I was never much of a bibliophile, but I’d heard this new store, Bookworm, had a selection for every type of reader. I couldn't remember who had recommended it, only that it sounded enticing. Sheer curiosity, paired with a love of graphic novels and Sci-Fi/Fantasy films lead me directly to my serendipitous find. I am not sure if it was the setting or if this peculiar black book had an actual glow. Two beams of light wedged around it and illuminated the empty space as I removed it from the shelf.
It appeared to have no author or title, just a very mysterious allure. I had to peek inside. As I opened the petite obsidian book my surroundings immediately had a surreal essence. The font seemed handwritten and slightly familiar. Many of the words were smudged and illegible; but the writings I could make out soaked into my mind almost as if through osmosis. With each page turn I felt a joy filling inside myself like a thermometer when the temperature rises.
Was I sweating or did my feet suddenly feel squishy? It was awkward enough to detract my attention to the ground. A pool of water had begun to fill the shop. I peered over to the shop keep, unconcerned by the current rising tide. I felt compelled to dive back into the inscrutable novel. As I read more the water ascended towards my knees. Another glance out of the large store windows revealed an ocean of water filling the horizon. In the distance I can faintly make out shark fins racing inward.
I wade over to the register eager to save my enigmatic text. The lanky vendor, oblivious to the flooding, raises a boney finger and motions for me to hush as he whispers, ‘keep reading.’
I heed his advice. The flood has almost risen to my chest and I am holding the book above my head to keep it from getting soggy. The water outside the shop reaches past the ceiling. The shop keep tells me it is on the house and points to the door. With one hand on the door I hesitate, I look back at the shop keep, now donning orange floaties and matching snorkel gear, he hands me a Ziploc bag for the book and mutters “It’s the only way out!” A cascade of water slams my body backward, promptly followed by thousands of ivory dagger-like teeth meticulously organized into rows like stalagmites in a dark cave.
When the sandman’s grasp was released, it was as if a pipe had burst in my apartment, pouring down an aqueous storm upon my unconscious body. Ignoring my damp clammy conditions, I tried my best to recollect my lucid visions. What could it mean? I’m a firm believer in dream analysis, so I quickly jot down a few points before the memory evades me.
Flooding, shark teeth, block book. The details ran away quicker than Usain Bolt’s 100-meter dash time. At least I had those 3 words to reflect on and research. My usual dream analysis webpage was down so I had to use a site I’d never been to. I t was sketchy, but I trusted my antivirus software.
“Dreams about flooding often symbolize repressed action or a desire to have a new”...ENTER TO WIN! A pop-up ad cut off my attention. I’d always wanted to write but had trouble focusing long enough to finish my stories. This time one-click and I was back on track.
“The ancients tell us that seeing shark teeth in dreams is almost always symbolic of something good. It could mean encouragement from the deep recesses of your mind to lean into your psychic abilities. A conduit to channel....” ENTER TO WIN! LARGE PRIZES FOR SHORT ENTRIES!”. Another damn pop-up interrupted my fragile train of thought. Nothing another click of a small red box couldn’t dissolve away in an instant.
A few frustrated sighs later followed by a deep breath and my concentration was locked in. “Black books in dreams symbolize an event is about to come. Books symbolize knowledge, intellect, information, and wisdom. You are moving toward your goals at a slow and steady pace. Explanation: black book dream meaning on this site is likely a reflection of your life. You will manifest your deepest desires as long as you stay....” ENTER NOW TO WIN! LARGE PRIZE FOR SHORT ENTRIES!”.
I quickly became overly upset at something as silly as a pop-up ad. This time it wouldn’t go away, comedically taunting me embodying a dialogue box in its truest form.
“C’MON MAN! DON’T YOU WANT TO...” Click.
” WIN? ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS...” Click.
” WRITE ABOUT A DREAM YOU HAD” ...Click.
It finally went away, but wait, what? I actually was interested but now the ad was gone. I did some empty searches hoping it would pop up one last time. After a few minutes I gave up and just as the arrow hovered over the little “X”, there it was again.
“DID YOU MISS ME? CLIC HERE FOR LARGE PRIZES FOR SHORT ENTRIES!”
When I finally began writing it was as if I was channeling a spirit. I felt possessed by grammar and vocabulary that I wasn’t aware I was familiar with. The smudged words from the dream all seemed so clear. Metaphors and similes 3flowed freely through my fingertips to the keyboard. Upon completion, I felt as if I'd chosen the correct goblet in the final part of my quest for the holy grail.
In today’s world of instant gratification, there’s nothing worse than waiting. The next two weeks felt like two months. Daily alarm snoozes followed by news feed and endless scrolling through social media. Workout, meditate, shower, work, dinner, tv, sleep. These were the repetitious litanies that filled my anxious moments on standby.
Until that fateful morning my inbox increased by a single digit. I almost didn’t want to open it. Music seemed to crescendo as I read the results. A funky rhythm dropped with the bass bumping as I jumped out of my seat. WOOOW! I FEEL GOOD! James Brown’s immortalized lyrics escaped from my lips involuntarily. I didn’t need to win twenty thousand dollars to realize what a talented writer I was, but it sure did help.
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