective. Yet, as I stare out over the sparkling lights of Midtown, I can't help but wonder how different my life would really be if the British still ruled the colonies. The beer in my hand would be warm, perhaps, but I'd still be a slave, still be doing someone else's work and calling someone else master. All our vaunted democracy, our taxation with representation, means nothing to me. Nothing at all. I can't vote. I can't even testify in court without a judiciary waiver. After all, I don't pay taxes. I'm nothing to the IRS but a corporate write-off, a dependant.
I wonder if the slaves in England are tax deductible, too.
I take a swig of my beer and lean out over the lip of the roof. It's a long, long way down to the pavement. If I had my way, I'd be watching the fireworks from the South Street Seaport tonight, one tiny speck among the noise and the heat and the crowd, elbowing for a spot with a view on the overpass while I drank my beer.
No... if I really had my way, I'd be watching the fireworks with Victor, curled up somewhere quiet and alone, not worried about late we stay out or how drunk we get or where we have to be tomorrow or who catches us making love. But Victor is gone, taken I-don't-know-where, and I need to find a way to let go of him because he's never coming back, and wishing after what you can't have will only get you beaten.
Fifteen floors below, couples walk by hand in hand, laughing and kissing and pointing up at the shows in the sky. There are no bracelets around their wrists. Celebration comes easy to them.
I dangle my half-empty beer bottle over the edge and wonder what would happen if I dropped it on their heads. But I'm not a cruel person, and I know, deep down, that I could never do such a thing. I couldn't even go to jail for it; slaves aren't independent enough to serve time for their crimes. No, InfoGlobe would be fined, almost certainly sued. And me? Beaten to within an inch of my life, I bet. Maybe even put down, if I hurt them badly enough. And if it were me instead of some bottle going splat on the pavement? Would anyone miss me? Or would I just be some negative number on a balance sheet somewhere, one less disposable reporter to send into danger zones for a story? I turn away from the edge with a disgusted grunt, finish my beer in one long gulp, and toss the bottle in the recycling before I get any more ideas.
Behind me, the fireworks grow more intense. Last year, I watched them with Victor. We snuck off into some dark corner and necked for an hour before the show began while everyone else was busy getting trashed and stuffing themselves full of hotdogs. Fuck, I miss him. I hope he's all right. Why won't they tell me where they sent him? It's not like I could go after him, like any of us could go anywhere they didn't want us to. I just want to know. Don't I have that right, at least?
But no, no, of course I don't. And I never will. And I'd best get used to that sooner rather than later, because wishing for things you can't have... But it's more complicated than that, isn't it? It's not just about them. No, it's about me. It's about finding my own small measure of independence. Independence from want, independence from fear, independence from unhappiness. It might start out a lie at first, but eventually it wouldn't be. Eventually, I'd fool even myself.
The finale has begun, and I turn back to the fireworks, grab another beer off the table, and smile at a supervisor who eyes me like the expensive piece of property I am. My grin feels fake, but it won't always be, not if I keep doing it long enough. I turn my eyes skyward and chase the image of Victor from my head with another long swig of beer. Happy fucking Fourth of July, I think, toasting the city with my bitter drink. Happy Independence Day.
I think too much, I know. Nobody else looks sad tonight. Nobody else looks introspective. Yet, as I stare out over the sparkling lights of Midtown, I can't help but wonder how different my life would really be if the British still ruled the colonies. The beer in my hand would be warm, perhaps, but I'd still be a slave, still be doing someone else's work and calling someone else master. All our vaunted democracy, our taxation with representation, means nothing to me. Nothing at all. I can't vote. I can't even testify in court without a judiciary waiver. After all, I don't pay taxes. I'm nothing to the IRS but a corporate write-off, a dependant.
I wonder if the slaves in England are tax deductible, too.
I take a swig of my beer and lean out over the lip of the roof. It's a long, long way down to the pavement. If I had my way, I'd be watching the fireworks from the South Street Seaport tonight, one tiny speck among the noise and the heat and the crowd, elbowing for a spot with a view on the overpass while I drank my beer.
No... if I really had my way, I'd be watching the fireworks with Victor, curled up somewhere quiet and alone, not worried about late we stay out or how drunk we get or where we have to be tomorrow or who catches us making love. But Victor is gone, taken I-don't-know-where, and I need to find a way to let go of him because he's never coming back, and wishing after what you can't have will only get you beaten.
Fifteen floors below, couples walk by hand in hand, laughing and kissing and pointing up at the shows in the sky. There are no bracelets around their wrists. Celebration comes easy to them.
I dangle my half-empty beer bottle over the edge and wonder what would happen if I dropped it on their heads. But I'm not a cruel person, and I know, deep down, that I could never do such a thing. I couldn't even go to jail for it; slaves aren't independent enough to serve time for their crimes. No, InfoGlobe would be fined, almost certainly sued. And me? Beaten to within an inch of my life, I bet. Maybe even put down, if I hurt them badly enough. And if it were me instead of some bottle going splat on the pavement? Would anyone miss me? Or would I just be some negative number on a balance sheet somewhere, one less disposable reporter to send into danger zones for a story? I turn away from the edge with a disgusted grunt, finish my beer in one long gulp, and toss the bottle in the recycling before I get any more ideas.
Behind me, the fireworks grow more intense. Last year, I watched them with Victor. We snuck off into some dark corner and necked for an hour before the show began while everyone else was busy getting trashed and stuffing themselves full of hotdogs. Fuck, I miss him. I hope he's all right. Why won't they tell me where they sent him? It's not like I could go after him, like any of us could go anywhere they didn't want us to. I just want to know. Don't I have that right, at least?
But no, no, of course I don't. And I never will. And I'd best get used to that sooner rather than later, because wishing for things you can't have... But it's more complicated than that, isn't it? It's not just about them. No, it's about me. It's about finding my own small measure of independence. Independence from want, independence from fear, independence from unhappiness. It might start out a lie at first, but eventually it wouldn't be. Eventually, I'd fool even myself.
The finale has begun, and I turn back to the fireworks, grab another beer off the table, and smile at a supervisor who eyes me like the expensive piece of property I am. My grin feels fake, but it won't always be, not if I keep doing it long enough. I turn my eyes skyward and chase the image of Victor from my head with another long swig of beer. Happy fucking Fourth of July, I think, toasting the city with my bitter drink. Happy Independence Day.
Bonus Material / Media Coverage
- Character Interview: Jenre at Desert Island Keepers interviews Daniel Halstrom
- Character Interview: Amara at Amara's Place interviews Daniel Halstrom
- Classified Ads from the Anchored World--"Slaves for Sale!"--at the Coffee Time Romance blog
- Guest Blog: One World Over - The Barely-AU and the Birth of Anchored
- Guest Blog: The Wonder of Worldbuilding
- Inside the Anchored World: Mock Newspaper Ads by L.C. Chase - These are a brilliant must-see!
- Interview: Aleksandr Voinov interviews me on Anchored, the future of the Belonging series, and walking on the dark side in writing
