The library heard the news.
It came in a whisper from a student who turned to another and spilled the secret.
“Bradbury passed away.”
The building for a moment seemed to expel a breath.
The doors opened, and dust that built up for a hundred years rushed to escape.
With the particles of a thousand book hounds, pencil notations in margins, and book marks came a rush for the door as copies of Poe, Dickens and Defoe, skidding across the linoleum floor as if the building’s breath intended to push them out into the street.
It almost happened. They had given up and intended to go the way of their biggest fan, and their greatest lover…Bradbury breathed no more and thus they shall follow him where the woodbine twineth.
It was when the books reached the portal of the main entrance that a boy picked up the Three Musketeers. He read the following…
“It is by his courage, please observe, by his courage alone, that a gentleman can make his way nowadays. Whoever hesitates for a second perhaps allows the bait to escape which during that exact second fortune held out to him. You are young. You ought to be brave for two reasons: the first is that you are a Gascon, and the second is that you are my son. Never fear quarrels, but seek adventures.”
The doors slammed and the escape came to a halt. The books sheepishly returned to their places so that they could be admired once more.
Another dreaming boy searches the shelves looking for adventure.
Thank you, Rob. Lovely work.
Yes I agree with Paul, for a moment could see see beloved books weep their silent tears knowing that a beloved reader will never with careful hands take them from the shelves, and begin the dance that books and readers began so long ago. To wait again to begin the dance, between the reader and the book.