The Boy That Hates Books

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Chapter 24: The Library Of Dreams

In which The Boy That Hates Books realises that his time is running out.

He sat waiting and alone in the library of dreams.

His tattered journal, worn by thousands of words, lay in front of him. The journal that had begun everything. The book that had started Trent and Kirsten’s story in the first place. Without it, neither of them would’ve ended up where they did and where they were going.

The library was it’s usual, peaceful get-away to another world. The world outside the library doors, the world that both Kirsten and Trent alike feared, was an unsettling quiet. Not silence though, it would take a lot for this little corner of the world to be completely quiet. But the noise that was heard; the rumble of car engines and the mumble of voices hushed between the winds gusts, was only just audible over the sound of people’s heartbeats thumping in their chests with nauseating anticipation.

They were afraid. They were waiting for the fugitive to make his long-awaited appearance.

Little did they know he wasn’t planning on showing his face just yet...

Tonight, I’m planning to do it tonight.

Get in that truck and drive far away from here. Yes, we will have to come back. I respect what she has to do, what she wants. I know better than anyone that things have to come to an end. For better or for worse.

My name hasn't been on the news for a while, I know because I’ve made the effort to travel to the same shop every single day, one that not many people even know exists. It's a TV store, and they always have the same satellite TV playing this one news channel in the window.

Not long ago I was a feature on the news every time I visited, but last night my name wasn’t mentioned. The attention seemed to have diverted to the falling population of the town. Well, for the news it had but not for the people. The people’s attention was still on me.

I continued to have my spotlight and I knew that my time was running out. You can’t live a lie for the rest of your life, and I was beginning to accept that Kirsten will soon become a stranger.

She will become scarred from our memories, scarred in the most beautiful, fractured and twisted way there is.

Fucked up. That’s what this is.

This will mess her up. And I hate myself for it.

When she finds out what I’ve done, even if it’s not true and even if I try to explain myself, she will run. She will run away because no matter how hard you try to stay rooted there is always something that will make you hit the ground.

But for now I am waiting for those startling green eyes to meet mine. I don’t think I can grip this pen any tighter. I’m nervous and I don’t know why. Keeping up the bad boy facade is harder than I thought it would be.

I’m sitting in this library of dreams, thinking to myself,

If my life was a book, would it be any different? Or is fantasy not even enough to chase away reality.

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