The Book

         I woke from a restless sleep and tried to remember the strange dreams from the previous night but the stress was all I recalled. In a stupor, I stumbled to the kitchen and had a Danish and black coffee. After gaining full faculties I went to my den to sort through the books I'd recently purchased from various thrift stores.

         My library had grown extensively after years of adding to it. For most of my life, I'd bought books that appeared old no matter the title or subject. The books were stacked neatly on my desk. There was a world atlas from 1902, an old paperback collection of stories from Will Rogers (one of my dad's favorite entertainers), and a World Book Review of the Events of 1956.

         The fourth book had no title on its worn leather cover nor any preface inside.

         I sat in my favorite chair to read the text on the book's yellowed pages, searching for clues to its age and subject. I found this was a storybook about a man who, surprisingly, collected old books and spent most of his time in his library.

         This was a tale which I could certainly identify with.

         As the main character of this saga sat reading peacefully he heard a low-pitched rumble and felt vibrations increasing by the second. The tremors built up to a violent force that threw all his books off the shelves. When the shuddering subsided the man was buried beneath a mountain of every book he'd collected, the weight of which was too much for him to breathe and so he died struggling for air.

         There was much more to read but I closed the book, laid it on my desk, and stood to catch my breath. Maybe I identified with the man in the story a little too much. My heart was pounding. My throat was dry. I pulled out my handkerchief to dry the sweat from my brow.

         I'd left the den to get a glass of water when came a rumbling vibration. It quickly grew until the floors buckled and I heard a tremendous crash. I was ferociously tossed about until the shaking stopped. I looked back to my den in disbelief.

         All my books were piled up where I'd been sitting.

         The damage to my home was extensive but repairable. All my books were eventually placed on shelves except for one. The book I'd been reading and placed on my desk was never found.


416 words