by T. Mantret

Created on: January 16, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

The Book Eaters

She likes to stand in the middle of the dead end around 10:40 pm. The streetlamps give her locks a fiery glow, and though she shakes out her locks, they still fall into her eyes, glinting in the dark yellow haze.
She is tempted to throw herself down on the ground and lie there. The ground has dirt scattered here and there, and she knows that small bits of rock debris are common, for they are piercing her bare feet. She lifts up her right foot to brush the rock crumbs off, and feels the tiny grooves tattooed into the arch and under her toes. More rocks stick to her foot when she places it back down.

Everything is still, which is peculiar because storm clouds are hanging high in the sky. A wind should be bringing them in, but they are floating above, holding in their rain until the wind pushes them above their designated target. Obviously, the dead end does not need rain.
She turns slightly, enjoying the feel of her cotton skirt brushing against her bare leg. She fingers the long rope of pearls around her neck. Someone once told her that they were beautiful, and reminded them of their grandmother's. They had explained that their grandfather had given his mother's pearls to their grandmother for their first anniversary, even though the first anniversary is the paper anniversary. But paper, the Someone explained, was not very romantic.
She had thanked the someone, but was stung. She had found the pearls in a thrift shop two years ago. They had cost $1.50. She liked to pull the heavy rope into her mouth when she was daydreaming. The pearls were fake.
Paper was romantic. She loved paper, especially when they were in books. School paper had lines that told you where to write. Books had no rules, except that you should not write.
She gave up and fell onto on her back in the middle of the dead end. Her arms and legs were splayed out on either side, and her hair fanned out under her head, making for an odd halo. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. She was always reminded of the Someone who disliked paper when she wore this necklace. She would have cast it away, but the necklace was so very pretty, and it did indeed remind her of centuries past.
The necklace also reminded her of book characters. Young English women preparing for their first season out: A country woman who, though she rides horses and never wears her hoop skirt, keeps a thin rope of pearls tucked away under her straw mattress, saved for when she is feeling feminine; a queen, who displays

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