Chapter one of the Book Shop

An add-on to a good friends work

He didn’t know why he walked into that bookshop. He was no bibliophile, his library consisted of about ten books, five of which were Christmas gifts from well meaning aunts, all unread.
But the sheer weirdness of the place held him spellbound. It was hushed and the air felt like it hadn’t moved in a millennia…and an overwhelming aura of ….peace?
This wasn’t a place one would rush about in. Time was somehow irrelevant. You stepped in and, until you had done what you came to do, the world could carry on without you.
He felt…centred?
There was a till and a checkout, but no-one there. He shrugged and ambled in to the maze of shelves and second hand books. There may have been a system of subjects or authors once, but he suspected the volume of books had sneered at attempts to continue any such organising. The owners/buyers had simply given up and stacked books on any surface that looked as if it could take the weight.
There were ad-hoc staircases leading up to another floor (employed as bookshelves too. One had to be careful not to slip on Wainrights Health and Safety in the Workplace ~vol II or many such volumes stacked for your perusal provided you felt like lying on the stairs to read the titles (presumably habitués of this place would understand and just step over you with a friendly nod.)
Curiosity got the better of him and he decided to start at the top.
Picking one of the lesser congested staircases at random, he strode boldly upwards.
He simply did not believe the evidence of his own eyes! Upstairs was even more weird than the ground level!
No way! Could that floor support that weight of shelving and books. The laws of physics had taken a look in here and obviously decided to go and have a stiff drink instead. For a moment he considered joining them, he didn’t have any real business here. What did he care about second hand book shops?
The misapplied attempt at subject matter in front of him said “Fiction” but whether that was a reference to the stacking or the books was anyone’s guess.
One title caught his eye. “Dragons. The Reality”.
“Get real” he thought. “No wonder you have been left here as bookworm luncheon.”
Then a smile crossed his face as he wondered if the book would be glad to be handled again. Some things are made to be handled, a hammer or a bicycle for instance, until used they are mere objects. Maybe books are the same?
The graphics gave nothing of the books interior away. In fact, if the cover was supposed to sell the book, they should sue the artist…for a lot of money. He could do better with a crayon and the back of a cigarette packet. But he had an hour to kill, so the decision to see what this fool of a writer has to say was an easy one. All that was missing from the plan was somewhere to read it and giggle in peace.
 

Reviews

[Barries Girl]

Its a good start, keep going :-) x