Writing Prompt: How were your travels?
One day, at your local public library, you are looking around the very back shelves. There is a particularly boring looking book there, but for some reason it catches your interest and you find yourself removing it from the shelf. However, as soon as you move the book, the bookcase opens in like a door, revealing a deep dark tunnel. Write this scene. Describe your journey down the tunnel and what you see on the way and also what you find once you get to the end of the tunnel.
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The pungent odor of the aged cloth and leather was oddly comforting as I strolled past the children’s section that graced the last aisle of our local library. The quiet corner, with the two overstuffed chairs, was the brain-child of my father, Harold Bailey II, a bookish philanthropist who instilled the love of reading in me at an early age.
Since his untimely death, two weeks earlier, I had found myself drawn to the shelves. Running my hands over the spines of the treasures he purchased was an escape from the slicing pain that had taken up residence just below my ribcage.
The titles represented memorable journeys with my father. He would sit next to my bed reading while I nestled comfortably, clutching my favorite companion, a brown stuffed dog I called, Don. The colorful facades formed the mosaic of my childhood, each title transporting me to a specific time with Dad. As I passed the name, E.B. White, I remember being introduced to Charolette, Dad had the most affable voice for Wilbur. A beautiful black horse, a little girl with Longstockings, and a wooden puppet with an unruly nose were some favorite characters. Oz, Green Gables and the most magical Secret Garden I could imagine inhabited my dreams. All put there by Dad. How could he be gone? The next year held the promise of college and the dream of being a writer, how could I travel that road without him?
As I ran my hands over my all-time favorite book, the reddish-brown, gold embossed curve of the March girls, Louisa May Alcott lead me to an unfamiliar surface. I thought I knew all books that lived on those shelves but there was a new resident. The book seemed out of place. A nondescript gray cover, devoid of title, it was a foreigner in my homeland. I couldn’t imagine what story hid behind the unfamiliar binding, so I pulled it out to inspect the intruder.
A sudden vacuum pulled me off my feet and almost took my breath away as the shelves parted and revealed a cavernous, dark tunnel. I was immediately drawn to the pinpoint of light that exposed an opening. With each step toward the distant chamber, the pain I had carried around since my father’s sudden heart attack melted away and was replaced with an overwhelming sense of peace. I quickened my pace in anticipation of the opening and the relief it offered.
The last few steps before the passage was revealed were taken on air, I had shifted to a transcendent state and was now floating above the scene. A voice I was conscious of, but couldn’t audibly hear, spoke in a soft but firm manner. The question was posed, “What is it all about?” The image below was me, working at a writing desk, and my father was standing over me. After a moment I turned to hug my father.
I awakened hugging my old friend, Don, and heard myself give the answer, “Love.”
Thanks, Susan. I enjoyed your story, and it was 500 words on the nose!
You’ve been awarded 50 points!