“What book did you want again??” The man at the counter looked up over the monitor at her, even as her own fingers drummed against the scarred wooden surface without quite realizing what she was doing. She cast a look over her shoulder, back towards the bookstore’s door.
Every time it opened, gusts of cold air carrying smells of salt and city dulled the lovelier scents of ancient paper and leather bindings as people came and went without a care. She heard the computer whir as the man pecked at the keyboard again even as she bit her lip.
“To Bind, please. Everything pointed me here. Please tell me you have it.” The rough wood beneath her fingers, the clicking of the computer, her own words, all of it faded away. She tried to hold on, but it all slipped away like sand through her fingers. She was too late.
This was a piece of short fiction written for the Lost Boys Press November writing prompt of Bind. There were so many lovely entries, and I love the creative outpouring that this stirred up.
🦃NOVEMBER WRITING PROMPT🦃
Post a poem or short fiction below (3 Tweet Max)!
The Prompt: BIND
We'll select 5 to showcase in our upcoming Second Star to the Write newsletter!
Deadline to submit: Friday 11/19/21!
Gobble! Gobble! 😆#WritingCommunity pic.twitter.com/TKEsZiXy2h
— Lost Boys Press (@LostBoysPress) November 11, 2021
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