A Devil
December 13th, 2020
The floor creaked beneath the dusty beige carpet as the old man walked slowly between his tables laden with books. An old leather satchel hanging heavily from his tired shoulders bumping the stacks of books and knocking some onto the floor. He wouldn't be bothered by them. Couldn't be bothered. Gently feeling each table with his wrinkled hand, he made his way across the store. Martin had opened his bookshop to astonishing success when he was only 19 years old becoming the first incredibly wealthy member in his family. His love for reading stretched back as far as he could remember and unlike the rest of his family, he saw no reason to attend school. After all, he could learn anything and everything from his books. His book. As he made his way from one side of the small shop to the other he began to feel out of breath. He reached for the old oak chair that had sat in front of the shop window for 19 years. Groaning from the ache in his back Martin sat down and took a slow breath in through his nose. The smell of dust and parchment mixing with leather and aged wood brought him a brief moment of comfort. Sitting alone in the silence, tears began to stream down his face as he spoke aloud to himself "Oh Anna...what have I done? I wish you were here. I'm so sorry." and he reached down, unclasping the satchel now resting in his lap. Reaching in, his hands felt the cold leather of his journal. It used to bring an exhilarating moment of inspiration. Now he felt only disgust and shame when he picked it up. It took almost all his strength to lift the small black book from its hiding place and place it on the wooden table next to him.
