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Friday, September 15, 2017

Today She Saw an Angel

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I'm nearly finished with the writing of chapter seven of Book III of Melody and the Pier to Forever. It's a chapter I've looked forward to writing for a dozen years.

It was a bumpy ride, those twelve years. There were points that I questioned whether or not I'd even live to write this chapter. But I got here, by hook or by crook, and now I'm just a few days, at best, from finishing it. It's a great chapter for a great hero who must find a way to start her life over again. If she can, she might just save the world.

In the meantime, enjoy an excerpt from chapter five of the latest in the series to be published. It too features a great hero who must find a way to start her life over again.


There was a DVD player in her hotel room. She pulled up a chair, turned on the television and player, put the DVD on the tray, and closed it. She grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as the TV screen went from black to a live-action picture of a stage in a darkened amphitheatre.
Japanese announcers were talking quietly. She couldn’t understand them. A public address announcer said something, and the audience, whom Elizabeth couldn’t see, applauded politely as a pretty little girl, nine or ten years old, violin and bow in hand, walked meekly from behind a curtain onto the stage.
Japanese script appeared on the screen. Elizabeth couldn’t read it. The little girl took her place at center stage and brought the violin and bow up to the ready. She hesitated, then began playing.
Elizabeth recognized the piece immediately. It was Beethoven’s Violin Romance No. 2. The symphony backing up the little girl must have been recorded, because there was no one behind her. She was by herself.
As Elizabeth watched, the girl transformed. No longer meek or shy, she commanded the violin as though she had invented it, or as though it had been gifted to her by the gods themselves. She glanced once into the camera, and Elizabeth, without realizing it, dropped the remote.
This was no mere child, no. This …
This was an angel.
Elizabeth, shaking, pushed herself off the edge of the seat to her knees, where she watched as the girl brought the symphony to a close and lowered her violin before bowing. Those meek, shy eyes returned.
At first there was no applause. The shocked silence in the auditorium was solid, substantial, and lasted at least ten seconds. When applause came, it did so haltingly, as though the audience couldn’t believe what they had just heard.
A deafening tsunami of sound overwhelmed the auditorium a moment later. It was applause raised to ecstatic prayer, to unrestrained praise.
The announcers, barely audible over the din, kept yelling the same name over and over: “Yaeko Mitsaki! Yaeko Mitsaki! Yaeko Mitsaki!”
Yaeko Mitsaki.
Elizabeth, on her knees and just able to see through tears, applauded too.
The fog was gone.


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