The harsh light of the setting sun jolts me back to the reality. Squinting, I squirm into an area of shade, if only to catch a few more moments of the story within the pages. I slip into the comfort that is like no other, a place that feels more alive than the real world.
Once more, the sun blinds me as it continues its journey to below the horizon. In annoyance, I slip my finger between the pages of the book to keep my place and rise to shut the curtain. The sudden darkness of the room is jarring.
I fumble around for the light switch, the moment reminding me that we are always looking for the light in the darkness. A way out. A dream that is better than the life we wake up to.
I return to my chair with my book, eager to return to the characters and the world I have come to love as if they were real. And perhaps they are real in a way, in my mind. Hours go by as I sit engrossed in the tale of fantasy, drama, battle, strife, love, and friendship. My heart pounds as I rush to finish the last pages.
When I read the last word, I leave the book open in my hand. It feels as if I’ve just had to say goodbye to a good friend. It can’t be over. And yet I remind myself that all stories must come to an end. Only then can new ones begin.
I sit for a while as the final events of the story work through my brain. I start to imagine my own ending, what would happen if this character had chosen differently. I wonder at the feats they accomplished and what they lost. All of it swirls around in my head, resulting in new thoughts, ideas, and plots. A new world starts to form in my head. One of my own.
Invigorated and inspired, I gently lay the book down and turn to my desk. I pick up my pen and begin to write.
