Emily closed the book she had been reading to her sister Stacy. She squeezed it tightly for a forever moment before letting it go. It reassured her to think that the pages with no space between them all reinforced each… Continue Reading
I’m one (perhaps the last one) of those genetically mutated humans who thrives on cellulose and ink to the exclusion of all other food. When Papa died in ’90, I bought a huge collection of books at the Ossing estate… Continue Reading
I’m Nobody — not the one in Emily Dickinson’s poem, although we share the same views. Tonight, you will find me in the grim green room. When in this room — and I’m dragged back here all too often —… Continue Reading
I lost my job and my girlfriend on the same day. Trudging back from the office after being dismissed I found the flat empty and the jar we had crammed with savings half as full as it had been. In… Continue Reading
Edgar slid through the door of the bookshop minutes before Lady Randolph would flip the sign from “open” to “closed.” Wintergreen and cigarette scented air huffed out between her loose lips as he walked past the counter. He rubbed his… Continue Reading
Charlotte sank her pitchfork into the fragrant compost and daydreamed of libraries — the old-fashioned sort, lined with yellowed tomes of liver-spotted pages and fragile leather spines that crackled against her palm. As data technician officer for the colony on… Continue Reading
The day came lilac and hazy. Trees whispered sluggish, cotton greetings. A crow, from its high cedar perch, blasted a call to its mate three trees down. I sat on the porch and watched the birds fly over — smudges… Continue Reading
Phil tried out the new swivelly chair for size — took a spin or two just to get the feel of it and put his hands on the desk proprietarily. “Hand me a book, love, will you?” “Any book?” “Any… Continue Reading