The ground rumbled, shifting under our feet. I stumbled as I continued running toward the water’s edge. There was a moment I couldn’t hear the stampede of footsteps behind me but I kept my pace just the same.
It began raining books. Streams of romance novels, murder mysteries, and vampire and fantasy trilogies fell in diagonal flows as if they were being flicked from shelves in some hidden realm. The shoreline was littered with rag mags in an endless sea of scattered pages in mangled, contorted positions that suggested they’d put up a struggle.
Bobbing in the shallow water was the last of the John Waynes: a worn but reliable Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary that was still able to hold its weight in water. Without a moment to spare, we climbed aboard and pushed from shore.
The storm intensified, piling books ashore like empty crab shells at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Flash Fictions’ March 2012 Writing Challenge:
all manner of flying books … thrown, windswept, flicked pages, dropped, hit and aviation.
Think you can do it in 150 words or less?