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Recent Reviews for David G. Halliday
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Sleeping Beauty (Book) - 7/6/2004 6:05:27 AM
SAMPLE: The wind howled. A bell clanged involuntarily in the night. Lightning slashed open the darkened sky spewing out moonlight. The night cracked and rumbled in dry thunder. Another bolt of lightning. The outline of the church, like a great sleeping beast briefly awakened, appeared for a moment in the village square and then vanished. A flock of bats, frightened, flew out from the belfry, circled in the sky and then returned to their nest.
A solitary figure, a girl, hurried across the square toward the church. Using both hands on one of the huge doors, the slim figure managed to move the great doors enough to slip inside. The opened door slowly and then slammed shut, echoing throughout the church. Stepping out of the vestibule, the girl advanced slowly into the great belly of the church. Lightning lit up the church frightening the young girl. Great stones statues looked down with disapproval at Stella Little.
All was quiet except for the roll of thunder that sounded like canon fire in a far off battle. Stella listened to her own steps like solitary applause as she moved slowly across the church. She could feel her own breath filling the church, her own breath giving life to the stone, wood, glass. When she reached the altar a flash of lightning slashed through the stained glass windows throwing a spotlight onto a giant spider crucified on the cross. Then there was darkness and silence again.
Suddenly the great hall was filled with music, Bach. Stella turned and ran toward the stairs leading to the choir loft and the great organ. Another crack of thunder mixed with the organ music. The lightning and thunder increased with intensity. The Bach became more frantic. Stella’s feet moved faster up the stairs.
Two lit candles sat on the organ. Bent over the keyboard, the priest moved his fingers across the keys, his eyes, dancing and wild. Stella moved toward him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. The thunder ceased. The priest stopped playing, stood up and turned around. Stella fell to her knees and reached under the priest’s robes. Outside it began to rain.
the victim (Poetry) - 3/14/2003 6:22:59 AM
Love the line, would like to have seen it in form.
a woman is
brutally murdered.
the wrong man
is tried
and convicted
and punished.
You are correct though, this happens far to often in our injustice system.
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