“I challenge you to write a story about a lonely book and an old librarian (preferably hairy)” from Nick Wood.
Your wish is my command Nick.
Spine tingling, pages bristling the book positively quivered on its shelf. If someone had ever bothered to open it, they would have found it still smelt of fresh ink. The book next to it had been read dozens of times; its pages were dog eared and the library card in the front pocket was overflowing with names. Library cards weren’t even used anymore; it was as if it was just preserved for bragging purposes.
But this was the moment the unread book had been waiting for. It had seen the old librarian staring at it before, but she’d never dared to pick it up. It was after hours now and she was the only librarian left. She looked at the book, her wispy moustache rippling slightly under the flow of the air conditioning vent. The book willed her hand toward it.
Finally, flesh met paper. Both parties had been waiting for this day. One Endless Night with the Rebel Accountant was read cover to cover that eve.
freyawrightbrough 