It Lives…

The book helped me do it. It showed me how to follow the clues, how to navigate the twisting passages, how to unlock the safe. Everything I had ever needed to know was in that book.

I kept it under my arm as I hurried across the landing, towards the vault. I laid it on the floor as I turned the dial, moonlight reflecting on the blank, white pages. I held my breath and waited.

The door flew open and letters spilled out in a flood of indigo ink. Words soaked into the pages. Stories became clear.

The book lived.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Out of Reach.”

She would do anything to go back and change that night. She took everything from him, his family, his safety, the life he knew, all in exchange for a moment’s ‘freedom’, a ‘freedom’ no better than his imprisonment. At least in chains, he had been safe. Tucked away in that hidden corner, nobody had been able to hurt him. Until she came along.

As soon as escape beckoned to her, she had taken it. She had left him to face the dangers. Left him behind. He was out there alone. No one could help him. He was out of reach.