The Book

by J. W. Cassandra

The short story entitled "The Book" is a notable piece from my anthology "Unknown Pathway". The story is mystical and a creation of my imagination: it is framed by figures of ghosts, and in some places, they even carry on the flow of the story. The story takes place on the physical plane at two different times, which is interwoven even with the spiritual plane through the two ghost figures standing next to the barrier. At the same time, the story is also abstract, because it revolves around a book that encompasses the universe. At the same time, it also touches on topics such as science fiction books, robots, zodiac signs, and poems. Nevertheless, the closure makes the short story occult: the Moon itself draws both the writer and the reader onto the path of the mysteries.

I recommend it to those who like abstract, mystical stories! I wish you a pleasant reading time!

Two milky-white figures clad in fog suits stand at the barrier and look down. The haze veil of one flutters, upon which the fog mantle of the other opens up slightly, and then falls back onto the figure.

Fragments of their conversation can be seen as swings of their fog clothes - if anybody is an eyewitness. But in fact, the two spirits - because they are that - have embarked on a lonely journey, no one sees them, and nobody hears them.

-.-

The room where a boy sits is full of books: from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, shelves cover the walls, and the shelves sink under books. He does not sit in his own room, but in the family "crypt", as he jokingly refers to himself as the library room. And as he is gazing at the chunky, colourful volumes, he wonders: how can her sister read so many and many kinds of books? In addition, she not only reads them, but also keeps in mind the writers, poets, their stories, and even quotes from their works, and does not spoil them... Not like him... It is true, he reads what interests him, but he does not dive into the world of books so profoundly.

"Wow, so here you are!" The permed long thick fall of hair with jeans, and a red plaid shirt stormed in, and his sister, inside it. "I have been looking for you! I had a super idea!"

"Where shall we go?" He has slightly numb legs but hides them because he is too proud to earn his sister's approval.

"Let us play with your nunchaku! That is so interesting!

"No, that is dangerous! It can also be life-threatening", the younger brother shakes his head.

"But I played it so well last time, as well! And you cowered against the wall, terrified, pale, I remember! But I reassured you that you do not have to be afraid! And so it was!

"No, I know a lot better than that!", and he points to the shelves in the library room. "Do you see all these books? I have not read as many of them as you do, but here is this science fiction about the world of robots, and it occurred to me that you could write one of this sort, too! Even a better one! I know you have finally read the novel!"

"Yes, I read it, but it is a crazy idea. I cannot write anything like that, only as best as I can. I could not even think of such a thing", she blinks under the pile of hair.

"But you do write poems, short stories, even translate, and you are full of ideas! And there is something that only you know, no one else. I am sure! Write it! That would be really interesting, not all these books. I am sure!"

"Oh, nuts!" She waved.

"It is not! Write that book! That will be the proper book of books!"

"Pooh! The book of books is the Bible! As if you did not know!" His sister waves.

"As for me, you should not write something like that. After all, it already exists. Write what only you know. And in which you yourself are inherent. Write the book that contains the most important. If anyone, then you can write it!"

"Come on, no one can write a book like that!" And he breathes against the slamming door, exhausted yet obstinate: "But yes, you can write that book! If anyone, you can write it…"

-.-

At the barrier, a veil of fog flutters, and then a mantle of fog is softly wrapping around it. Then everything returns to its original state, and the two figures continue to contemplate the events.

-.-

About a week could have passed. Now the girl is sitting in the comfortable armchair of the library room or "crypt", hunched over the table, her pen quickly cutting the paper.

The door opens, and the boy looks in and calls her out - speechless silence is the answer. The scratching of the pen is heard alone.

He reopens hours later. At that moment, she is reading, and he sneaks in, ready to retreat at any moment. He learned this habit at a very young age, as well as the careless movement. And he always profited from it.

But now he is greeted with a radiant smile, green sparks in her sister's eyes, laughing and dancing, the paper waves in her hand, and she reads him the latest poem. It is about some errant god and an obedient Christ. Long. Anyway, he sits it out.

"Well, how do you like it?"

"Hmm. Compared to how long it is, not bad!"

The reward is already flying towards him: a chunky book to hit him on the head. He gracefully bends and laughs:

"The poem really turned out well! I even like it. Imagine what if you, after all, wrote that book! Write it!"

"Wow, nuts! This poem was not easy to write either! It became twenty-four strophes. This is just double the zodiac. How strange: the twelve signs of the earthly zodiac, the twelve signs of the celestial – because surely there must be one, so logical – zodiac. And then think of the Twelve Apostles to them. Although the zodiacs and apostles, the bearers of the good news, are not really compatible... I do not even know... What do you think?"

"That you always have such fantastic metaphors, ideas – amazing ideas! Which even no one else can think of. That is why I think you should write that book. Which is the book of books, which contains everything that you yourself are in. No one else can write that book but you! Write that book! Write the book of books, and I will read it..."

"Of course, then you will not like that either, you will just lie for my sake..."

"No, you write it, and I will go with the book to read it. I sit alone on the riverbank or sit on the top of a mountain and read. Then we will talk about it..."

-.-

The haze veil and the fog mantle shed tears of mist; the two figures do not look at what is happening because they know that this life is also finite, and it has certainly come to an end. One sibling actually said goodbye to the shadow world, the other became a shadow of herself. The two fog-clad figures look farther away.

-.-

Little children and fairy tales; poems, short stories, dramas, poetry collections: escape from reality. Mourning. Tears. Lack. Illness. Absence. Tears. Books: Mnemosyne, namely the Memory's disappearance. Then her return. Novel. Novel initiatives. Story books. Books of tales. Drama collections. Internet. Social media. Pictures, videos, stream.

Birth in the other hemisphere. Search. Father. Mother. Brethren. Search. Absence. Stray shreds of memory. Wanderings. Playing. Adolescence. Love. Friends. Internet. Social media.

And on the big cobweb, shadow and seeker get caught. Encounter. Shares, conversations, questions. Questions. Questions.

-.-

The haze veil turns pale; it is barely visible. The fog mantle is scattered, somehow it does not come together. Then the two figures fling the wheel of time, the veil flutters, and the mantle comes together again.

-.-

Of the novels, the only one that is completed appears in print. It takes eight days to come into existence, but it takes five years for the shadow to dare to believe that anyone can even care. Edition. Deception. Incomprehension. Novel initiatives. Incompleteness. Absence.

The seeker is waiting. Hopes. Encourages. Reads. Reads what the shadow publishes.

Message:

"Do you remember that you once told me, 'Write the book of books?' What if it is the novel that I wrote and published? Or if it is just one of the many that make up the book of books? You told me to write it, and you want to read it. Do you remember?"

Answer:

"I remember. Yes, that was what I said, because if anyone, you can write the book of books. And I said I would go then to the riverbank, sit down, and read it. Or I would sit on a mountaintop with it."

And the two parts have come together: the book of books is being prepared, and the one to whom it is addressed is waiting...

-.-

"So it is until the end of time", whispers the haze veil, and the fog mantel sifts knowledge and inspiration from the barrier to the shadow, so that the book of books may finally come to light. And the haze veil spreads beneficial oblivion over pains: they should not disturb either the creator or the recipient. Because the book of books is complete only when it is written and then read. And then the two of them discuss it.

And in the sky, the Moon shines forth in fullness, sprinkling its silver dust with both hands, so that the moonlight path draws the writer and the reader onto the path of mysteries.

And on the silver moonlight path, the Book of Books is now looming.

Written: 03 / 10. 2023, by J. W. Cassandra
Translated: 04 / 10. 2023, by J. W. Cassandra

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