Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 10

  

In an imagined reading haven

Everyone has a fantastical place that they want to sit and read in. This is mine...

When you open the door, you are immediately engulfed in books. The long wall of the room is a bookshelf, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and it is full to bursting with books of all kinds, many of which you have not read yet, but bought with the thought that some day, you will get around to reading them.

The room is dim, not dark, but the window doesn't let in too much light. The sound of rain pattering against it is all you can hear, and you watch for a moment as the raindrops race each other down the window pane, pooling at the bottom before they drip to the ground outside.

You flick on the fairy lights and the room is bathed in their soft glow from where they are strung, around the room and above your head, across the ceiling.

The room is cool, but that gives you the perfect opportunity to go to the fireplace, on the wall opposite the bookcases, and kneel down to light a small fire, adding kindling when the sparks turn to flames. The sound of the soft crackling and popping joins the pitter patter of rain, and the warmth immediately jumps to fill the room.

You walk to the bookcase and pluck a book off the shelf, skimming the back cover before putting it back and picking up another. By the time you finally decide on one, the room is pleasantly warm and cosy.

Not too cosy, of course, to sit down in your oversized armchair, sinking into the pillows. You pull a blanket across your lap, and reach for the small table at the side of the armchair, the perfect distance away for placing a cup on. You pick up a cup of steaming hot chocolate, marshmallows melting on top, and take a sip before setting it back down and opening the book to the first page.

The sun starts to set outside, and the light dims even more, the light from the small bulbs around the room aiding you in seeing the words on the page and the fire casting flickering shadows around the room as it starts to die down. You have long since finished your hot chocolate, but the room is too warm and comfortable for you to even think about leaving it. Besides, you have an excuse to stay – you can't leave the fire alone.

You get up, stretching out your limbs, numb from being sat in the same place for so long, and close the curtains, barely muffling the sound of the rain, joined now by the whistling of the wind through the leaves of the trees outside.

You make your way back to your chair and curl up again, picking your book back up and pulling the blanket tighter around you, sighing in contentment as you begin reading the next chapter.

The fire has gone out, but the fairy lights still shine down on you as you rub at your bleary eyes and push the hair out of your face. Somehow, as you slept, you managed to wrap the blanket around yourself like a cocoon, and as you try to escape the blanket's embrace, you hear the soft thud of your book falling to the carpet. You lean over and pick it up, placing it on the table next to your empty cup.

You won't make it a habit, but curling back up and going to sleep wouldn't do any harm. You get up briefly to turn off the fairy lights, and curl back up in your blanket haven.

Doing something every evening isn't a habit, right?

And that's number 10!

Where's the trumpets and the fanfares?!

Pretend you can hear them.

I figured the last instalment in this series should be my imagined library in my imagined house in the country. In case you were wondering, the bookcases and the table are both wooden, and the books are all stacked haphazardly on the bookcase, some upright and some sideways. I haven't quite imagined the colour of the walls or the carpet yet.

Does everyone have a place that they have created in their mind, that would be just perfect for reading, or is it just me?!

Okay, that's all I have for now.

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 9

 

 

In the library

Sometimes, there is no other place to go. The books you have at home have become boring, and you don't want to read any of them, even if some of them are your favourite books. So, you drag yourself out of the house, and make your way down to the library. The only downside? You have to change out of pyjamas.

The library isn't a place many people visit anymore. Why borrow books when you can just download them onto an ereader, or illegally obtain them online? When you walk in, an older woman looks up at you and smiles, before turning back to the books she is sorting.

You find the section you want and scan the shelves. Despite the fact that you don't want to read books you know, books you own, you find yourself looking for them. You look for the books you've read before, the authors you recognise, the covers you're familiar with. Despite coming to find new books, to broaden your horizons and to read something new, you pick up a copy of a book you have read before. You have a copy on your shelf at home. But here, the book seems so much more inviting.

At home, you sit in bed to read, or on the sofa, curled up with a blanket, maybe some pillows, a hot drink. Here, you find yourself sinking into an oversized beanbag, a faded red colour that you don't trust to be clean. By the looks of the chocolate on a nearby child's hands, the mess could easily have already spread. 

The beanbag is uncomfortable, and no matter how much you squirm, you can't get comfy, but you don't want to go home. Why bother going through the effort of checking a book out and having to remember when to bring it back? Why deal with a deadline to read it by and panic about finding the time to read it before returning it when you could simply read it here?

A little child falls over, and you pretend not to be watching as they screw up their face and burst into tears. They didn't seem to be hurt at all, but simply wanting the fuss of their mother, picking them up and shushing them, kissing it better. In the end, you're not sure who's being louder, the child who has since stopped crying, or the mother who is still shushing and kissing, offering and opening sweets. The mother's phone rings and the child wanders off again as she answers it, a lollipop in their hand, ready to stick sweets to more things.

You spend more time peering over the top of the book than actually reading it. You've read it before anyway, several times. There was no point in coming, you never found a new book to read, you simply spent the whole time people watching. Watching the mother and child, the old lady sorting books, the family that just walked through the door, two older children running for the beanbags...

You get out of the way in time, and place the book back on the shelf. The library is small, and the loud chatter of the children immediately fills the building, making it impossible to read. You can return home and pick the book off your own shelf, pick up where you left off, but you know you won't. There's something different about reading in a library that makes every book seem somewhat more special.

Part nine, we're almost at ten now!

I ran out of ideas for this series very quickly, so I don't think I'll go past ten. It'll be nice to start a new series, even though I haven't figured out what that might be yet...

That's all I have for now, but don't leave! Check out some of my other posts!

Okay...

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 8

 

Sat in the car waiting for someone

No one particularly likes waiting around in a car, especially if it's going to be a long time. If you and your roommate are parked at the supermarket, but you don't want to go in, or if you're with someone who needs to drop something off at a friend's house before you go somewhere else, but you know they're going to end up talking for ages – you have the perfect solution.

Reading in the car is not an exciting prospect. Reading is a way to pass the time, and everyone knows that time passes quicker when you're reading. You pull your book out of the bag at your feet as your friend says the classic line – 'I won't be long'.

You nod, sure, and open the book, leaning back in your chair. Maybe, after five minutes, you tilt the chair back a little, so you're more comfortable. After ten minutes, you tilt it back a little more and put your feet up on the dash, crossing your legs.

You turn a page, and see a new chapter. A new chapter is when you come up for breath, where you have a look out the window to see if anything has changed. Someone catches your eye and you awkwardly give them a little wave, before sinking lower in your seat. No sign of your friend, you might as well start the next chapter.

Another chapter ends, and you look around again, checking the time. Won't be long, they said. It's been forty minutes already. You look around, and look back down at your book. They could be back at any moment now. You flick through the pages, to see how long the next chapter is. It's not too long, it's shorter than most of the previous ones.

You take the risk, and keep reading. You've barely turned one page when the car door opens and your friend apologises for being so long.

This is where things change a little. There are two endings, depending on whether you started at the supermarket, or outside someone's house.

If you were at the supermarket, you have a little more time to finish the chapter as your friend puts the bags of shopping in the car. You speed-read as they push the shopping trolley back – you are not leaving until you've finished the chapter. Depending on the chapter, maybe you finish it, maybe you have a few more lines to read when your friend turns the car on, but you finish it, and can close the book in satisfaction, sliding it back into your bag.

If you started outside someone's house, well... things run a little differently. Your friend gets into the car, apologising for how long they were, but you still have a couple of pages. They start talking to you (how rude) as they plug in their seatbelt. You hold up a finger for them to wait and they fall silent, waiting for you to drop the finger. They ask if they can start driving and you shake your head. You don't let them turn the car on until the book is closed, the chapter finished.

Either way, you inevitably forget to put your seat back up properly, and spend the rest of the journey feeling that something is wrong, but not quite sure what it is.

And done!

I'm not sure how many more of these there are going to be, but I would quite like to get it to at least 10, because I like nice, round numbers. That means we have two more, at least.

I wouldn't recommend putting your feet up on the dashboard unless it is your car, you do not have shoes on, and/or you have permission from the owner, but let's admit it, we've all done it once or twice.

Okay, that's it.

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 7

 

In the summer

The heat of the summer is different from warmth. When a heatwave hits, the air becomes stifling inside, and you can't bear it. The only issue is that sitting in the shade is too cold. Therefore, the only possible compromise is to pull out a chair and sit in the sunshine, your shoes kicked off and your feet resting against the ground.

You try to get comfy on the garden chair, but to no avail – there is no comfy way to sit on one and still be able to read. The book your have open in your hands seems to soak up the sunshine until you can't see the words, so you have to lean forwards, moving inch by inch until you have managed to find a position that you can sit in, while using your head to cast a shadow onto your book.

It takes less than ten minutes before you have to get up and grab a drink, which means that although you now have an ice cold beverage, with ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass as you walk back out to your chair, you have to try and find the correct sitting position again. Worse – you will have to do so every time you lean down to pick up your drink from the floor to take a sip.

The sun beats down onto your head, and when you reach up, your hair is hot to the touch. Sun bleached hair is a sacrifice you must make if you want to read outside.

You don't notice your skin slowly changing from the pasty white colour of someone who spends all day inside, reading, to a darker tone. It depends whether you were prepared enough to put suncream on as to what colour your skin turns. It may settle into a golden colour, the kind that many spend money to achieve. However, the likelihood of that happening is very slim. It is more possible that your skin will redden so slowly that you do not notice it, until later that evening, when you have gone inside. You may be changing into pyjamas, or having a shower, when you see the redness of your arms and legs, and a quick look in the mirror says that your face is the same.

Is reading worth the sunburn, the distraction of flies and the uncomfortable chairs?

Yes, and you will do the same tomorrow.

Hello!

I am sorry for the lack of Saturday posts for the last six weeks or so. The world was against me, and my laptop broke and I still haven't fixed it. I have been using a PC that is not mine, and I cannot move it from it's position in the house, so I can't sit in privacy to write. To write this, I put on headphones and turned the volume up to drown out noise, but it's not the most effective thing ever. On top of that, I've had no inspiration, which doesn't help.

My plan is to try and get these posts going again, but I am still struggling with inspiration – this one is obviously inspired by the weather in England recently. I would not turn away any help coming up with some ideas of things to write about!

That's all I have to say for now, I'll get going and try to come up with some more post ideas!

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 6

 

On Holiday

You are there to have a lovely time. It's a break from the trials of day to day life.

But, it's still a holiday, and they can sometimes be even more stressful than the stress you're meant to be escaping.

First, there's the issue of remembering where the suitcases are. Then realising you don't have enough room in said suitcases to take your whole bookcase.

There was the debate, do you take a book you've read before, and know you like, or do you take one you haven't read before and gamble it? You'll have something new to read, a story you don't know, but if you don't enjoy it, you're stuck with it. Like a person at school, who you helped when they dropped their bag, who now follows you everywhere because they think they're your friend.

You chose to take the book you've read before. It's not risky, only if you get bored of it. You already know the story, after all.

You're staying at a caravan park, in a caravan you don't know, that isn't yours, and that you'd never even seen before today. It's cramped, your family is closer physically than they are at home, but that doesn't mean they are closer in the sense of liking each others company. Your parents want everyone to get along, and your siblings would prefer to all leave the caravan, walk in separate directions and spend their days alone, returning only for food and sleep.

You have the perfect workaround. That pesky little paperback hiding in your bag.

The sun is out, and you step out of the caravan, looking around. There isn't anywhere to sit, and leaning against the caravan isn't an option – it doesn't look very clean.

You walk around the caravan, noting with pure joy that there is an outside balcony to the caravan. Running back inside, you pull back the curtains to reveal what had previously been hidden to you, and open the door.

It might not be the biggest area, and you might not know how many people have sat in that chair before you, but the sun is shining directly onto you and your skin is practically green with the amount of suncream slathered on it.

You sit in the white, plastic chair and kick your trainers off. No need to get a tan line. You rest your legs on the edge of the balcony, wanting to cross your legs at the ankles, but also wanting a tan, to look like you'd been on holiday, even when you're secretly looking forward to going home again.

You open your book, sighing, and start to read.

I'm not sure what's going on, whether it's just my screen or not, but all the writing I seem to do is so much smaller than it usually does.

Nevermind.

I have done this – I wrote a post about it. I took The Fault in Our Stars. You can read the post here:

Story Time – The Fault In Our Stars by John Green – my relationship with the story

I would finish reading it and then turn back to the first page to start it again.

Anyway, that's if from me for now.

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 5

 

In A Restaurant

Your family hates you.

You accepted this fact a long time ago.

However, it's comment knowledge that it always takes a ridiculously long time between ordering and actually receiving your food. So much time, in fact, that it would be quicker to just cook something at home. But you can't be bothered to wash up, which is why people go to restaurants.

There was an argument before you left the house. It started with a 'hurry up' called up the stairs, to which you replied 'I'm nearly at the bottom of the page'. This was a lie, of course, because you finished the page, and then the next one, and then the next one. You would've finished another if your sibling had not been sent up the stairs to fetch you.

The argument continued when you came downstairs, shoes and coat on, and your book still in your hand. You had been told 'leave that book here' and you had flatly refused. That was when the argument started.

So now, sitting in the restaurant, your coat on the back of your chair, the murmur of each table having their own conversation. You had all ordered (fish and chips, side of curry sauce and onion rings) and now started the wait. Your drinks arrived and everyone at the table immediately picked theirs up and sipped it, for that's all there was to do as you waited for your food. Converse, sip, sit in silence. It seemed almost rude to pick up your phone, so no one did.

You, however, triumphantly pulled out your book and opened it. You were well aware of your parents glaring at you, but you don't care. You won that argument, they gave up. You possess the willpower that they lack. And while they sit in silence, sipping their drinks and eventually having a short conversation, before sipping their drinks again and falling silent, you are in a different world, thoroughly entertained. You believe you are a genius and why does no one else bring books to restaurants?

You put the book down when your food arrives and your family all look up at you. Did they think you would read throughout the meal? There's an idea...

Hello!

I would like to begin by saying, no, I have not done this before. But sitting at a restaurant with nothing to do but sip your drink, until you have to order another drink and you don't even have your food yet? It's boring. I'm sure it's crossed all our minds once or twice. If only I had a book...

It is, indeed, a cure-all. Sick? Read a book. Have a day off? Read a book. Don't have a day off but you're taking one anyway? Read a book. Sitting in a restaurant with nothing to do as you wait impatiently for your food to arrive, even though something with the order will inevitably be wrong? READ A BOOK!

Don't listen to my advice. Society will shun you.

Unless that's what your goal is. Then, by all means, take a book to a restaurant. Shush people and tell them you're trying to read. Believe me, society will not like you for very long.

Anyway...

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 4

 

When Avoiding People

It's fairly obvious that books are, in general, better than people. They are, therefore, the best way to avoid people. However, this opportunity doesn't always arise and you're forced to socialise with people you honestly don't care about – at least, you care about several fictional characters more.

Your aunt and uncle are round, sitting in the living room with your parents. You're meant to be in there as well, you haven't seen them for ages (your aunt and uncle that is. You saw your parents half an hour ago when they told you that you would have to socialise.) 

You can hear laughter travelling up the stairs, but you don't know what the joke was because you are smart. You made the excuse that you needed to use the bathroom and have been in there, the door locked, perched on the side of the bathtub, a book open in your hands as you multitask, both reading and balancing at the same time. You are a genius.

That is until there is a knock on the door, asking if you're okay because you've been in there for half an hour. You reply, saying that, yes, you're fine and you'll be out in a minute. Of course, that means you have to leave and smuggle the book out, otherwise your plan will have been foiled and you will be forced to go and sit down with your family.

With the book clasped behind your back, you leave the safety of the bathroom and ask if anyone wants a drink. Yes, they do, of course they do. They're adults, all they do is drink tea and coffee.

You escape into the kitchen. Your parents can't force you to sit down now, your aunt and uncle want a drink and it would be rude to deny them one. With the drinks being made, you can lean against the kitchen counters and read. The kettle finishes boiling and the coffee is done. Just a few more minutes though, they won't know.

Except they got curious when it took you fifteen minutes to make drinks and came to investigate. Your book has been confiscated and you are sat in the sitting room, half listening to your aunt drone on about her cat while you wish you were upstairs, in your room, with your book, and that your family didn't like talking so very much...

Hello!

I think everyone has tried this at least once – I mean, sometimes visitors can be fun and entertaining, and sometimes it's nice to see people, but really? Most of us would rather be alone with a book and a cupcake, am I right?

Speaking of cupcakes, now I want one. I have only myself to blame.

I hope you also now want a cupcake, so you can share this pain of not having access to any.

And if you do have access to cupcakes... I hate you.

Not really, but I'm sure you understand what I mean.

Anyway...

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 3

 

Camping

You didn't want to go. You would much rather have spent your weekend curled up in bed with a book, a cup of tea and snacks galore. Unfortunately, family obligations are a thing and, to be fair, you had promised to go. If only you had been paying attention and had know what you had been promising.

It's getting dark. You're in your tent, lying on the hard ground, wearing so many layers of clothes you might've thought it was winter, not the middle of summer. Why was it so cold at night? It was never this cold at home. Your sleeping bag is doing the most to warm you up, but you can't sleep.

Enter your trusty companion – the book your family told you that you shouldn't bother packing. Apparently, you wouldn't have time to read. You might lose it. As if. Did they really think you didn't know where your book was at all times?

Your torch doesn't work properly, you have to keep shaking it because it keeps turning off and violence is the only thing that turns it back on. You jumped when you heard footsteps and turned the torch off, pretending to be asleep. This intruder outside your tent might be there to kill you.

Never mind, the person climbed into the tent next to yours. But now your torch is flatly refusing to turn back on. It's too dark to read without it and your phone died earlier, so you can't use that as a light source either. You have no choice but to put the book down and try to sleep.

It's so early, it probably can't even be considered morning yet. Why did the sun seem to rise so much earlier when you were camping? Considering how late you went to bed and how early it seemed, minus the tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep, you can't have got more than a couple of hours sleep. But honestly, how could you tell? Your phone was dead and no one these days wears watches.

No one else is up yet, so there is one obvious thing you can do.

Avoiding touching the sides of your tent, due to the vast amount of condensation (did it rain, why is it so damp?) you try to locate your book. On a second thought, you open your tent first and pull your sleeping bag tighter around you. Might as well read with the sunrise as a backdrop, right? The grass around the outside of your tent is damp, your tent is damp. Anything inside your tent that was touching the sides of your tent is also wet. Your book – well that was safely tucked inside the sleeping bag with you. Your book is gloriously dry and waiting for you to read it.

And read it you do. Seemingly for hours before everyone else starts to wake up. Seriously, how did they sleep so well?

Hi!

This is drawn from experience. Usually, though, I fall asleep fairly easily when camping. My torch is just as broken as the one in this (it's a nightmare to take that torch camping. Getting up in the night and needing to use the toilet, walking across what is basically a field at night, trying not to trip over (or into) tents and then your torch goes out? Awful experience.)

And then waking up ridiculously early, when everyone else sleeps so ridiculously well? I once sat up for two and a half hours reading before anyone else woke up.

Anyway...

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 2

 

Before Bed

You were meant to be in bed half an hour ago. The taste of mint is in your mouth as you think about how you will definitely wash your hair tomorrow, even though you've been telling yourself the same thing for the past three nights. Blankets tucked over you, your bedroom lights off, but a string of fairy lights casting a low glow across the room.

You were meant to be in bed thirty-five minutes ago, but there's still time. You don't have to be up that early tomorrow. What's ten minutes less sleep? You pick up your book, leaning back against your pillows, and open it, your bookmark sliding down onto your lap when you open the right page. Just one chapter, then you'll sleep. But ten minutes and one chapter later, you've surely got time for one more? 

You were meant to be in bed forty-five minutes ago, but it's at an exciting bit! That's enough of an excuse not to sleep yet. Just one more chapter.

You were meant to be in bed an hour and a half ago. It's pitch black outside, you heard an owl hooting just now. You look down at your phone to check the time and are surprised about how much time has passed. You are seriously considering changing the time on your alarm, because you need more sleep than you're allowing yourself. Yawning, you place the bookmark in the book, close it and put it down, switching the lights off and pulling the blankets up to your chin. You can finish it tomorrow evening.

You were meant to be in bed an hour and thirty-five minutes ago. You can't possibly leave it there. The lights are back on and the book is in your hands again. You'll read quickly, just until this bit is over. It'll be two, three chapters at most.

You were meant to go to bed four hours ago. The book is done, you finished the whole thing. But how can you sleep? That ending... no, you must stay awake for another half an hour and consider how the author could have done that and search the internet, trying to find out when book 2 will be out...

Hello!

Before Bed, the way I have spent way too many nights (shh don't tell! I was meant to be asleep!)

(I was actually meant to be asleep when I wrote this idea down...)

I don't know how accurate this is for most people, but often have I turned my bedroom lights off, turned on the fairy lights next to my bed and curled up with a book, staying up just a little bit too late reading.

This was originally going to be a story about restraint, reading one chapter and then tucking yourself into bed. I tried this method once. The book had 30 chapters. It took me a week to read it. I think that proves that I did not read just one chapter a night.

Don't be like me. Sleep.

The book will still be there tomorrow.

(I know, I'm not convincing myself either!)

Bye!

Places To Read, An Unintentional Multipart Short Story Series – Part 1

On A Bus

A bus journey – it takes double the time that a car journey does, it is crowded and, most of the time, there is some sort of smell and you don't really want to know what is making it. After the anxiety of telling the bus driver where exactly it is you're going, and then the awkward walk to your seat, knowing that the driver is waiting for you and everyone is judging you, you find an empty seat, check it's at least semi-clean, and sit down. Your bag rests by your feet as the bus pulls away, and you lean down, opening the bag, and pulling out your saviour – a book.

The hustle and bustle of chatter fades away as you focus in on the words, leaning your head against the window and then quickly removing it when you feel the buzzing of the window vibrating from the bus's movement. It would take half an hour to drive. You have an hour. After a few minutes, when you're settled in and invested in the story, you almost don't want to get off the bus to meet your friend.

Maybe you could just stay on the bus all day, reading, because the smell isn't all that bad and no one bothers you when you're hiding behind a book...

The bus pulls to a stop and you look up, tears running down your cheeks. They can't have died! Why did they have to die? They were your favourite character. Why is life so unfair?

Why did they have to die just as you reached your stop?

You wipe your face with the sleeves of your jumper, hoping your eyes aren't too red. If you had been at home, you would've been sobbing, but you're in public. You didn't want to be the crazy person crying over a book on a bus.

You tuck the book away in your bag, picking it up and ducking your head as you walk to the front of the bus, thanking the driver in a voice that is gritty with the dryness of your throat after trying to control your emotions.

Your friend is waiting, you plaster on a smile and wave to get their attention. They spot you and wave back, unbeknownst to your woes, or of the fact that you would actually rather be reading than hanging out with them. 

Hi!

So I was going to make this a post about the different places I read, but, of course, that would constitute as a plan and, therefore, it did not go ahead. Instead, it turned into a bunch of (very short) short stories about reading in different places.

And I thought 'wow this would make a good series'.

And then I thought 'wow this could be multiple posts and I wouldn't have to brainstorm as many ideas'.

Yes, I'm lazy.

But I don't really care!

So I hope you enjoyed reading On A Bus and the next instalment in Places To Read will be out at some point. (When I can be bothered to post it!)

Bye!