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Solomon's Dream
Solomon's Dream
Solomon's Dream
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Solomon's Dream

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The dead things talk to him in whispers that glaze his mind. With them comes knowledge Solomon knows he should not have, understanding that does not belong in his simple life.

Only Solomon knows the evil that has come to his hill. Only he can fight it. No one else will listen. No one else can hear the whispers.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 18, 2010
ISBN9781452315669
Solomon's Dream
Author

Michael R Stark

Trying to figure out when I started writing is like trying to decide when I started walking. The stories have always been there, rummaging around in my mind. Some went on paper. Most didn’t. I wrote my first novel when I was 22. Thankfully, I left it to the dustbin of history where it shall always remain.Imagine the grin, yes, it was that bad.As for influences on my latest story, The Island, that one has been up there banging away in my head for a long time. Parts of it were told at bedtime. Though honestly, those who heard the parts wouldn't recognize them in the story. By the time we get to the second book in this series, they will find some recognizable moments. They'll also probably be upset that the adventure turned into something of a horror story.Ahh, well, most of them are old enough now to read it for what it is.I grew up in North Carolina, which is why part of the story is set there. I’ve been to exotic parts of the world, many countries, and most states. None of them I know as well as the one I called home for most of my life. It makes it easy to write about it, and the people in it.I hope you enjoy the stories.MS

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    Book preview

    Solomon's Dream - Michael R Stark

    Solomon’s Dream

    by

    Michael Stark

    SMASHWORDS EDITION

    * * * * *

    PUBLISHED BY: Michael Stark on Smashwords

    Solomon’s Dream

    Copyright © 2010 by Michael Stark

    All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Solomon’s Dream

    You have it? She asked. The question sent her eyebrows arching towards the mass of dark, curly hair that framed her face. The curls were loose and vibrant, tumbling down over her shoulders to reach halfway down her back. A breath of wind pushed an errant strand across her face, then slid through the branches overhead and sighed its way off into the distance. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and stared at him.

    The boy nodded and reached down into a canvass bag he had carried up the hill. The book he slid from the coarse cloth was heavy and limp, bound in leather with a small, circular pattern of gold leaves etched across the front. Centered below the leaves, a single name had been scribed in gold with a calligrapher’s pen. The swirling letters arched their way across the soft brown hide in metallic loops and flourishes that gleamed in the summer sun. The book had a warm, antique look to it like something that had been taken from a museum rather than crafted by the boy.

    She took it and held it out in front of her. Sunlight glittered across the single word.

    ‘Solomon." She whispered as her fingers traced the glistening letters. When she finally looked up, she nodded her approval.

    The boy breathed a sigh of relief. He had worked hard putting it together.

    From the valley below came the laughter of children playing, an occasional shriek as a new it was found in a game of tag, the muted din of too many voices trying to talk at once. The sounds were good ones, a testament of a world at peace with itself, of everything right and nothing wrong.

    She reached down to stroke the fur of a huge gray and black dog lying quietly at her feet. Do you have a pen?

    The boy nodded again and held up the same one he’d used earlier to write the name across the front of the book. She studied its flattened tip and curled her nose.

    You want me to write the whole thing with that?

    Exasperation slid across his face. It’s all I have.

    She sighed and lowered her body towards the soft grass. She crossed her legs as she sat, not tight and close as a woman would have, but bare knees splayed out to the side and feet crossed beneath the soft hollow her dress formed in her lap. Small, patent leather shoes peeped from beneath the hem, caught the sun and glittered, shrugging off shards of white light as she settled them. Pink ruffled socks rose across her ankles. They were spotless, as clean as if they’d been washed that morning and folded perfectly near the top so the ruffles hung down.

    The boy wondered if she had always looked so neat.

    She settled the book across her lap and opened it to the first page. The soft leather binding draped over her leg and molded itself to her form.

    He handed her the pen and watched as she bent over the book, tongue pressed between tight lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she wrote a single line near the top. The pen carved the words onto the paper in a script that was flowing but neat. She paused when the first line was complete, studied it for a moment, and then added another below it.

    The boy leaned forward to read what she’d written so far.

    Solomon’s Dream He mused, then looked up at her in surprise. Interpreted by Dana Roberts? I only put his name on the front. I didn’t put any of this dream stuff and I didn’t use your name. You think that’s a smart thing to do?

    She shrugged. "Why shouldn’t I use my name? I am doing the interpretation. Besides, you told me about the dream. Do

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