The Book of Life

An idea for a book . . . but not just yet.

 

 

                Like many stories, this one begins with the first page of a book. However, rather than the contents of the book, it is the book itself which is subject of interest. The first chapter is titled “The Dawn of Time” and rather than giving a short explanation of the authors opinions or research on the matter of the event, this chapter details every moment with crystal clarity, exactly what happened in those miraculous few days that created the universe, the galaxies, and most importantly, Earth. Over time, the book has grown unimaginably large, spanning an entire library within the first few centuries of the planet’s existence. For you see, the book contains countless chapters, each detailing with exact accuracy, a single day that occurred in the life of the planet. These chapters do not simply account for a single story or anecdote of an occurrence that happened on the day in question, but instead document over countless pages, everything. Everything that anyone had said, done, or thought in that particular set of twenty four hours, from every death and birth out of the entire population of the planet, to a simple man living in Florence who sneezed and needed to wipe his nose. It is impossible to comprehend this story, as well as it is impossible for a single man to read the entire thing in his lifetime, let alone a single chapter. After millenniums had passed, the book became far too expansive for any binding to contain. Therefore it was taken apart and placed in a chamber that contained every piece of it in its ever expanding form. Inside the chamber, the book was labeled, classed by date, year, subject, and a multitude of other systems, then it was filed away for the rest of eternity.

                PRESENT DAY-

            Isaiah Marks stepped onto the marble floor. His black shoes recently bought from a fancy boutique down the street from his Manhattan apartment shined brightly in the lighting of the bureau’s main foyer. He wore a clean black suit jacket over a plain white dress shirt and black tie. His hair was drawn back in a clean cut comb-over and his chin was neatly groomed. He walked through the lobby quickly and pureposefully.

            For as long as anyone had lived, the Bureau of Investigation had never once left a case unsolved. Within one week, they had found their culprit, no matter where in the world he was hiding. Last month, the last case the Bureau had taken on was a bank robbery that had taken place not three blocks from where Isaiah lived. He had seen the fire trucks and S.W.A.T. from his bedroom window as they stormed down the street below.

            The single robber managed to escape the bank with three million dollars in tow and wasn’t seen again. The agencies involved had no idea what the man looked like. Witnesses reported that the man had worn a paintball helmet, four overlapping business suits, and boots with large heels. However, the case was brought to the Bureau of Investigation’s front desk and was quickly accepted.

            Three days later, the culprit was found touring Venice and staying in a ramshackle inn. He paid everything in cash, had never been photographed, never seen doing anything suspicious. Aside from the three million dollars he had safely smuggled across the Atlantic and shoved inside of an empty wall fixture which the man covered up to perfection, he had never done anything that would tip off anyone.

            He had been taking a gondola through a quiet canal off the main one, when men in black assassin gear had jumped down from the roofs using magnetic zip cables, chloroformed the robber, bagged him, and flew back up to the rooftops with their cargo.

            The man was sent to jail without a trial, or so the story goes.

            It had been all over the news and the papers, online bloggers had a feeding frenzy over the conspiracies that enshrouded the Bureau of Investigation in mystery.

            Why was Isaiah here then? Standing in the haloed grounds of the grand building that was the Bureau of Investigation? It was because he had been called in for a job interview.

            Isaiah didn’t remember sending in an application. It had probably come when he had been buried knee-deep in books, the way he always was when he was home. When he read, he read for hours and nothing could distract him. Sometimes he would do his work grading papers because of his job as an English teacher, but he would do it subconsciously while he was eyes were glued to the pages of the next book.

            Why they wanted a bookworm like him in the Bureau of Investigation was beyond him.

            “Next in line, please.” A female voice called from the desk across the foyer. Isaiah stepped up to it, looked at the nametag that read “Molly Fantino” in cursive gold font, then looked at the attractive red-headed girl who sat in her plush leather chair looking professional in a black business suit.

            “Um, yes, I’m here about a job interview. I think they messed up the address, or the name, or something and I got it, because I don’t think I sent a job application. You see, I’m an English teacher and I ---”

            “Isaiah Marks?”

            “Uh . . . yes, but how ---”

            “Your interview is scheduled for 3:30pm. It is currently 3:35pm, you are five minutes late.”

            “Yes, well I ---”

            “Please see the manager over at the other desk.”

            “But I ---”

            The red-headed woman gave Isaiah a stern look. He backed off slowly and wandered over to the desk the woman had directed him to. An old man in a plain white dress shirt and wearing glasses that adorned his wrinkly face sat reading the newspaper lazily behind the desk. When the man saw Isaiah coming, he looked up with a twinkle in his eye and unglued himself from the chair to shake his hand.

            “It’s very nice to see you Mr. Marks.” The man said, shaking Isaiah’s hand vigorously. Marks had always been called “Mr. Marks” by his students, but it had always given him a strange sensation in his spine when someone older than him called him by his last name.

            “I’m sorry, but I think there’s been a mistake.” He started.

            “Oh, no. No mistake.” The man said, still smiling wide.

            “Um, look . . . Mr. uh ---”

            “Groves. Call me Dan Groves.” Said the man, looking embarrassed he hadn’t told Isaiah before. 

            “Right, well, Mr. Groves, I am an English teacher. I have no idea why I am here, other than to explain that this job interview is a fluke.”

            The old man took off his glasses and looked at Isaiah with a tired gaze and said, “Mr. Marks, what is the name of the building you are standing in?”

            “The Bureau of investigation, sir?” He answered sheepishly.

            “Yes,” The old man started, “this is the Bureau of Investigation. Now, do you think that a building known as the ‘Bureau of Investigation’ would make such a silly mistake, such as sending the wrong man the wrong letter? Come now, Mr. Marks. An English teacher such as yourself should know better.” The man paused as if expecting Isaiah to answer.

            “I’m . . . Sorry Mr. Groves, but I can’t think of any other reason why I would be here.”

            “I see, well then I’ll show you why you are here, why the Bureau of Investigation . . . is here.” With that, Dan Groves returned his glasses to his old face, walked around the desk and made his way across the marbled lobby and over to the wooden framed elevators. Stopping to hit the ‘down’ button, Groves turned and motioned for Isaiah to follow him. Isaiah hesitated, wishing that he had simply ignored the letter requesting a job interview, in the mailbox the morning before.

            Now it was raining outside, and the glass doors that separated Isaiah from the cold fall air, allowed in deep blue light that was cast away by the light of the room. Isaiah sighed, already thinking of the damp jog he would have to make through the rain back to his apartment about twenty blocks away.

            Mr. Groves smiled broadly as Isaiah strode over to him, waiting for the elevator to come.

            “I’m glad you decided to join me.” He said.

            “It’s raining outside.” Isaiah said, formulating the excuse. Groves simply smiled and turned back to face the elevator.

            A tiny ding alerted the two men to the opening doors of the elevator. As they stepped in nobody made a move toward the elevator. In fact, few people even seemed to notice it was there. The doors closed and Groves hit the down button again. Isaiah noticed there were only two buttons on the inside of the stainless steel interior of the elevator, one up and one down. He figured that there must be only two floors.

            Isaiah stood awkwardly in the elevator as it descended towards the bottom floor, glancing occasionally at Groves who stood stock still with the same irritable broad smile on his face. The doors opened and Groves stepped outside, however, Isaiah was slow to venture out of the safety of the steel box into whatever the room beyond was called.

            The room looked more like an extremely long hallway and as Grover put a key into the light switch and immediately, the long rows of florescent lights came on with a muffled boom. They continued to light up until the tall walls of the hallway fused into the vantage point. If a person could get vertigo by looking straight ahead, Isaiah had it. The walls were covered from top to bottom in navy blue file cabinets, all labeled with tiny white notes in the top left-hand corner.

            Groves stood back and looked at the sight.

            “Impressive isn’t it,” he said glancing over at Isaiah, “well, it’s all here.”

            Isaiah looked curiously at Groves and said, “What’s all here?”

            “Everything.” Groves replied casually, “Everything that has ever happened in history, every tiny little aspect of life is recorded here. No skips in the timeline, no detail left unsaid. If a caveman in 4,000 B.C. coughed, it’s recorded somewhere in here.” Groves looked upon the millions of rows of file cabinets adoringly. Isaiah looked at Groves in disbelief.

            “I’m supposed to believe you? There’s no way that’s possible. Paper didn’t exist until a few hundred years ago, nobody would’ve been able to write down any of this stuff, and there’s just no way everything in history could’ve been written down, I mean half of it, people weren’t even around to witness.” Isaiah said to Groves, who continued with his broad smile.

            “Well, first off, it wasn’t written down on paper originally . . . In fact, it was pretty recent that it was converted to paper, and even more recent that it was converted to English. As for witnesses, trust me, there were witnesses . . . there are always witnesses.”

            Isaiah shook his head in denial.

            “Look, no offense, but I like my job better. I don’t have to worry about a giant hallway, or an essay on the entire history of the world. I just teach, then read, then teach, then read. It’s very simple.”

            “Mr. Marks, have you ever wondered why the Bureau of Investigation has never once not found a suspect, or culprit? It’s because of this room. When we are hired for a job, we simply come down here, find the date, time, and details of the event, then we look at where the person has gone and catch him anywhere in the world.” Groves looked rather pleased with himself, beaming as he talked.

            “I’m sorry, this is just a little crazy for me, I mean, what would I even do in a place like this?” Isaiah asked, unable to hide the fact that he was curious.

            “You would find the information for us, so that we can find the bad guys.” Groves said, “Of course you wouldn’t need to stay cooped up in this room. You’d be allowed free passage in and out of this place. We only ask that you to follow a few simple guidelines.”

            “like what?” Isaiah asked him, puzzled.

            “Well, you can come and go at your leisure . . . as long as you don’t remove any materials from this room, you don’t bring anything electronics in, and you never speak to anybody outside this building about anything you read here. Other than that, you can continue your job as a teacher, we simply may require you to spend a few hours in here a month reading up on your history.” Groves smiled a big-toothed smile.

            “You’re sure that I can do that?”

            “Oh yes,” the old man said, “no problem.” Grover ushered Isaiah back into the steel elevator, “Now, there’s only one other rule and its very important.” He said.

            “What’s that?”

            “Well, obviously there are some . . . questionable moments in history. We would kindly ask you not to search for these events, they are labeled classified, and we will know if you have accessed them.” With that, the elevator doors closed, and Isaiah was alone in the small box. The slow groan as the elevator began to move upward was the only sound to keep him company.

            Isaiah didn’t know if he wanted the job, heck, he didn’t know if he believed in this whole mess. However, he was sure that he would be calling the mysterious Bureau of Investigation in the morning.

Author's Note

ignore the grammar mistakes please, Im thinking of making this a book and have a lot of ideas for content . . . but depends on the reviews.

Reviews

[Ross Saunders]

Well, this is definitely just the first chapter of something. You've got a good premise here, but it's definitely only the start, not a stand alone.

[Star Wolf]

I agree with the other reviewers, this should be made much longer! Awesome job on this.

[HorrorMaster]

very good

[WriterSki7]

Okay; Refraning from voiceing the number of red flags popping up in my head, I think this would make an interesting tale. Though, I might add, there's a reason God's the only one who knows everything . . .

If you can make this work then by all means. I'll pop in every once and a while to check on it. After all, somebody has to keep you in check (Sarcastic remark, no actual intrusion on your free will intended).

[r]

sounds like an awesome idea for a book! had me interested the whole way! nice job

[James Watts]

I didn't see a lot of critical issues with this and I think you work it into a longer piece. As for the errors they are minor and will no doubt be cleared away in the final draft.

[WriderParker]

Dude make it! it's awesome and I find myself inthralled with the story and just the idea of the artifacts in it. I love a story that has some form of old world connection.