The story is the result of an activity at my workplace. Since the lock down can be a downer, the HR at my workplace is trying to help us keep up our spirits and I think they are doing a good job.
So this week the challenge was to write a poem or a story based on a picture.
So I chose to write a story based on this picture.
Looking forward to your thoughts. Hope you enjoy the story.
Book Bhoot
His day began with a glide amongst his
beloved books. Every day it was a different aisle. If Monday was mythology, Tuesday
would be Theology, Wednesday, maybe, World affairs, Thursday were Taxonomies,
Fridays were dedicated to Fiction, Saturdays and Sundays were usually spent in
the company of Sociology and Spanish and sometimes Scandinavian. Yes, he never
missed a date with his friends, he worked weekends too. It filled him with euphoria.
He loved what he was doing and performed
his job diligently. He was friendly, everybody loved him and did not mind him
floating around. One thing that he hated was when a book was left lying on the floor
or on the table instead of its rightful place on the shelf. Pencil or pen markings
on the pages drove him crazy, doggie eared pages irked him to no end and the
most blasphemous of things to do to a book was to rip the pages. Books missing with
pages, according to him, were like children who need special care. He took
great pleasure in penalising people that damaged book. Tommy had an accident in
the ‘Murder Mysteries’ aisle one Friday afternoon. It was attributed to that
Friday being the 13th of November. He was a smooth operator.
He missed Jan, a smart kid, who had surprised
him by borrowing a great variety of books. He enjoyed listening to Jan and the assistant
librarian discuss those books. He loved listening in. He wanted to join.
The last time he had tried joining a
conversation, he remembered it clearly, like it was yesterday. Jan and the
assistant librarian stood talking in the far corner of the ‘ancient
civilisations’ aisles, hidden from the Professor, who stood on the step stool
perched precariously, leaning dangerously against a shelf. He could not help watching
the Jan, something bothered him. He began walking and suddenly broke into a run
towards the boy. He managed to push the boy to safety. The old creaky bookshelf
had tipped over as the Professor turned this way and that, not knowing what he
was doing.
It was over in minutes. He
went with a bang, surrounded by his beloved books in his favourite aisle, the paranormal
section of the ancient civilisations.
The Library was really his home now,
and he could hover above the shelves, glide
through the aisles, slip between the books anytime he wanted and spend hours listening
to Jan, now, the assistant librarian and his successor, the Head Librarian.
