The Book of Life

        The books looked empty to him. It was like he was reading the space between the lines rather than the lines themselves. Calvin had searched the library. He went cover to cover. He rarely made it past the first page let alone the first chapter. Each book's cover was more enticing than the last; some were reflective and seemed to come off the page, others changed depending on the way you held them. However he always found their contents to be the same. They were all a bore. It seemed to him that some people had wasted their lives if this is what reading was. He was so desperate he tried to start at the end of the books. It just made him realize it wasn't worth it; it's all the same all the way through.

        His father had given him a book which sat under his bed year after year collecting dust. It was so thick and the cover so dull that he never gave it a chance. When he dragged it out it left a deep depression in the rug. It was a hard cover and there was nothing printed on the cardboard just blank white melding into black towards the back. He coughed as he wiped the dust off the cover and opened it to the first page but before starting he flipped through to see how long it really was but there were no page numbers and it wasn't even typed but printed long arm in neat cursive. The inside of the book was fresh and didn't have any of that musky scent that emanated off the cover. The strangest thing was that more than half of the pages were blank.

        Reading the first page he was pleased to find the story took place in modern day. He didn't know much about the characters. No one had any names it was just him and her or it. It was a story about a boy much like himself the boy even played the same position in soccer as he did: Centre Forward. He didn't know why he couldn't stop reading. Nothing was happening, there were no dragons, no guns or murder it was just about a boy and his life. The boy woke up after hitting snooze twice: decided not to shower, ate the pancakes his father prepared, missed the bus and had to walk to school, sat through class, and scored a hat trick after school. The writing was so simple. There were no drawn out descriptions of emotion and no pointless dialog. It was just like he was reading a grocery list. Calvin finally put down the book and went to bed.

        Calvin woke up after hitting snooze twice and ate pancakes for breakfast which tasted strongly of Deja vu. Skipping his shower hadn't saved him enough time to catch the bus so he had to walk to school. Nothing happened in class. He kept thinking about the book. It almost took on a sense of eeriness even though it wasn't a horror book. After class on the field he forgot all about the book as he played one of his best games but when he scored his third goal just as the game ended it all came back to him.

        Calvin ran home and up the stairs. The book still lie open on his bed side table he picked up right where he left off. After the hat trick the boy ran home and opened a book. Calvin slammed the book shut. His vision got blurry as everything in the book became about him and he turned into the boy. He thought about putting it back under his bed but instead opened it back up. He read through the rest of the week and found the boy becoming more and more obsessed with the book. Suddenly he started counting the pages in terror. On every page was recorded a single day of his life. At page two hundred thirty seven he counted the first blank page. The boy had died, he drove off a cliff. Calvin went back a few pages and found the boy becoming skinny he rarely ate anymore. He just sat in his room all day for weeks on end staring at the book. Eventually the boy burned the book but as the weeks went on and the boy tried to play soccer again and eat his father's breakfast he felt himself drawn first to a pair off keys. The keys jingled in the boys pocket as he walked into the garage.

        The boy started the car. He didn't know how to drive so he went extra slow until he came to the bottom of the mountain. The boy pressed his foot on the gas as hard as he could without looking at where he was going and soon the speedometer read one hundred and fifteen miles an hour but the boy kept driving towards the top of the mountain until he drove through a metal barricade into the air.

        Calvin shut the book violently and threw it under his bed. He vowed never to touch it again. He vowed to be different from that boy. He wouldn't burn the book or drive off a cliff he would just go back to the way things were before he ever touched the thing. He went outside and played soccer with his dad. His dad was a terrible goalie but Calvin made it easy for him. When he came back inside and went up to his room, he didn't open the book, he didn't even think about the book he just went to sleep, a calm dreamless sleep. He woke up the next morning after hitting snooze twice he went downstairs without looking at the book. He skipped his shower. This morning he wasn't hungry.