The Book

-Chapter 2-

"Thanks for lunch, Elliot." Alith says gratefully, wiping his mustard stained mouth with a napkin. He let out a burp and claimed that it was "His thanks to the chef."

"You shouldn't be thanking me. I took you to McDonalds." I laughed awkwardly, glancing at the grease covered tables that seemed to have about an inch of grease on them.

Alith shrugged and stood up to throw our garbage away for us.

When he left to do so, I opened up 'the book' in my lap. I flipped to the first page. Nothing.

Second page... Nothing.

Third page.... Nothing.

I wrinkled my eyebrows and quickly skimmed the whole book...

But there was nothing.

Alith looked over my shoulder, "What type of book IS this?"

I could feel something tingling inside my chest as I stroked the smooth paper... It was as if it were trying to

talk to me. A cold shiver ran down my spine, but I shook all of those feelings off and turned to face Alith.

"It has no words but," I stopped myself and closed the book shut.

"You're really weird when it comes to books, you know that?" He raised an eyebrow, looking down at me, his hat almost falling off his head. I nodded.

He pat me on the head, "Gotta go, Elliot. My uncle wants me home to do chores." Alith groaned.

"Oh, see you later and good luck with your chores." I responded sarcastically as I waved.

                                                                        * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I unlocked the door of my small 3 room apartment. As the door opened, the smell of smoke grimly greeted me.

I placed the book on a nearby table and pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket. There was no way I'd be able to smoke anywhere else beside my apartment. People would judge me too

much. It's not like it was my decision to start anyways. I just woke up one morning with a cigarette in my mouth and a fire on the verge of starting. But hey, I'm 18 so I'm legally allowed to.

Without pausing, I struck the match and lit the cigarette. I folded my mouth around it and sat down on the rough carpeted floor while looking through all the outlines I had laying on the floor. In my mind it was all garbage. How would I know? I never let anyone touch my writing - let alone read it. Not even Alith.

"All I need is one idea. One good idea. Then I'm set." I said through gritted teeth, crumpling up an outline into a ball and throwing it across the room.

It landed by the bookcase. I sighed as I removed my cigarette from my mouth, let out a puff of smoke the side of my hand, and then stuck it back in my mouth.

I gently picked up the book I had received earlier and placed it in my bookshelf. It was next to the book titled, "The Giver." Which made me hesitate for a second, since that book was the first one that had made me cry and later decide to become an author.

"Thanks a lot, Lois Lowry." I mumbled, rolling my eyes.

I sat myself down at my small kitchen table with a piece of o paper in front of me. "Think Eliot." I rubbed my temples.

My eyes started to grow heavy. I tried writing a few basic outline setups like: Plot, setting, and characters. But after that my head fell down to the table. I saw black.

                                                                       * * * * * * * * * * * * *