THE ROOM
Books and discoloured prints laid scattered all about the library's floor and furniture. Small dusty feathers web strands and tangled spanned the stacked books like delicate bridges. The air in the room hung motionless thick and musted by time it smelt richly pungent liken to that of winter stored apples.
A glazed light streaming soft diffused shafts of afternoon down into the centre of the library lit the scene. The bound volumes, which lined the walls on every side, formed antique coloured colonnades reaching from floor to ceiling.
John had no idea how he'd come to be at the portal of this room, only fleeting blurred images. He faintly recollected climbing a wide staircase aware of a smooth polished handrail, and deep sumptuous carpeting beneath his feet. Ornate gilt-framed oil paintings hung on dark panelled walls that echoed with distant faraway voices.
John felt unsteady, floating as he entered the room the atmosphere surrounded and smothered him as tiny bells rang and chimed all about him. The next moment he was at a table turning the gilt edged leaves of an opened volume. Vivid illustrations that passed before him were clearly pornographic and yet somehow he approved even admired.
The ancient penned copy which accompanied this prurient splendour detailed in most unusual narrative accounts of himself and others which left him shaking and breathless with desire.
Spellbound the book and others like it opened and fluttered, they began flying through the air spinning and falling heavily against the furniture. He felt a myriad of touches against his skin enveloping his body like warm wet mouths, while cool fingers, and sweet perfumed hair guided sweet caresses and him into oblivion.
A glazed light streaming soft diffused shafts of afternoon down into the centre of the library lit the scene. The bound volumes, which lined the walls on every side, formed antique coloured colonnades reaching from floor to ceiling.
John had no idea how he'd come to be at the portal of this room, only fleeting blurred images. He faintly recollected climbing a wide staircase aware of a smooth polished handrail, and deep sumptuous carpeting beneath his feet. Ornate gilt-framed oil paintings hung on dark panelled walls that echoed with distant faraway voices.
John felt unsteady, floating as he entered the room the atmosphere surrounded and smothered him as tiny bells rang and chimed all about him. The next moment he was at a table turning the gilt edged leaves of an opened volume. Vivid illustrations that passed before him were clearly pornographic and yet somehow he approved even admired.
The ancient penned copy which accompanied this prurient splendour detailed in most unusual narrative accounts of himself and others which left him shaking and breathless with desire.
Spellbound the book and others like it opened and fluttered, they began flying through the air spinning and falling heavily against the furniture. He felt a myriad of touches against his skin enveloping his body like warm wet mouths, while cool fingers, and sweet perfumed hair guided sweet caresses and him into oblivion.
posted by Gus Jonsson at 10:52 am
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