Every decibel of her voice was attenuated by the sound of the Orwellian Horns. The trumpet had sounded again and a Clarion Call went out across the land.
The characters were reverberating incoherently... pieces and pawns bouncing about like particles in a cloud chamber. It was difficult to make sense of anything. But a chequered moire pattern was re-emerging. Black and white at first, but colors would soon follow. The mirrors at both ends of this literary cavity were about to be aligned and the random energy of the characters would focus like a red hot laser beam, sharper than a scout knife, cutting to the chase.
"Great 21st Century Novel"
15 Aug '09 19:39
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