Spaces In-Between

This is the first in a series of short stories to be published as a collection called:

The Spaces In-Between: Observations on the Flow of Sub-Consciousness

(This is the ONLY story that will be posted here.)

“May I help you?” The owner of the bookstore politely offered with his head held high, back stiffly upright, carefully examining me from a distance as though I was a small, unexplored village in the valley below his majestic hill, and that he himself were a mighty watchtower. I almost expected to see some tiny keeper peer out from behind the windows of his eyes. “Yes please, I’m looking for…”

I paused, making sure to have the proper enthusiasm- sincerely interested and mildly curious- not needy, and certainly not desperate, but of course I am. Everyone is desperate, and such is the game of life, to skip along and try to convince the others that we are secure, we have what we need, we are proceeding in the proper manner, all of our hard work has paid off, and we are well on our way to successfully achieving our goals.

Deep inside we know, perhaps not fully consciously, that we are actually quite hungry scavengers craving the fresh “blood” of new ideas and experience- food for thought. Thirstily we search every nook and cranny for a taste of some unique flavor or treat to tide us over, insatiably nibbling on the mysteries of the universe, or at least what small part of it is available to our meager human awareness.

Still I stuttered, “…a b-b-biography of Dr. J-John Dee.” Instantly I perspired as a flush of heat swept over my body like from a smelting oven, first swelling in my throat, next throbbing into my pounding heart, swirling about my churning stomach, crawling down my legs, and shooting through the base of my feet, stinging as though I had just landed flat footed on the cold concrete after bounding over a daunting stone wall.

“Ahh, yes…” His hands clasped together in front of his chest, his eyes widened and his head pulled back. He peered down at me like a wise old owl, his triangular, beak-like nose targeting his prey, or perhaps pointing like the arrow of an archer who had me well within his sights, string firmly drawn, needing only to release his pinched fingers to bring about an end to my fragile existence.

Now he leaned forward, pressing his massive hands flat onto the counter, his knuckles white and wrinkled from the pressure as he pushed his weight forward and lifted. I imagined his heels coming off the ground as he whispered and raised his eyebrows just enough to reveal the whites of his eyes and ignite a fire behind them.

“So, you seek the Invisible College?”