|The magic inside a novel| (Open)

[Aniseed]

Athanasios' Character Sheet.

“A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.” - Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams.

It is 6pm on a Friday night and unlike most other students packing up to go out for the evening, I was just walking into the library. In my opinion, this is the best time to come to the building, everyone else wanted to go out and get drunk and I always seemed to end up with the place all to myself. It's like my own secret fort, I can escape the demands of the world so long as I stay inside these four walls. This place is my home in a way that no where other than the scortching sands has ever been.

I like the peace of the quiet stone and the warmth of the wood, I feel at home among the shelves. The books contained in their wooden beds are my friends and every time I come here I can not help but run my fingers along their spines, just a gentle caresses of an admirer. It doesn't matter how many hours I have spent reading their pages, or how many times I have read the same story told in slightly different ways – to me it was like the first time. It brings a smile to my lips no matter the voice that whisperes the stories in my ear, but even I must admit that there is always that one book that stands head and shoulders above the rest, and for me it is 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. It is like the tried and true cure for all my troubles, tonight I had decided to seek it out once more.

“Let the past hold on to itself and let the present move forward into the future.” - Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams.

At home my own copy sits perched in pride of place on my bookshelf – but the one that is held within the confines of the library is special. It sits nestled among two other books, and it calls out to me with the voice of a lover. Eventually I can take it no more, and slowly I reach out and take it from its place. I hold it to my nose and breathe in the scent of the hundred year old paper. If there was any drug I could get addicted to then it was this, the scent of fading ink and decaying paper – it causes a stirring in my heart that no romantic attraction could ever hope to achieve. I belonged to these pages, just as they belong to me.

With great care I carry the masterpiece to a table. It was the same table I always sat at, removed from the rest of the building and with only the light of a small brass lamp to illuminate it – it was the best table in the whole place and it was all mine. The mahogany wood looked particularly inviting today, shining in such a way as to give the illusion that it was beckoning me and I of course could never deny the call of solitude.

“We also live in strange places: each in a universe of our own. The people with whom we populate our universes are the shadows of whole other universes intersecting with our own.” - Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams.

Surrounded by what others would consider almost claustrophobic darkness I settle into the bleaching red upholstery of a creaking armchair. I flick on the brass lamp, not that it did much it was only bright enough to light up the fraying green velvet inlay of the table – I place the leather bound book so that it could catch every ray of the dim light – and then I was ready to join Edmond Dantès on a grand adventure.

Not even the apocalypse could pull my eyes from the yellowing pages. Now that I was wrapped in the cosy darkness I will remain here for hours on end.

[Aniseed]

“I am not proud, but I am happy; and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.” - The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas.

Books have this way of transporting a person through time and space - I first noticed this when I was ten years old. I never had many friends, leaving country every other year made it hard to connect to others – but it stopped mattering once I picked up my first novel. After years of being alone, while wrapped between the pages of works from long dead authors, I finally felt comfortable.

Eleven years later and still I belong to the words of centuries past. This is my sanctuary, my salvation from the terrors of the world. It is only while I hold the cracking leather that I feel secure, it is like walking the deserts and finding an oasis.

“Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.”- The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas.

I can lose myself for hours between the pages, in fact that is what I was doing then. I was losing myself between the lines of an author I would never meet. In that moment I was standing by Alexandre’s side and watching as he penned a masterpiece – it was a beautiful sight. With every word that I knew from heart, I was drawn further and further into the black hole of time.

I could hear the waters splashing against the side of the ship, the sea gulls sounded so close. I wasn’t in the library anymore – it was wood at my back and not soft fabric. Gun powder, smoke…death. It was all there around me and I revelled in it.

I was free.

“When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.” - The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas.

If I could live here forever I would. I was so far up there was no coming down safe – but as always I had to return to the world. I remember clearly, it was a sound down the hall that had brought my mind back from its adventure.

Crash

On a Friday night I knew there shouldn’t be any sound, everyone was always off getting drunk. So there I sat, Monte Cristo clutched to my chest and heart beating wildly – I didn’t know what to do, it isn’t like I am as powerful as he is…I should have run.

Crash

I really should have turned tail and gotten out of there as quick as I could – I was such an idiot. Instead of being smart, instead of thinking about my actions I put down the book and I walked into the dark hall.

What was I expecting? Well, at the time I would have told you that I expected it to be him coming to get me – of course that was just a hope.

In the light of day I can see where I went wrong – it is almost ironic that if I had been normal I would never have become something…strange, if I had only I had been like all the others then maybe I would have remained human.