Creative Writing Shorts

#23 Harris Burdick Inspiration

He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late.

She didn't understand why Mr. Linden was so itchy about her taking the book outside of the library. Why have a library at all, if you can't check-out the books? It was like a glorified book store where you could touch, open, and read, but you couldn't take it with you. If you wanted to finish it and it was almost closing, you would have to come back the next day or your bookmark would be gone. There was no money in it for Mr. Linden. It didn't make any sense. How could he pay property taxes for this glorious building without any money? She asked him once about it. He told her that it wasn't something she needed to worry about. Another thing he warned her of: mind the business you conduct or you'll attract the wrong business to your back. Sound advice, if she were the type to listen.

I

t was late autumn, November was welcoming her winter lover with open arms. She was bundled enough for her back to keep warm, but her arms and hands, legs and feet were still trembling from the biting ice in the air. Looking up at the historically beautiful library with the large enough plaque above the high, heavy oak doors to be read across the street and maybe a block and a half down. She came back to read another chapter of the book that Mr. Linden had advised her against moving from the dark corner.

Entering into the enclosed warmth, blocking out the cold. She didn't see Mr. Linden at the front desk as usual, guarding the single entrance and exit. Trudging her heavy boots across the soft, polished wood floors, she tore off her gloves to help them thaw in the open warmth. She found the usual dark corner. There was dim blue light and bean bags in the back, a small couch and a couple cushioned chairs for those that didn't like to sink into a bean bag to read. The blue light gave her headaches, and she told him as such so she was given a specific time to be there where the light was warmer white. An hour to read as much as she wanted, which wasn't that much time for her in her opinion, but she dealt with it.

She took the book off the shelf, the warm white light better for her head and reading, she sat in a cushioned chair before cracking the book open to her leaf bound bookmark. Getting past the first paragraph from where she left off was difficult. It was too quiet in Mr. Linden's library. Closing the book with an undisguised groan of frustration, she got to her feet to find Mr. Linden. Only for the consolation that she didn't just break into an open library the Mr. Linden forgot to lock up.

She called out in the dim corner for the librarian. The darkness soaking up the sound made her nerves itch. She was ready to step out of the dim corner, the line of the light cast before her feet. She looked back at the shadowed seating and the lamp of white light then her eyes caught the book in her hand. It was cracked open by her finger and suddenly the weight registered within her for the first time. It was a good four-hundred page book and it weighed as much as a textbook. Bringing the book to her chest, she looked back at the drawn fence of light blending in with the darkness like a weaved blanket.

She debated her options, this was her chance to go home with a book she wasn't even close to finishing and coming back everyday to read a chapter and a half everyday was getting tedious. She liked the assurance of always having the book with her to read whenever she could.

She cracked open the book she had taken from Mr. Linden's library in the comfort of her bed, the leaf bound bookmark kept her place, but it was wilder than she remembered...

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