I lazily ran my fingers across the ancient leather backs of the books on the shelf as I walked past them. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a complete bookworm and I love the written word. But I’ve read most of these books before. Macbeth, Hamlet, The Odyssey, and so many more. I needed something new. Something I could really sink my teeth into. Something that would completely engulf me emotionally, mentally, and physically. I wanted something to become obsessed with again.
“Are you absolutely positive you haven’t gotten anything new yet, Dan?” I called down the aisles.
“Pretty sure,” the old librarian replied, feebly hobbling over to where I stood.
“All right,” I sighed. “I’m just going to take another look around. Maybe I missed something.”
“If you want to, Tia.” He said as he hobbled away again amongst the books.
I made my way back to the first aisle and started to look at every single book I passed. There had to be something here that caught my eye. There always was, after all. It was easier to get into the books here. I mean, really get into them. I'm talking being sucked into the pages of the book. I literally watched Oedipus resist against the songs of the Sirens and find his way back to Ithaca last week. And the week before that, I listened to the prophecy the witches made for Macbeth. So why, why, why couldn’t I find a good book this week?
I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander until it came in contact with something. Eyes still closed, I followed the call of the book until I was standing right in front of it. My eyes snapped open, only to find a dog-eared volume with no title, author or any other inscription on the faded black leather cover. I eyed it suspiciously. Father had told me not to tamper with suspicious books. Or I’d be sucked in immediately.
I closed my eyes again, searching for a new book, but all I could hear was the haunting melody of the tattered book I had just left.
Maybe you’re supposed to find this book, my subconscious told me.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the book. It stood there on the shelf, taunting me, tempting me to open it’s torn cover and look at whatever treasure lay hidden within. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I snapped up the book and immediately felt a connection. As if it somehow attached itself to my hand. Alarmed, I tried to let go, but I couldn’t. Instead, it opened and I saw that imminent white light as I was sucked into the torn, yellow pages.