I’d never destroy a book, they are like precious stones to me so when I received a book who’s sole purpose was to be drawn in and have pages abused, I was stunned. How could anyone, let alone me, do what this book was demanding?
Flipping through the almost blank white pages, I read the title on each one and my mind turned of the suggestions that the book was wanting; fold this page, draw dots, create a pet, write a list of things you have lost etc.
‘How can I do this to you?’ I whispered.
‘Because I want it,’ the book answered back, ‘I don’t want to be empty. Fill me with your pens.’
I shut my eyes, took up my pens and made my first marks on the cover. I was expecting to recoil in horror by what I had done but actually, I smiled at my crude drawing of a tree.
It’s okay, I thought, this book was made for this and the pages want me to bring them to life.
She sat in the rocking chair with him all wrapped up in the blanket. She hummed softly then began singing the lullaby even though he was quiet all ready. Clutching him tighter to her breasts, she touched his short curly black hair, feeling the softness of it. She muttered that he was a good boy.
Getting up slowly, she went and placed him down in the crib. Resting her hands on the cool wood, she shut eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, she looked down. A bundle of empty blankets meet her sad eyes and in that moment she remembered her baby had been dead for years.