A Work of Fiction

Chapter Four

Updated and Edited 16/06/12.

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Chapter Four

It had been a long week. A very long week. And a little frustrating, to say the least. The Christmas holidays were coming up in two weeks time and so the teachers were piling up the homework assignments as though there was no tomorrow. Although there was the general holiday buzz in the air around the school grounds, it only seemed to cheer me up to a point.

The holidays for me were usually quiet, as any extended family lived out of town and it seemed everyone was doing their own thing this year. This didn't bother my family in the slightest; it just meant that Christmas at the Corrigan household would be a tight-knit one.

As a result, I made a mental note to stop by the library to take out some books for the upcoming festivities. I could use the free time to take heed of the mysterious book person's note and read more of Austen's work. After all, I had no reason not to.

In my haste to get the books out of the library, I didn't realise that I had entered it during a very busy hour, which resulted in me being harassed by the local idiots, as to how I was going to spend my holidays. I knew that they weren't interested in the slightest, but they obviously needed to have a level playing field or at the very least, actually engage me in a conversation. Neither of this worked for them, however, and I ended up leaving with the books in hand, rather disgruntled and a little flushed.

To add insult to injury, it seemed that Joe Winchester had decided on Jinx café becoming a favourite hangout of his. I would see him there now and again, and Mina, a waitress who was a college student, told me that he had been there most of the week. Thank god that I was only working two days out that week. 

On Friday, I spent my free period under the bleachers, as was usually the case, but this time not reading, but writing. I had already finished Jane Eyre, and in record time too. I really enjoyed the book, and I made a mental note to buy a copy in the future.

What I was writing was a note, which I intended to slip into the book when I would leave it behind. I made my mind up to do this when I was on my way to school this morning. I could write my opinions of the book down, so that that the mysterious book person could know them. It also would seem rude if I didn't respond to the post script, I thought to myself.

It had taken a few tries, writing what I wanted to say, but I eventually got there. I looked over the paper and re-read what I had written for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Dear A WORK OF FICTION, thank you for leaving me these books to read. That was very thoughtful of you. I enjoyed both of them, especially Jane Eyre. I don't know what it was, but the words just spoke to me. When reading it, you start to feel for Jane, as well as for Mr. Rochester. The book itself is amazing, and I can't help but agree with you; it is better than Wuthering heights, but like you said, it's probably a matter of opinion. Sense and Sensibility was also great. I really admired Eleanor for how she coped with her share of misgivings. I intend to take your advice and read more books from Austen. If they are anything like Sense and Sensibility, I know I will like them. As for Melville, I loved it. It was perfect. Thank you also, for not telling anyone about my little hideout. It's nice to get away from everything, once in a while. Happy holidays. Have a good Christmas. - V.”

Once I made sure it was fine, I folded it up and placed it behind the cover of the book. I made sure to leave the book where the others had been. I dusted myself off and made my way over to my last class of the day.

As I was walking there, I couldn't help the smile that seemed to take over my face. It seemed the week would end on a high after all.

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