Writing pratice

“Some like to believe it’s the book that chooses the person.”

Carlos Ruiz Zafón

Copyright ©Far Away in the Sunshine 2010 – 2020

I grab the book before anyone can see me. I hold it tight and try to avoid being found. The house is loud, too loud. Anger fills up the air, the hot kind, the one that hurts. I know the chains of events. Someone will call my name and …

Looking both ways before I step out the the bedroom, I reach the end of the hallway without anyone seeing me. Stepping on my tippy toes, I do my best to get a hold of the cord I need to pull the attic stairs down. Only a few inches away from my extended hand, still out of reach. I must hurry, the angry voices seem closer.

I trip forward but I somehow manage to grab hold of the cord and steady myself back up thanks to the weight of the stairs slowly coming down. That was close. The house is now silent, not a good sign. Time to climb, one step at a time without a sound. I’m holding my breath and my throat tickles. Not a good time to cough. You’ve gotta hold it in.

The last step and I’m in the attic. The familiar smell welcomes me in, I am safe. I check that I still have my book in hand.

Inspired by Discover Prompts: Book

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