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Copyright 2010 Neil S. Plakcy

Smashwords Edition


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Bagpipes at Dawn

The sun shone on a beautiful country meadow. I walked across luxuriant green grass, wearing a halter-top navy print dress that swirled around my legs in the light breeze. My curly brown hair was cooperating for once, piled up on my head with only a few wisps dangling attractively over my forehead.

An incredibly handsome guy walked toward me. He looked like a composite of every movie star I’d ever had a crush on—broad shoulders, narrow waist, luxurious dark hair, and piercing green eyes. “You are so beautiful, Melissa,” he said. “I want to kiss you so very much.”

Just as his lips came close to mine, some idiot playing the bagpipes jerked me awake, my dream faded, and I realized it was the first day of my senior year in high school.

The steady drone of the harsh notes blasted into my bedroom and shook me out of bed. I screamed, “Turn that crap off!”

My father is half-Italian and half a lot of other things, but my mother is full Scots. Her maiden name is Macgregor, and we have this huge needlepoint of the family crest in the living room -- a shield with orange and red stripes, surrounded by orange and red feathers and a metal war helmet. The family motto is Aonaibh ri cheile, which as far as I can tell translates to “Your mother is a big dork.”

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