A review of Laurell K. Hamilton’s ‘Obsidian Butterfly’ chapter forty one

See that title? That’s a lie. Let me quote you the entire chapter, so you can see why that is a lie.

The first hint I had that I wasn’t dead was pain. The second was light. My chest was burning. I jerked back to consciousness, gasping for air, trying to pull the burning things off of me. I blinked up into a burning white light, then voices.

“Hold her down!”

Weight on my arms and legs, hands holding me down. I tried to struggle, but couldn’t feel my body enough to be sure I was moving at all.

“BP sixty over eighty and dropping fast.”

I saw shapes, blurred with light moving around me. A sharp jab into my arm, a needle. A man’s face swam into view, blond, wire frame glasses. His face slid back out of sight into a white-rimmed fog.

Gray spots slid like greasy streamers across my vision, and I felt myself sinking backwards, downwards, outwards.

A man’s voice, “We’re losing her!”

Darkness rolled over me taking the pain, and the light. A woman’s voice floated throughout the dark. “Let me try.” Then silence in the dark. There was no alien voice this time. There was nothing but the floating dark and me. Then there was just the dark.

That is not a chapter.

That is a page. Less than a page in fact. Less than a page of poorly written pseudo stream of consciousness bullshit. This should have been cut entirely. It adds nothing but mutilation of the common comma to this mess.


2 thoughts on “A review of Laurell K. Hamilton’s ‘Obsidian Butterfly’ chapter forty one

  1. Wait, that’s it? That’s… no. That’s not a chapter. That’s nothing. It’s the opening of a chapter, not a whole chapter unto itself.

    My god, at least when Dan Brown did chapters this short something happened. Probably something stupid, but at least it was something.

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