It's Still Life

Beyond an Intersection Named After an English King and a Saint
Six Sentence Story: Day 8

… And It Is Wrtten

Nick and I enter Oxford’s Duke Humfrey’s Library, the Old Bodleian, and at once the air changes—cooler, tinged with the scent of bibliosmia and the faintest hint of dust that has settled since medieval scholars walked here, back when books were rare and chained to shelves like sacred treasures.

Nick pauses, breathes it in, and for a moment, time bends as he says, “Standing here, it could be 1437, or 1644, or 2025—this library endures, the books endure, this cathedral to the mind where truth outlives empires,” and as we step across the flagstone floor, we become part of its story.

I vanish into the ranks of shelves to study Vajrayana magic and oracle bones from the Zhangzhung Dynasty, while Nick slips into the shadows where old knowledge stirs; he settles in with one of the library’s ancient manuscripts, Aristotle’s Politics, MS Humfrey 97,

… and then he notices a book under the table—the leather cover cracked with age, a string binding it closed, no title in sight; Nick’s pulse jumps—he loves books, loves their earthy scent steeped in history, loves their solid weight and the mystery they hold—and he picks up the book, unties the string, and opens it.

The first words are familiar, mundane—a description of an ancient library, of the way the light catches the dust in the air; it feels almost like poetry—he turns the page, and then he sees it … “A man named Nick sits in Duke Humfrey’s Library, reading this very sentence” … his breath catches as he watches the next words etch themselves onto the paper … “He will glance up in confusion and run his fingers along the words on this page; his pulse will quicken as he realises what he is reading.” … and he does, and it does, as he realises it is not just predicting his actions—it is pulling him into its chaos.

There’s an atmosphere of dread as Nick turns another page, afraid of what he might see—what daemon prods this unplumbed space—and then the words shift again … “He will wonder if he should close the book; he will not close the book.” … his hands tremble as he flips to the next page, heart pounding … “A shadow will fall across the page as someone steps behind him; the world around him falls still, and the air thickens.” … and then—there it is—a presence, a weight, a shift in the space that closes ranks around him; a shadow moves across the page of the book.

Nick’s fingers tighten on the book—the next sentence is waiting … but he looks away and closes it, “I’m the only one who’ll write my fucking future,” he says, shoving it back into the shadows under the table …  I place my hand on his shoulder, “Ah, here you are, Nick,” I smile, “Those oracle bones have given me an appetite—let’s find us some dinner,” but Nick doesn’t answer right away, his pulse still racing as, beneath the table, the book lies open.

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3-minute read: 595 words. Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “rank”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.