the book

intro 2

the book i chose that day from the cluttered shelf in my fathers den, slid out from. between others which looked much similar to it. it was a heavy book. almost as heavy as the family cat, who's purring had, by this time, become a low rumble. a content feline sprawled on his back.dust floating through the suns rays as he continues to bask in them.

the colour of this book was as dull as dull can be. so dull in fact i don't think i could quite remember the colour if i tried. the cover had collected dust i suppose for many years and the spine was thick and warn. the yellow tinged pages were just as dull, as the cover of this book. they bore words that ran together like blades of grass, impossible to distinguish.

I had it in my mind that i was on about this book. i would read it. the entire thing, page after page in one saturday afternoon. but there was one thing that stood out most to me about this book, not the dullness of its cover. not the weight of nonsence stacked between the pages, but the smell. the prior owner mustve been a rebellious pirate, i envisioned. or a carnival fortune teller. the smell of course was tobacco, but of course id never known the smell, so to me it just had a particularly new kind of earthy odur. not a smell of fresh paper and ink between the pages. but a much older, sort of pungency. it was as if the book had been around for centuries.

how bored i must have been on that warm summer afternoon. my father sleeping in the den, my mother puttering throughout the house. "get out of the house today," she called to me from another room. " a storm is comming tmmrow and there wont be any messing in the yard."

our yard wasnt a yard of lushious green grass but instead an open eyesore.of soil and weeds. so for the rain to come.would mean that me with my childish manner would get up in the mud and wreak havock on my mothers freshly washed floors, which she would not have.

i should have listened to my mother on that warm summer afternoon. instead i sat near the window with the cat at my feet and stared mindlessly at a smelly book fantasizing about ravenous pirates.

"lunchtime!," my mother had called to me from the kitchen, my father was stirring but had not opened his eyes. i placed the book down on the floor with a thud. "ill be back for u," i thought to myself. knowing well enough that i probably would not. as i sat at the table endulging in a peanut butter and banana sandwich my mother had so carefully removed the crusts off and discarded, a thought came to my mind and I spoke more spontaneously than i had even had the thought. "if i were to made a wish and believed it to be so, could it be, mother?" i asked. "i suppose if u have want for things u can do your best to make them a reality my boy ." she replied.

and so, as i finished my sandwich and gulped down a cold glass of the best tasting 2 percent milk in the county i strolled bavk to the den to retrieve the book i had become so engulfed in. i had realized it was not the story id wanted to read but it was the book itself, the object of which i had been called to on that warm summer afternoon. the dullness the odur the thick tattered spine the wieght of a million words combined.