Halli



Picture description

She was a frail little waif of a girl. About the age of thirteen, with her hair matted and infested with lice. It had been years since she’d seen the light of day, or even been out of the presence of Master James. She had finally escaped; she was overcome with feelings of joy and guilt, which perplexed her. Living with Master James was all she’d known in however many years. She almost felt lost without his strict orders directing her every move and monitoring her every breath. It felt like ages ago that he’d captured her on that fateful Sunday morning at the Fourth Presbyterian Church in Havens, Idaho. What he’d been doing there, she did not know. She did know, however, that he was out of the ordinary. In her small town in which about 1,780 people peacefully resided, she had grown accustomed to seeing the same group of white, eager faces amble through the door at 9:oo A.M. on the dot every week. And here he was, this strange, foreign man, his body sheathed in a black trench coat, a somber look across his long face. She shyly hid behind her mother’s plump left leg, careful not to let him notice her inquisitive side-glances. After the sermon, she desperately needed to use the restroom, and since her mother was engrossed in conversation with the reverend, she was forced to go alone. As she made her way down the narrow, dimly lit hallway that led to the restrooms and the basement, she heard tentative footsteps behind her, like someone was trying not to be heard, but not doing a very good __job__ of it. When she turned around, she caught only the remnants of a shadow leaping into the Religious Studies room. Slightly frightened, she quickened her pace. Her size 5 feet could only carry her so fast, though, and it felt like danger was coming her way. After what seemed like days, she reached the heavy door embossed with a stick figure that donned a blue triangular dress. Using what little strength she had, she eased the door open and ran into one of the pink stalls. As she locked the stall door and sat down on the toilet, she heard those same footsteps as before, only this time they were loud and deliberate. She peered through the crack of the door, just barely able to make out that eerie man in the black trench coat. Panicking, she tucked her stocking covered legs under her. But it was too late. The man had seen her go into the bathroom, and she could no longer hide. He broke down the door and hastily grabbed the girl, and then fled towards the basement across the hall. Her mouth was covered with his massive hand, masking her terrified shrieks.

Dear Halli,

I read your pieces // Money for Two...or One // and your archetypal situation poem. You did a fine job in developing the background and characters in your first piece, although the story seemed to end abruptly, and did not appear to be finished. If you were to continue this piece, I would advise you to develop the characters more so that the reader can get a feel for who they are. In your poem I feel you did a good job in explaining the event in a varied poetic style. It is however, confusing at what exactly is occurring at every part of the poem, as it seems to skip around a bit in terms of descriptions.

Sincerely, Frank Maldarelli

Haiku Poems:

Best and worst of times I think I messed up the line Hopefully Dickens won't mind

Table for two, please A seat for me and for you Your seat left empty

Looks in the mirror Never grow up, don't die young Stationary pose

We have history Or does history have us I wonder always