When we moved to Eastcastle I joined the Wrtiers' Group. We meet twice a month to share what we've written. Sometimes we follow the prompts our "leader" provides, sometimes we just do our own things. Usually people write about family memories, sometimes there is a poem. It's a small group but I do enjoy it. This morning before getting out of bed I was pondering one of the prompts for today's meeting. I hadn't gotten around to putting "pen to paper" but this short-short story really composed itself while I was still in bed. Not sure what the group will think about it....but decided to share it here too!
ECP Writers Group
January 16, 2024
I Open the Last Book on Earth
Linn Woodard
I don’t know how long I’d been walking. I don’t know what day it is but it’s warmish and there is just a gentle breeze. I think it’s been like this for months but now time doesn’t seem to make much difference.
I haven’t seen anyone else along this broken road for days so I am alone with my thoughts. Just heading toward the horizon.
Glancing toward the side I notice a blue sort of square visible in some tall grass. It’s always a good idea to collect surprises along the route, my back pack is full of them. Curious I walk toward it and see it’s tucked just under a small bush. I shrug off my backpack and long coat and sit on the ground reaching toward a new treasure.
As I pick it up it feels familiar but I’m not sure why. It has a sort of thick blue part and then, as I carefully open it, lots of pieces of what I think is paper….with black symbols from top to bottom. Ahhhh….these are pages! Some are stuck together and when I try to pry them apart they fall into small pieces littering the ground so I stop and just look at the pages that easily open. Another memory….something called words. I haven’t seen words since I was very young! Now any time I want to learn something or hear something it comes from my tiny inner self…..if I want any news there are a few approved sources that will echo through my brain. If I want any music there is one approved program that repeats the same wordless selections every day. It’s all sort of boring actually so I don’t access these resources very often. I usually just walk along seeing what I see and thinking what I think.
So here I am sitting on the edge of a road to somewhere and looking at what I now suddenly recall is a book! In my hands I have a book! I turn a few more pages. My mind is full of jumbled ideas and thoughts and now memories. I seem to remember an old woman who said she was my grandmother. I called her that because I stayed with her and I didn’t know any other old people. I think she used to have a book and it seemed just like this one and she would read to me before she put me to bed. It was full of words! She would read to me! She told me stories of going to school when she was little and how she learned to read the words in that book.
Another memory door opens and I remember that she taught me some of the words! Why had they been forgotten? Maybe because there was no need to read anything anymore?
I zipped open my backpack, rummaging around until I located one of the semi-bruised apples I found under a tree miles back and took a bite staring off into the sky. I was remembering! It was the feel of the book in my hands that had triggered all of this….opening doors in my mind.
Bending over I turned the pages I could and came to the end. Some of the symbols were recognizable to me now and I could even begin to hear grandmother’s voice echo in my brain. My finger traced one line after the next as I very, very slowly formed semi-familiar sounds and words:
“Listen to the Mustn’ts”
Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me—
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.
I leaned back and really remembered. This was exactly what she read to me every night before turning out our light! I didn’t understand it then and I’m not sure I understand it now. But I want to keep this book. Standing I put my coat back on and then the backpack straps go over my shoulders. I lean back to the ground and pick up my blue book. I decide to hide it under my sweater, tucked behind my belt. When I re-zip my jacket I can feel the shape of my book and it feels safe there.
I begin to walk again leaving my apple core behind. As I go I still see no one ahead of me, empty all the way to the horizon. But maybe one day soon I will find someone else and if I get the right feeling maybe I’ll share my book with them.
Maybe not.
(Credit to Shel Silverstein)
