It was a humid August day, and the stifling heat seemed to pass right through the walls of our house, and melt away my energy, regardless of the air conditioning. Bored and listless, I decided to pay a visit to the Shoreview library in hopes that it would be cooler and that perhaps I would even find some interesting book to read.
I drove to the library, parked as close as I could, and wandered inside. I headed for the back and pored over stacks of books, but didn't find anything that interested me enough to check out until I discovered an old book hidden behind a huge stack of fantasy novels. I picked up the hardbound book and blew off an inch of dust from the top. In archaic writing, it read, The Lord of The Rings. My eyes widened in intruige, and I gingerly lifted the cover to reveal the title page in black liquid script.
On a sudden whim, I shut the cover and decided to read it at home. I picked up the book and turned it over in search of a barcode. I couldn't find anything that identified it as belonging to the library, so I slipped it in my backpack after a furtive glance around the library. It didn't set off any alarms as I walked through the door.
I drove home and brought my backpack upstairs to my room. I carefully extracted the book and set it in my lap as I sat on my bed. My sister knocked on my door and let herself in. What's that? she inquired, an interested eye glued on the book.
The Lord of the Rings, I replied stiffly. I found it at the library.
She wandered closer. Can I see?
My arms tightened around it. It's mine! You have your own!
She shrugged and walked out. Fine, whatever. You don't have to freak out.
I didn't! I called back in indignation, but did not ask her to stay.
When she closed the door, I turned my attention back to the book. I read for a while, fingers carefully turning each brittle page, until I came across a strange folded piece of paper wedged between two pages.