"The Book"

A brown leather cover girds a volume of paper. On the surface golden letters glimmer in the dimming light as they mark the cover of the book. Seeming to have been burned into the book itself the letters create their own image as the loose handwriting flows over the cover of the book. The book is filled with the creases of age, the weather worn cover is palled on the corner and the center seems to be splotched with a long forgotten liquid. Lines seem to transverse the pages like some fjords crossing the arctic oceans. The creases roll over the golden letters as the flow along, splitting some in half. The letters themselves seem to be unstopped however, as the curving gold marks out two short words on the cover of the book: “The Bible”.

The tome creeks as it opens, it’s dusty pages flapping in the still room. Squashed handwriting fills the two pages that the book is opened on. The yellow and black pages are earmarked for study and the margins are filled with a scribbling in a more erratic handwriting. A small stain appears in the center of the page, bleaching the letters that run through that circle and causing the ink to flow around as if caught in some great whirlpool. The words themselves seem to cast shadows as shinning candles flicker in the room.

The shadows of pale light filter in through a small window high up. The light shines down on this tome, as two candles glint around it. The words themselves seem to be shadowed as the window’s light seems to loose it’s strength and the candles take up the work. As the shadows dance on the pages surface the tip of a pointed quill pierces the other shadows that lay on the page. As the ink spill out onto the page filling up yet another margin with curved notes, the pen flickers across the page stabbing shadows left an write. Only the paper itself is spared from this relentless barrage of stabs from the vicious quill but it bleeds black ink for the death of the inky shadows that seem to float across the page.

At last the pen steps its lengthy assault and settles once more in a vat of ink. A few breaths of air gently flow of the papers surface causing it to rustle in the otherwise quiet and breezeless cell. With another noise, a long sigh, the tome is closed once more, the weight of the old leather cover collapses onto the rest of the book with a triumphant clap. As the last shard of light falls out of the dying sun, the words on the cover glimmer once more, before being relinquished into a shadowy night.