Good Book

Andy sat in his living room, reading the book. His own book of days. Halfway through it, and it depicted his life so…clearly. So well. He turned the page and read

Andy sat in his living room, reading the book. His own book of days. Halfway through it, and it depicted his life so…clearly. So well. He turned the page.

And now he couldn’t stop reading even though nothing was going on. The words formed on the page, and he was caught in them, in the self-printing words that went on page after page, and he tried to think of something different, something completely random and wild to break his mind out of the book, but the white page enveloped his mind, devoured him, drank him…

*

“Looks like the guy starved to death, Detective. He was holding this.”

The Life and Times of Detective Bartholomew Jackson. Man after my own heart.”

Detective Bartholomew Jackson tucked the book under his arm.  He’d just  read a couple pages…