In a place where the biting cold can freeze a mosquito in mid-flight, in the heart of the building where footsteps rarely leave their tracks, in a room where all you can hear is the rustling of paper against soft fingers...there lies our heroine. Surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books - hard and soft bound, paperbacks and first editions. Looking around the room we see her bookshelves, bent in the middle from the weight of knowledge and fantasy. She rests inside this crowded room, alone and seemingly forgotten by the world. There we see her sitting comfortably in a reading chair, foot resting on a stool, engrossed in yet another book with the only light coming from the lamp near her armrest.
As she turns the page, she hears a familiar sound outside the door. Our heroine smiles, welcoming the interruption. Lazily she puts down the book and moves towards the door. "Coming Dexter," she sighs. Three years in this place and her feline companion still insists on scratching the door to let her in. She wonders why her pet doesn't mewl like ordinary cats. Then she repeats to herself that Dexter is no ordinary cat and it is she who is slave rather than master. And as she turns the knob, expecting to see those emerald green eyes looking up at her, she gasps at the surprise greeting her on the doormat. Dexter, standing outside the door, orange fur covered in blood. And a man lying next to him, bloodied as well, unconscious but breathing.
And she thinks, "What a mess!"
(to be continued...)
I was finally able to finish the "Shadows" book. I'm now reading Ray Bradbury. Actually, I have tons and tons of books at home that hungers for my attention. But lately I have noticed that I've been reading the same subject again and again. It's always horror, sci-fi or fantasy. I need a new dish. I need variety.
Any book that you can recommend?