She walks through rows and rows of sodden books, feeling at home with the smell of mould. These books are probably old enough to be my father, she thinks and giggles involuntarily. Suddenly a thousand eyes are glaring up at her wondering why a girl would giggle to herself. She thinks nothing of it and goes down the line.
Moving along, she falls into each book. She must feel it voluptuously beneath her skin, before she can take a book home. This has always been her personal practice. But as she moves down the line, she knows she’s being watched. A young man follows with diligence. She wonders, Could he really be interested in all the same books as I am?
To be continued...
Gosh!! you write so beautifully, Tracy...waiting to see what follows this.. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Ayesha, you're so sweet. I'm sorry but there's no follow-up. The title is misleading =P Thanks for reading though. Feel free to invent an ending, I'll post it here with a reference to you and your blog. How about that?
ReplyDelete