***(The Raw and unedited, straight-out-of-my-head-this-very-minute-and-probably-littered-with-writing-errors, version of this story that just popped, (quite literally, I assure you) into my fanciful brain and out my fingertips, will now be shared with you below. Please be gentle. I’m kinda in love with it.)***
The smell of the bookstore would have been enough to keep Leeta’s nosy Step-mother away, (Sissy didn’t like the smell of old paper) but, there was the added deterrent of several million thick layers of dust, and the helpful clutter of endless piles of books stacked absolutely everywhere.
There were books on chairs, books on counters, precariously perched on end-tables and even a complete wall of them laid directly onto the shiny wood floor. The floor was as dustless as the books were dustful. It was an illogical, dusty, smelly place, and Leeta loved it.
Her step-mother however, hated dust, hated dirt, hated clutter, hated books and their very existence really, and thus, provided Leeta with a much needed oasis from her life-imposed spoiled step-mother-like atmosphere.
When she’d first spotted the book, it had looked exactly the same as any other book. In fact, it melded with the other surrounding books like the worlds most clever salamander. There was nothing noticeably interesting. The same time-weathered in-between color of brownish, yellowish, greyish, rustyish shade the all really old books seemed to eventually settle into.
Only, somehow, it didn’t stay that way. That is to say, it didn’t remain unnoticeable. It somehow just suddenly became. That’s the only way Leeta could explain it really. It wasn’t.. and then, it simply was.
The letters on the cover seemed to just abruptly become sharper, more like liquid gold and a bit more flowy. Kinda pulsing with some inner ancient glory or something.
She’d paused in her perusal of an extra thin poetry book that she’d found precariously perched on a lampshade, of all things (don’t worry, the lampshade was absent from any actual lampage) It was just a shaky shade, precariously perched onto an even shakier shade, which was, most peculiarly perched, onto a leaning table with one leg sort-of wandering off mid-sentence-like from the other three..resulting in, a quite alarming tableau of objects all exhibiting a slightly tilted viewpoint of the world.
The poetry book was entitled “A Cheerful Rebellion” and a peek at a random poem had caused Leeta near hysterical laughter with the synchronicity of the poems subject matter.
It is not recommended
to stand on one leg
looking at the world,
with wobbly success,
to stand less like others do.
It is not advised,
to tilt your head,
so the world slides
slightly sideways into space.
It’s likely you will get a look
It is not appreciated
when you lie on the ground
like a worm or hubcap,
Whistle through your teeth
while chewing gum as you walk.
Or make a muddle,
in a muddy old puddle,
by paddling your own canoe.
So, you can understand how strange the feeling was to have something that hadn’t been much of anything really, suddenly pull her attention away from something that was rather-a-lot of something. It was like being pulled by a thread you didn’t even realize was sewn through you and onto something else.
Leeta stared at it in stunned silence for a full 30 seconds before she’d even focused enough to actually read those shiny glowing-but-not-glowing letters, on the cover of the book that wasn’t, but then, suddenly was.
The Ubiquitous Tome