12.
I tried to stand up in the darkness, but the floor fell away. As I tried to get my bearings, a voice boomed out of the void, ending my gyrations.
"Paul Crawford," it said, "You are an ass." I continued to float, now dejectedly. "No mortal man was meant to read the glorious script of the Book of Truth," it berated me. "Your impudence has won you eternal damnation."
"But-- but Grod said.."
"Grod?!"
The darkness began to shift through grays, then light grays, and finally settled on a pure, comfortable white that was not so much a bright ambience as it was a perfectly lit and painted room extending forever.
"Yeah," I said, looking around. I wanted to turn and face the voice, but as far as I could tell the voice was everywhere.
"How do you know Grod?" The voice didn't boom, this time. It just asked curiously.
"I'm writing his book."
"Oh, so he finally found a guy." This time the voice was soft and I heard it right behind me. Abruptly a rocky landscape overhung by a black, starless sky sprung out of the whiteness. I turned around quickly and found a book lying on the sandy red ground near my feet. I reached for it, but as my fingers neared its cover, a huge force pushed me away, and I felt a sharp pain like a static shock.
"Ow! What the hell's going on?" I had begun to panic at the strange and shifting surroundings. How had I come to this place? The book didn't answer for a moment, and my ears were drawn to another noise; somewhere far behind me, I heard a faint roaring noise approaching through the air. It seemed to be growing louder second by second.
I turned around and put my hand over my eyes to block out the scorching sun, bigger and redder than I remembered it. A blazing trail of dust was being kicked up on the horizon and it was headed straight for me. The rumbling grew louder until I could feel it. The thing was closing fast but I still couldn't make out anything in the could of dust.
And the rumbling grew, and grew some more until the ground started shaking causing me to flail my arms to remain upright. I looked back up at it. Christ, it must only be only 400 yards now... 300... 100... !
I had closed my eyes as the earth around me errupted into a thick, opaque cloud. It didn't take long for it to settle though, but when I opened my eyes nothing was there.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and the voice said from behind, "How are you doing?" I turned to see the voice's owner standing in front of me with the book. He was shorter than me, a figure wrapped in an old, ragged cloak with a texture like that of the book's cover. There was a dusty scarf or shawl wrapped completely around his head, leaving only a few tufts of long grayish hair poking out around the top, and on top of the scarf an extremely ancient leather cab-driver style hat was sitting.
I opened my mouth to reply, but the man's appearance, combined with the smell coming from him - a terrible, sulfury smell like garbage mixed with chemicals, left me grasping for words and eventually I gave up trying.
"I'm The Book," he said as he held up the smaller book. I wondered for a moment if he meant that he was The Book of Truth. Or maybe it was that I was inside The Book of Truth and he was its soul. Or maybe he was just a different book holding up The Book of Truth. I even thought I might be inside the book he was holding, or maybe I was inside him. It made my brain hurt.
"You're scrawnier than I had expected," he said.
I still didn't know what to say.
He inspected me from head to toe and noted to himself, "I guess you don't need muscles to write. Ah, I know. What's your favorite word?"
I thought long and hard, starting with where I was now and what was happening and then the events that had led to me being here. My thoughts drifted further back to the loss of my grandfather, then Nicole, and then the unpaid bills, and eventually my mind settled on the shitty feeling that always came when I thought about my life. "Fuck," I said matter-of-factly.
The Book laughed and said, "Looks like he found someone, indeed. Look, I was going to burn the flesh and bones off of your soul before sending you to Hell, but since you know Grod I guess I'll just show you some truth."
"All right," I said cautiously, not entirely sure what to expect.
"This way," he said and started walking. "I understand you recently lost someone very close to you."
Oh yeah, I'd seen this before. It was a cold reading and obviously he wanted me to fill in the truths. "Nope."
"Oh come now," said The Book who smiled at me, somewhat pleased. "Wouldn't you like to see your Grandpa Chuck?"
I tried to surpress the surprise that came over me. Then it struck me. Of course, I thought, I had probably passed out from too much smoking. For a moment I considered trying to wake up, but then I thought what the hell. "All right, Mr. Book, let's see him."
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"Paul Crawford," it said, "You are an ass." I continued to float, now dejectedly. "No mortal man was meant to read the glorious script of the Book of Truth," it berated me. "Your impudence has won you eternal damnation."
"But-- but Grod said.."
"Grod?!"
The darkness began to shift through grays, then light grays, and finally settled on a pure, comfortable white that was not so much a bright ambience as it was a perfectly lit and painted room extending forever.
"Yeah," I said, looking around. I wanted to turn and face the voice, but as far as I could tell the voice was everywhere.
"How do you know Grod?" The voice didn't boom, this time. It just asked curiously.
"I'm writing his book."
"Oh, so he finally found a guy." This time the voice was soft and I heard it right behind me. Abruptly a rocky landscape overhung by a black, starless sky sprung out of the whiteness. I turned around quickly and found a book lying on the sandy red ground near my feet. I reached for it, but as my fingers neared its cover, a huge force pushed me away, and I felt a sharp pain like a static shock.
"Ow! What the hell's going on?" I had begun to panic at the strange and shifting surroundings. How had I come to this place? The book didn't answer for a moment, and my ears were drawn to another noise; somewhere far behind me, I heard a faint roaring noise approaching through the air. It seemed to be growing louder second by second.
I turned around and put my hand over my eyes to block out the scorching sun, bigger and redder than I remembered it. A blazing trail of dust was being kicked up on the horizon and it was headed straight for me. The rumbling grew louder until I could feel it. The thing was closing fast but I still couldn't make out anything in the could of dust.
And the rumbling grew, and grew some more until the ground started shaking causing me to flail my arms to remain upright. I looked back up at it. Christ, it must only be only 400 yards now... 300... 100... !
I had closed my eyes as the earth around me errupted into a thick, opaque cloud. It didn't take long for it to settle though, but when I opened my eyes nothing was there.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and the voice said from behind, "How are you doing?" I turned to see the voice's owner standing in front of me with the book. He was shorter than me, a figure wrapped in an old, ragged cloak with a texture like that of the book's cover. There was a dusty scarf or shawl wrapped completely around his head, leaving only a few tufts of long grayish hair poking out around the top, and on top of the scarf an extremely ancient leather cab-driver style hat was sitting.
I opened my mouth to reply, but the man's appearance, combined with the smell coming from him - a terrible, sulfury smell like garbage mixed with chemicals, left me grasping for words and eventually I gave up trying.
"I'm The Book," he said as he held up the smaller book. I wondered for a moment if he meant that he was The Book of Truth. Or maybe it was that I was inside The Book of Truth and he was its soul. Or maybe he was just a different book holding up The Book of Truth. I even thought I might be inside the book he was holding, or maybe I was inside him. It made my brain hurt.
"You're scrawnier than I had expected," he said.
I still didn't know what to say.
He inspected me from head to toe and noted to himself, "I guess you don't need muscles to write. Ah, I know. What's your favorite word?"
I thought long and hard, starting with where I was now and what was happening and then the events that had led to me being here. My thoughts drifted further back to the loss of my grandfather, then Nicole, and then the unpaid bills, and eventually my mind settled on the shitty feeling that always came when I thought about my life. "Fuck," I said matter-of-factly.
The Book laughed and said, "Looks like he found someone, indeed. Look, I was going to burn the flesh and bones off of your soul before sending you to Hell, but since you know Grod I guess I'll just show you some truth."
"All right," I said cautiously, not entirely sure what to expect.
"This way," he said and started walking. "I understand you recently lost someone very close to you."
Oh yeah, I'd seen this before. It was a cold reading and obviously he wanted me to fill in the truths. "Nope."
"Oh come now," said The Book who smiled at me, somewhat pleased. "Wouldn't you like to see your Grandpa Chuck?"
I tried to surpress the surprise that came over me. Then it struck me. Of course, I thought, I had probably passed out from too much smoking. For a moment I considered trying to wake up, but then I thought what the hell. "All right, Mr. Book, let's see him."
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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