Bloom

Fern

Benjamin had been the happy child for all of his life, despite not living for very long at all. The others, while often cheerful, would be sorted into different categories. 

Louisa was the third Bloom child after her older twins, and found her calling in books. She often missed breakfast and occasionally supper through being lost in the sea of words that surrounded her. The constant knowledge that she consumed quickly made her the smartest Bloom the family had seen in several years.

At six she won the town's spelling bee, after reading most of the dictionary. This,however, she found a very boring task and so she decided to spend the rest of her life reading interesting books. Fantasy. Adventure. Comedy. Whatever she was interested in, she would read. If the book failed to interest her she would put it down, marking the page she stopped at with whatever was within her grasp.

By ten this amounted to a ridiculous pile at least five foot high and four foot wide, which she kept hidden away in her third of the tree house. Every book was stopped within the first ten pages by a spoon or hair clip or letter home from school; each item as forgotten and unwanted as the books themselves. 

The family made sure to bring back any book that may perhaps interest Lou in her quest for knowledge. Marie found old novels in charity shops and brought them home; the twins  collected the tattered playground books that had no purpose, and Ennis made sure to recover the books of the dead that were not collected by friends or family. Louisa devoured them all, taking in as much knowledge and perspective as she could.

In 1986 the family was more adept at picking out interesting books for the girl, and the pile of the unfinished grew a lot slower. They had also discovered that she loved to read memoirs and novels and diaries. Louisa found this odd herself, as real life was often very bleak and bland, and it's boring-ness was the main reason that she loved to read. However, she knew that she liked the real first-hand and was going to find out why, and so she began scouting out the old journals.

Marie was kind enough to dig a few out of the attic, to show Louisa what it was like when she was a girl, while Ennis started bringing home the writings of the dead. (So as not to cause any panic, Ennis worked in clearing the possessions of the dead that weren't left in a will, and handing them over as evidence or to shops. This was a job, not some weird hobby.) At this time the girl was 12, and though she was ravenous for a new insight, it was not something that she should have seen. The words of the dead and the thoughts of the dying crept their way into her head. She was the highest-functioning and most intelligent girl of the family and yet she struggled to comprehend the meaning of life and why and who and where.

This led to the collection of science books: books on plants and the sea and the weather. Books on the history of mankind. Books on downfall and death and destruction. In the first week of summer Ennis had to travel up North to sort out a family issue for a while, and Marie point blank refused to let any children of theirs near the tragedy. She went herself for moral support, but left the kids in the capable hands of their aunt. The last night of their stay was a stormy night indeed, and Lou was desperate to discover lightning once again, with her new-found scientific brain. 

Climbing out of her window and up to the tree-house in a storm was perhaps the most exciting thing in her life. It was the closest she felt to a heroin in any of the stories she'd read, and she decided that she loved it and wanted to be naughty more often. The discovery of science and meaning led to her needing more discovery and more meaning, while the insights on death and the universe from those who passed made her less afraid to be adventurous. They were all going to die at some point. She had even, in her own slim notebook she called a diary, explained to her family why they should not be afraid of death, and why it was coming for them ever so slowly.

Standing inside the large oak tree in nothing but a nightie and a blanket was exhilarating. She was cold and wet and tired but she was so important now, so close to the lightning. The lightning thought so too. As she giggled and shivered, she saw it for a split second. It danced her way to wave and say hello, and it wrapped itself around the tree and tree house. The lightning saw she was cold and wished to warm her, setting alight all the books that she had put aside. There, in her bubble of desires and wishes, the girl was eaten up by all the books she did not finish.

Louisa Bloom was devoured by all the knowledge she could not handle.