Before I get to the prompt, I would like to say that my next post here shall be a short story -- Beck will get her wish granted, because it will explore the bitter relationship between Eddie and Christine Berkshire. Fun times will be had by all. Hopefully I'll have that up tomorrow, but I make no promises because I have work.
Anyway! Here is my response to this week's Writers Bloc prompt. I responded to prompt #4, which was to write about a used bookstore. Enjoy!
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"Empty Spaces"
I do not know why I have not gone online yet.
Maybe it is because I would miss the people -- the few who still come here. Sometimes I can practically see the tumbleweeds roll by when I am dusting shelves in the morning.
Then again, maybe I would not miss them. The only regular visitors I get are the high school jokers who browse in the back for porn that is not there. (Why would I sell that stuff? I keep it all for myself. Just kidding.)
"Is this the day one of you will finally buy something?" I ask when I hear the pleasant ping of the front door opening.
No response. Typical. I am left with customers who will not even do me the courtesy of small talk. My only company is the sounds of greasy fingers rifling through pages older than time. Those stains do not come out easy, unfortunately.
After a few minutes, they grow bored with their antics and march up to my desk. They form a triangle and huddle in front of me; very intimidating. A real triforce.
"We know it's here," one of them says. I do not even know any of their names. Come to think of it, I am not sure I want to know.
"You know what is here?" I ask.
"You know what we mean," another one says. "The stuff in the adult section."
"I have an adult section over there," I say, pointing to the "Classics" shelf. "How about you look through there?"
"We already did!" the same one snaps. "The closest we got to what we want was in the back of this stupid book!" He throws a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five onto my desk. Cute.
"I do not know what to tell you, then," I say.
"We know you have better stuff than that," the remaining kid says.
"If it is there," I say, "then why have you not found it yet?"
"You probably have it hidden somewhere," he says. "In a secret passage or something."
"You have been reading too many stories," I say, idly turning a page in Cat's Cradle. "Or not enough. I forget which it is with you guys."
They look at each other, processing the meaning of my mysterious sentence. Then they sneer at me and leave. If there is one thing I will never tire of, it is a teenage sneer. They have so much to sneer about.
The day crawls by, and the sun slowly falls out of the sky. It is dark. Tiny echoes float through the store. All the books are still here. Too bad. That new book smell died long ago. Somehow, the old, musty smell is not as fun as it used to be.
I close the door and lock up. As I leave, I notice someone has tampered with the sign I have next to the entrance -- instead of "Book Store," it now reads "Boob Stare." Very clever. I definitely have never seen that one before.
I am sure I would not have to deal with this online. One day. One day ...
