It was a Saturday morning when I asked some of my fellow-bound book buddies if they wanted to get out and go exploring so we leaped off our ledge and straight into the river of knowledge. Drifting by the Literature section, we were asked, how does the sun feel on your wet faces? Tell us about freedom and what it means to you? The History section was quiet, polishing swords and pistols, its map makers eying us as we floated by. Incensed chanting swirled around us as we passed the Eastern Philosophy volumes, involved with their own contemplations while the Psychology books watched us very closely, rapidly flipping pages as each of us went by.
But that was last week when I was frisky and full of curiosity. This morning, when they badgered me to come I said I needed a shelf shift. One higher up into the back alcove, above the sign marked Unreferenced and Unknown, among the really dusty, misfiled ones; thick, dull and difficult to read. Yeah, if one of you could help me slide into that slot, right there, between those two hard-bounds without covers, the faded yellow and cracked ones. I have about as much desire to live it up today as a desiccated old book at midnight, preferring to sit in any badly lit location of this place, between forgotten and leave me alone.
Comments