Note: This story may or may not reflect the author’s personal view of the subject within. The story appeared fully formed in my head so I wrote it.
“Two hours in this store and that’s what you’re getting?”
“And the problem with that is?”
“It’s crap.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Don’t be base because you’ve got poor taste in reading.”
“This from the person with a book titled ‘Co-ed Killers’ clutched in their hot little hand? You are certainly on the path to enlightenment.”
“At least this doesn’t pretend to be something its not. This wears its trashy colors loud and proud. Unlike that.”
“This isn’t pretending to be anything, it’s just a book.”
The clerk volleyed his gaze between us, patient as the protagonist in the book I held.
“A book that declares itself to all the world to be fact not fiction.”
“You are a rock dweller. Nobody believes this stuff anymore.”
“I’m the rock dweller my delusional friend? People still parade around in ridiculous costumes because of that book, still speak in strange tongues and have gatherings to discuss whatever’s in it. What could you possibly want with it?”
“Have you read it?”
“Part of it. I was dating someone at the time . . . anyway, I didn’t finish it. I couldn’t quite suspend my disbelief enough to get through it.”
“I would simply like to know what all the hype is about. Why are people so fascinated by this particular fantasy?”
I laid the dusty leather book on the counter.
The clerk’s eyebrows attempted to follow his receding hairline. “Wow, The Old Testament, huh? We’ve got a whole section of Tolkien if you’d rather?”