The Black Book Beckons

Books covered the cornerstone of every hall in this house. That was how my father kept it, books everywhere.

Red, blue, and green, were colors that just itched the tip of the iceberg in our home. Using the basic colors of the color wheel to describe them could be considered a sin, but when your unfamiliar with the shades of the world you use what is readily available to you.

At least that is how my father thinks.

He keeps mounds of books throughout the house yet never has time to touch them. Thousands peppered along the walls like termites infesting wood.

And he has no want for them.

Pristine condition every one of them, and he only holds one.

A pitch-black book that swallows the sun and all other light it comes in contact with.

It's battered and beat from years of abuse, but it has never left my fathers' side like other members of the family tend to do.

It joins him for every meal of the day, and even when he prays.

I first thought this book to be a bible as I was growing up. I wasn't fully mistaken. Just not fully understanding the truth.

He worshipped it.

Needed it.

Was led astray by it.

There was nothing in the house except for books. No furniture because father assured me the books would provide us comfort. No dishes because food that couldn't hold itself was not worthy for us. No jobs because the black book told him we didn't need it.

Such a lavishly expensive house in the mountains. Big enough to fit any guest you could want, but there was no room because of the books.

For years I have tried to pry this decerning black book from my father, but all attempts are met with repercussions. Father may not be a violent man though that book brings it out of him.

That book brings it out of me. . .

If I can get it from him maybe this life could change.

Maybe we could start a new relationship as father and son as we were meant to be. He would throw me a ball, and I would throw it back. Mom would return with my brother and we'd sit at a table eating dinner. Smiles all the way around.

Yes. . .

Tonight must be the day I rip this book away from my father's clutches and restore our family to what it was meant to be.

What it needs to be.

Alone my father sat looking over the valley on which our house looked over. On his lap sat the battered black book. I couldn't peel my eyes from its enticing hold on my father.

If only it were gone.

Father noticed me standing next to him. He rested a hand on the book while motioning for me to join him.

I couldn't let this opportunity pass me by. Joining my father on a bench made of books from around the house, the thought occurred.

We were being a family.

Could I ruin this moment by taking this book? Was it really worth it?

I couldn't decide, and in my indecision, Father opened the black book.

I looked to see the contents of which had always been elusive to me. To find it full of cash.

"This is the last the book has given me." My father said to me with a shaky breath.

"For years I would open this book and find whatever it was I needed at that point in time. It was usually cash, sometimes food, a key to a house, and eventually you."

I stared at my father not sure what he was talking about. The book must have already corrupted his brain to the point of insanity. I could only pity him at this point.

"It was why my wife left. She didn't want to be a mother to a child that wasn't hers. With the money I received over the years, I tried to find another book like this that would save the life I had wasted on trying to play into the ways of the world. But nothing worked. Soon the book started giving less and less. Until today the last page is gone with this sum of cash. I want you to have it. The last page out of my book I want to provide to you. My son."

Father never looked at me while he spoke. His eyes fixated on the beauty of the outside world. He looked through the windows glare seeing the world the way he wanted to.

I have never seen him like this. Nor have I felt like this before.

I reached for the book to take this parasite away from him.

At the first touch, his fingers clamped down on the book. I pulled harder hoping to relieve him of this sickness plaguing his entire being. He struggled at first but soon let go and the book was in my hands.

The cash fell to my feet. It was more than I had ever seen before. But before I could celebrate my new riches, the book began glowing in my hands.

Soon pages filled the gaps of the empty black book's creases.

Ecstatic, I look to my father to now believing that this book was more than meets the eye.

"Father you weren't lyi-" next to me on the bench was a pile of dust.

I looked around for father and he was nowhere to be seen.

Books and dust were the only things with me in the house.

I found myself back at the window. The black book sat with a pile of money on one side and dust on the other.

I picked up the Black book and opened it to see what it said. On the first page in bold black letters, it read.

"Welcome home. King of Tomes"

The end.