The neverending story chapter 1 -
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Bastian left the charity book store within the hospital, his mother had been taken in a few days back and he and his father had been close by her bedside.
Bastian saw a doctor standing with his father, he heard the doctor, Dr Courditch, the one who had been looking after his mum since she had been taken into the hospital. "You have my heartfelt sympathy, Mr Bux."
Bastian stood on the spot, as he saw his father slump to the floor the doctor turning to walk away.
His father turned away and saw his son there before him. "Oh Bastain!" there were tears in his eyes.
"Bad, what is it… is mum okay?" he asked, but somewhat already knowing the answer.
Mr Bux came to hug his son, he then drew away. "Come and sit down.' he stated, guiding a hand to a chair.
The two sat next to each other, his father not wishing to say what he had to say out loud, and in turn Bastian not wanting to hear it.
"They say there's swelling in her lung… there was nothing they could do to ease it… Laura passed away."
"Was… was she in any pain?"
His father shook his head. "Dr Courditch did all that he could to make her comfortable… they helped her in the end." Mr Bux here putting a hand on his son's far shoulder and pulling him in.
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That night, his father drove home, and after that night, everything seemed to Bastian and his father. The time they shared was cold and distant; why Bastain had all that he wanted, like many kids his age; a three-speed bicycle, an electric train, plenty of vitamin pills, 186 books, a golden hamster, an aquarium with tropical fish in it, a small camera, six pocket-knives, and so forth and so on. However, his father had come to stop playing with him, the stories they shared had come to a halt. There just came this invisible wall between the pair; yes Bastian knew his father was sad, but he was still in need of that relationship, that stability.
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The saddest thing about losing someone anyone is that life seemed to go on; Bastian had to get up in the morning, eat his breakfast, get dressed in his school-uniform and study. Things there had changed too, the first was Bastian's work, which his father wasn't happy about hearing. Bastian's father sat him down at the kitchen table that night after school. "I think we better discuss your performance in school!"
Bastian knew what he was on about and dropped into a chair before his father, who remained standing, looking down on Bastian. "I got a call at work from your maths teacher yesterday, Bastian. She says that you were daydreaming… caught drawing horses in your maths book."
Bastian looked up at his father, he knew that they weren't horses, and stated as such in a mumble. "Unicorns. They were unicorns."
"What?" questioned his father, not acting this.
"Nothing." sounded off Bastian, brushing it aside.
"Look I know you're hurting, don't think I don't, however…' His father here stepped forward. 'however, we just can't let mum's death.' he took a breath here. 'Be an excuse."
"But I'm not!" stated Bastian truthfully in response to his father's comments.
"Bastian, we each still have responsibilities.' continued his father. 'I've got work… and you.. You've got your study… We've still gotta get the old job done, right?"
"Yes, I hear you, dad… I hear you."
"Good, I'm glad we had this talk… we can't let your school work suffer! Okay?"
"Okay." nodded Bastian, feeling low, feeling the blame.
"Now, Bastian, you're old enough to get your head down out of the clouds, okay... and start keeping both feet on the ground, right?" Bastian's father looked for an answer.
"OK."
"Stop daydreaming… stay focused… keep up the good work… OK?"
"OK." answered Bastian, just wanting to end this conversation, has right now he couldn't handle this hostility.
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The second was those around him, his peers, as no one really wanted to hang around and be friends with a kid who was grieving; this was an emotion not many kids of Bastian's age knew or understood.
Some kids in his year had soon turned bitter, starting to bully Bastian, and to make school life difficult, yes Bastian was no teacher's pet nor a squat; he just liked books, liked to read.
There were three key bullies, these being led by Garrett.
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On Garrett's latest whim, they were waiting on a street corner for Bastian one morning; it may have been a cold and windy November morning, but to Garett it was worth it to get Bastian yet again.
Bastian stepped off the bus, he turned to head up the short walk to the school, but he saw who was waiting for him and they saw him too. 'No, not again.' thought Bastian to himself.
"Ah, hey, it's the weirdo." one of the bullies called out, pointed out to Garrett that Bastian was there.
Garrett turned to look, following the boy's finger, a grin across his face once his gaze forced that of Bastian's to lower. "Get him… I fancy a little play with Bux!" Garrett stated.
Bastian knew he didn't stand a chance and so turned tail and ran.
"You're only making it worse on yourself.' Garrett called out. 'Now get him!" he barked to the others.
They instantly jumped to it and gave chase.
"Your dead meat weirdo… dead meat!" called out another follower of Garrett.
"Yeah, you're not fast enough to get away from us, you fool!"
"Yeah, we're going to get you and when we do you're dead, chicken… dead!" called out Garrett, as he pounded his fist into his open left palm. His voice catching the eyes of some of the parents.
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Bastian saw his chance to hide, it was this choice that found Bastian standing before a grumpy book seller.
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Through the windows all Bastian could see was books. The name above the door to the store just read - Coriander Books. - Bastian took just the briefest of seconds to look back over his shoulder, Garrett and the others hadn't just turned the corner, he took a sigh of relief then acted.
Behind Bastian the door of the bookstore valiantly banged too; the cluster of the little bells above the start still tinkled together wildly, with them taking a few seconds to actually calm down and to fall silent.
Bastian was pale, out of breath and scared, he didn't waste a second as he ducked down, just seeing Garrett and the others run on by.
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He stood up and leaned against the door, taking a couple of good deep breaths; once settled and in the knowledge that he was free for now from the onslaught of Garrett Bastian took the time to look around.
Before him lay a long, narrow store, the back of which was lost in the half-light. The walls were lined with shelves upon shelves filled with books of all shapes and sizes, all different types and goners, written by all kinds of authors.
Large folios were piled high on the floor, and on several tables lay heaps of smaller, leather-bound books, whose spines glittered with gold.
The far end of the store was blocked off by a shoulder-high wall of books, behind which the light of a lamp could be seen. In the light of the lamp Bastian could just make out a man's head. Apparently someone was sitting there, and, sure enough, the little boy heard a cross voice from behind the wall of books: "Do your wondering, or should that be wandering, elsewhere, boy!"
The man now stood up from his chair, placing down the book he held in his hands.
Bastian walked towards the voice, and saw standing before him behind the books a man; a short, stout man in a rumpled black suit that looked frayed and somewhat dusty, its best days long behind it. His paunch was held in by a vest with a plain design. He was bald except for outcroppings of white wispy hair over his ears. His red face suggested a vicious bulldog. A gold-rimmed pince-nez was perched on his bulbous nose.
With his right hand he now removed his spectacles and examined the fat little boy, who stood there before him looking quite sorry for himself. After a while, the man narrowed his eyes, which made him look more vicious. "Why are you still here, didn't I make myself clear?"
"But I." mumbled Bastian.
"Get out…" snapped the man, his voice stern and cold.
The owner took more care to look over the boy before him. "You're hiding, aren't you, mmm?"
Bastian felt sorry for himself, and even though it was true he in this moment didn't want to admit that he was. "No, I was just…"
"Look whatever the case the video arcade is down the street."
Bastian tried to talk, but the man's comments didn't allow him to.
"Now who are you boy… as I don't seem to get many kids into my store!"
"My name is Bastian," said the boy. "Bastian Balthazar Bux."
"That's a rather odd name," the man grumbled. "All those B's. Oh well, you can't help it. You didn't choose it."
"And now, what about you're sir?" inquired Bastian, making all the effort here to sound polite.
"Well, Bastian, my name is Carl Conrad Coreander."
"That makes three C's, doesn't it?"
"Hmm," the man grumbled. "Quite right… but, our names don't really matter, as we're never going to be seeing one another again. As all I sell here is just small rectangular objects. They're called books. I don't know if you're familiar with the concept, after all they require a little effort on your part and make no b-b-b-b-beeps. So now on your way, please!" He ended with an arm being stretched out, his index finger pointing behind Bastian took the door which he had entered through into the book store.
"I know books!' snapped back Bastian in reply to this. 'I have 186 of them at home."
The old man rolled his eyes at this. "Ah... all comic books, I would guess… there no books, boy!"
"No, I've read 'Treasure Island,' 'The Last of the Mohicans,' 'Wizard of Oz,' 'Lord of the Rings,' '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,' 'Tarzan'..." Bastian here counting each one he said out loud on his fingers.
Bastian could have listened plenty more, but was halted by the owner. "Whoa, whoa, whoa.' The man raised his eyebrows in affected surprise. 'That's enough… that's enough… I believe you… I believe you… It appears young man, that you truly are the exception!" coming to sound just that little bit softer in voice and tone.
"Come… then boy let's see if you can find something new to read in my little store!" stated the man, casting the same hand around his little store.
Bastian now smiled, his fear for now subsiding.
The man was seen by Bastian to put down the book in his hands on top of the tower of books.
"So then, Bastian, who were you running away from? And please now boy this time the truth, I heard the way you came running into my little store."
Bastian lowered his gaze.
"Come now speak up,' said Mr. Coreander. 'Whom were you running away from?"
Here Bastian answered truthfully. "Um... the others."
"The others, what others?"
"Yes, just some kids from school."
"Why?"
"They never leave me alone… they're always picking on me… shouting all sorts of things, pushing me around and laughing at me. This time Garrett shouted that they were going to throw me in the garbage." was Bastian's reply.
Mr. Coreander looked at the boy for a while disheartened. Then he asked, "Why don't you give 'em a good punch in the nose? Hmm?" the owner making a fist and hitting it lightly into his palm.
The boy shook his head.
"Because they know that I wouldn't… they know I'm not strong enough.' was Bastian's reply. 'And if I did I know it wouldn't make things any easier!"
Mr Coreander knew this to be true, and fell into a kind of thoughtful silence. "And what do your parents, what do they say about these matters?" Here rubbing his temple.
Bastian didn't answer right away, but then after a while he mumbled, "My dad doesn't say anything. He never says anything, not anymore…"
"So have you tried telling this to your mother?"
"She's… she's... ere, gone." Bastian answered, here scuffing his shoes on the floor.
"Are your parents divorced, then?"
"No, that in this case would be better, I suppose…' said Bastian. "My mother sadly died a few month's back." It felt cold for a second, Bastian here needing to pull the collar of his coat up. Bastian stood there; he didn't quite know why he had said all he had and admitted so much to a complete stranger, and deep down he would have normally hated speaking about himself, but in some ways he was happy that he had been so open.
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Mr Coreander saw this, and felt bad, and so tried to sound lighthearted. "And so you're probably the best in the class, see as a teacher's pet? Is that it?"
Bastian nodded.
"Well at least that's some sort of consolation prize, in the end game, you'll be outsmarting them… out thinking them and hey, one day even out earning them!" To which the man laughed lightly at.
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Bastian came to walk towards the book the owner of the store had clearly been reading; because in closing it, he had carefully placed a bookmark, and a wide look of true curiosity fall across his face.
Mr Coreander saw the boys gaze here fall onto his book, and tried his best to break it. "So, my boy of books, does anything take your fancy… I may not have books on fighting or boxing, but I think I may have something that may have a fist fight in it… each one with a beginning and a middle."
"What about an ending?"
At hearing this, Mr Coreander casts both hands before him. "Oh no, I hate them, especially if it's a good book."
Bastian could understand the owner's point of view, he too had come to hate closing the tale of a good book once the author had come to end it. But for now, in this time and presence, he was here in front of a new book, one his eyes were still drawn to, the book on the top, even though the owner was pointing away. "What's that book about, Mr Coreander, weren't you reading it?" inquired Bastian now taking one step closer.
The owner followed the points hand, and stated in reply. "Oh yes I am, but this… this is something special…" seeing at Bastian was pointing to the book he had just put down.
"Special!"
"Oh yes, truly special." commented the store owner.
The boy felt as if he couldn't take his eyes from off the book. "Well, what is it? What is it about?" Here now Bastian turned his head to face the owner for a second, before being drawn back to the book.
Mr Coreander leaned close to Bastian, as if he was sharing some kind of secret. "Listen my boy, this book isn't for everybody! You see your books are safe. As you read them, you for that second get to become Tarzan or Robinson Crusoe, read and experience their adventures."
"Yes, and that's what I like about them." interrupted Bastian.
"Ah, but afterwards you get to be a little boy again, don't you?"
"Well yes." sounding as if this was obvious.
"But this book reads in a different way… this book in the end changes the reader, sometimes for good, other times for bad, and never the same outcome twice!"
"What... what do you mean?" asked Bastian, as the owner's comments had confused Bastian.
"Listen... ... have you ever been Captain Nemo, trapped inside your submarine while the giant squid is attacking you?"
"Yes, and no doubt the same can be said for any other reader, Mr Coreander." nodded the boy.