The Deadly Curtain Call

Never before had there been a more tragic event in the small town of Vicksville. Such a crime was inconceivable, beyond understanding, unable to be comprehended even by the town’s sons who generations past had fought and died in wars in the name of freedom. This was a senseless atrocity. All over the small town, flags flew at half-mast. On the Mayor’s order, stores and schools were closed. Everyone was in mourning, a mourning that never seemed to end. There was no letup in the constant despair, the overwhelming loss. Newsman trampled little flower gardens and bent white washed fences with their numbers. Cameramen flashed pictures of innocent children at play, peeped into closed windows, and followed closely on the heels of the townsfolk with empty note pads, invading well-kept and treasured privacies. Never before had all the guest houses been filled to capacity. Even private homes hung out signs to capitalize on the town’s new popularity. A sick carnival-like atmosphere filled the air. Thesis students came from miles around for a glimpse at the new subject to be studied. Psychiatrists came to analyze. Clergymen came to pray away the sin, so frightening, so repulsive...alien but real. It had been lurking in the nest of the town… waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Born in Richmond Virginia Sandra Sully started writing in elementary school and went on to write poems for the high school paper. She attended Howard University and then joined Beverly Glen Records in Los Angeles as a staff songwriter. She went on to pen numerous musical hits, an activity she continues today. “Call me a wordsmith!” “Always have been…always will be!”