DANGEROUS INK
By Jonathan Hyde
Chapter I
Note: This is the old version of chapter 1. I'll be posting the new chapter 1 soon, which is a lot different, so this chapter is sort of outdated. Thanks to zankoku_na_tenshi, Majestic Fanatist, and Icaruss for the help and inspiration for the new chapter.
I wrapped myself in my blankets and stared out the window. The snow was falling heavily now. My neighbors wouldn’t be happy about it, but, as for me I couldn’t ask for anything more today. The wet snow glistened against the almost angelic moon: the sky clear and black as I‘ve ever seen it. By the moonlight I could only just see the book on
my small bedside table. The owner wouldn’t miss it. In fact, the old man seemed happy
that I had taken it.
I had wrapped it in a spare scarf to keep the snow away from its delicate pages, which were already faded and worn, and I knew more wear would do it no good. In fact, I barely felt safe touching it, fearing it might tear up into thousands of pieces, never to meet my eyes again. I sipped some of my hot coco, and dived into my new world. I found every page to be a new experience, and it was an hour later when I forced myself to put it down and try to sleep.
But calmness wouldn’t come to my mind; and my eyes. I soon found myself taking glimpses at the pages periodically, wishing I could just read forever. I pulled another blanket over my freezing body, shut off the light for the last time, and went to sleep.
I had strange dreams that night, but only later on I actually came to remember them. I might have held onto the mysteries of the night long enough to write it all down, but something else took all my attention away from me.
I had forgotten every detail of the story I had read only several hours ago.
Everything else I remembered: the warmth of the coco on my freezing lips. The shine of the snowflakes, falling by the bucketful from the sky. At first I thought I had some mental issue, like short term memory loss. But nothing made for a good explanation of why I had forgotten so much. So I picked up the story again and delved in, taking all the time in the world, until every wonderful word was burned into my mind, and every picture embedded in my eyes. It was as brilliant as it was before, and my breath was taken away every time I turned the page.
I fell asleep after a long time of unrest. Strange dreams, same as before, plagued my sleep. But, I couldn’t remember anything that I had read in the morning.
* * *
I walked over to the bookstore on 32nd and Main. The town had all come out to shovel their driveways, ableit slowly. I realized that over the last two days, one and a half feet of snow had fallen. I hadn’t noticed at all. What was this book?
Of course, that was the answer for which I was searching for. I was hoping the old man had some answers. It was his book, after all. I waved at my best friend, Alli. She looked at me and twirled her hair. It was long and brown, and her face was splattered with pimples. I hastily said hi back, and we locked glances for several seconds before I turned away, blushing.
The store came up on my left, and I didn’t bother to ring the old fashion doorbell. I stormed in and up the stairs, straight to the old man’s room. I blurted out everything that had happened with the book over the past two days. He sat in his armchair, listening intently. He finally spoke up after I had talked for almost ten minutes straight.
“Listen, son. You can’t blame me for this. You steal my book and expect me to feel sorry for you because you can‘t remember it? You just stole a week of pay from me.”
The old man was agitating me. I knew that everything he said was true. But he was glad to see me steal the book. I knew it. There was an air of secrecy in the room, almost tangible. I wasn’t leaving without answers.
“This doesn’t happen, man! If you didn’t want me to steal the book, why didn’t you pipe up while you had the chance! Can’t answer that, can you! Listen: the best book I‘ve ever read doesn‘t suddenly disappear from my mind overnight! I know you did something, so open your mouth!”
“Son, do you really think I’d do this? I’m old. I don’t take joy from altering the memory of thirteen year olds. You wanna really remember the story?”
“Yes!” I shouted.
“Are you sure!”
“Yes!
“Then write it yourself.”
And with that the old man grabbed a knife from the bottom of his drawer. I backed up against the wall, holding my breath. I felt more scared than I had ever felt in my life. I was going to die over a book. One that I never even remembered reading. I couldn’t even remember if it was really that good or not!
But there was something about it. Something that made me want to give up anything for a simple memory of what this book had said. So as I stood against the wall, while overwhelmed with fear, I felt something about this was right.
The man dug the knife into the book, shouting, “Even the score, here’s new color for yah!” A hole opened in the first few pages, and a glimmer shone from the hole. I covered my eyes.
“Have fun boy!” was all he said, and I felt the cold metal pierce my skin and sever a vein. I couldn’t catch any more breath. My eyes were fixed open while my body spiraled out of control. I saw the book come closer to my face, and through the glimmer I could see something I could swear was real. My eyes were blinded by a sudden flash of light, and the only thing that I knew was left for me was death.
