The morning couldn’t come quick enough for Lucy. She raced out of the house with a jacket haphazardly thrown on her shoulders and one shoe untied. That book was a problem on her mind.
The early crowd was in full force, darting in and out of coffee shops, but it all died down by the end of the street. The chatter faded in Lucy’s ear as she unlocked her new project and stepped inside. She dropped her things on the floor and they tumbled away. She really needed to get her dad on that table, but the thought left as quick as it came.
The dust still floated in the air leaving reminders of how Lucy was supposed to be cleaning with every step. She would clean, she just needed to read first.
The mystery book was right where she had left it, teetering off of the top shelf in the back. After a few seconds of admiring the back windows and the woodsy picture they presented, Lucy hopped and tugged on the book. It fell into her arms.
It was too large and fit awkwardly in her arms to open more than just the front cover, so she looked for a place to set it down. The floor was really her only option.
Lucy scrunched her nose as she walked into the middle of the room where the sun lit the floor. It was so dirty, but she set down the book anyway, squatting down in a way that would have her calves aching in to time.
Flipping to the first page, a subtle chill went through her spine at the title page— still weird. The next page was just as bare.
It all started with the shop.
Her eyes grew wide and she snapped the book close, partly from the words and partly from the disappearance of light. She looked to the front door.
A man dressed in a white that contrasted with his dark straggly hair blocked the sunlight from flooding the room.
He took a step closer. “You shouldn’t be reading that.”
I think I like where this is going. Sometimes I do really enjoy not planning out a story ahead of time because then it seems to write itself. It’s a great way of breaking up the serious novel editing, too.