one hundred and eighty degrees

in spite of my first and previous story "a way of truth" which had been thoroughly digested by my computer, i had been meaning to get back with something new and though provoking, maybe just even something simply confusing. this is my product, short, but hopefully enough to entice an addition. dfh out.

[part one]

Eyelids are forced open revealing weary eyes, while a warm right cheek presses an outline of drool set loose from the lips. Of what can be seen, books in hard cover litter the solid oak table that stands firmly at the centre of this room. Several of these books are open to certain pages that lack any direction, which only seem to make endless reference to each other, minus one before him which sits halfway open and blank. Looking closer, as far as any order is concerned, a chronological arrangement is shared. The year itself is largely printed on the floor at the rooms center. It goes on and on like this, shelves upon shelves fit for the holding, against walls that seem stretched up towards infinity, that no ladder or staircase could assist an interest in ever reaching. Only time could tell how far those shelves really were stacked, or so it seemed. This unfamiliar description is broken by a feint mumbling that can be heard beyond, where one could be quite sure the confusion is shared just as deep. A moments pause. Unless... A steady push topples one pile of books to the side bearing sightly passage. The crash of stretched leather to board raises an eyebrow in the yonder.

'Well that was unnecessary now wasn't it?'
He cracks a grin with his reply, 'Oh, don't tell me you didn't see that coming? These things are practically screaming for release... say, you wouldn't have a match by chance?'
With the further lowering of a book, her whole face comes into view, 'Don't be serious, without them you would be nothing.'
'How can you be so sure?', he pauses for thought, 'Or could I say the same thing for you?'
'Ridiculous! You don't have time for this nonsense anyway, keep to your notes.' She continues reading on her own.
Straightening posture in his chair he replies, 'Very well then', picking up a quill next to the open book, he begins to write, though as he noted what he thought to be fit, the words appeared re-written somehow, to an extent that made it seem "normal" and within the "boundaries" of the other books. Forehead dropping down in disbelief, he wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Then looking to her, 'What is this, it is not of my own will?'
Lowering her book once more, 'Whatever made you think that it ever was?'
Fingers rolled back through his hair, elbows on knees, after sliding himself out from under the tabletop, 'One thing I never thought you'd say...'
Lowering her book once more, 'What do you mean by "what you thought I'd say"?
Standing up from his chair, while preparing to turn he replies, 'You're right, I don't have anytime for this nonesense.'
Dropping her book in confusion and surprise, she stands, 'What are you doing!? This will not be permitted!'
Facing the door at the rooms entrance, which he didn't think existed, his hand reaches for a handle to turn.

[next: part two]

[edit on 11-9-2004 by deafence#]