This post is about my own book — I'm the author, so take it as the book's defense attorney speaking, not a neutral review.

The premise of My Brother on the Moon is a scheduling problem. The sickness doesn't kill you. It takes one hour a day — the sick never know which until it arrives — and during it you lose the part of yourself that declines to murder. Daughters kill their mothers and sons their fathers, the city's accountants still count every body, and a quiet trade in bounties does the paying out anyway.

I wanted a dystopia that runs on a timetable because real horror is scheduled. The fear in the book isn't "someone might kill me" — it's "the hour always comes." Twenty-three hours you are a person; for one, the sickness owns you, and the slot keeps moving so you can't build a life around it.

Auzel, the cemetery keeper, was the natural narrator: he has buried over a hundred bodies and treats grief like inventory. Into his routine walks Dexs, a stranger who does the unfashionable thing — he treats Auzel like a man instead of a function. The book is about what Dexs teaches him (that surviving isn't the same as living), what Dexs does to him (a friendship that hides a debt), and what's left afterwards (a reason, which might be worse than nothing).

It's ~68 pages. Short was the point — one rule, one narrator, one betrayal, out the door. It's $2.99 on Amazon and free on Kindle Unlimited; Book 2, All For What, follows Auzel and the question the first book deliberately doesn't answer.