The Librarian may think he or she to be the ruler of her estate, but at her best she is no more than a caretaker. Books have a life of their own, a passion, a flame which all told is no different to that which burns in the hearts of the young and old alike. That is what gives a good story its strength. That is what allows it plant a seed in its reader of the very images which gave birth to it in its turn. The book’s own life, given by its author, is a conduit—a river, one might say, from the mouth of that author to the ocean of inquisitive minds hungry for its knowledge.
This flame, it must be said, is not eternal. It must be carefully nurtured, tended and cared for, so that when the book is next picked up, that reader will be at no disadvantage to those who came before; one should therefore go to all extents possible to keep a volume at its most extravagant, to ensure that the relationship between the pages and the reader is not marred in any way.
A word for that, indeed.
- Bombastic Bookman: DAMN AND I WAS SO CLOSE.
- Bombastic Bookman: I cannot queue more than 300 posts. :(
- Isaac: Hahahaha
- Kaitlyn: Oh my goodness
- Kaitlyn: Norse is going to shake his head so hard
- Isaac is so glad he doesn’t tumblr.
- Bombastic Bookman: It's queued. He cannot complain.
- Bombastic Bookman: It doesn't count as spam if it's queued.
- Kaitlyn: How often does your queue post a day?
- Bombastic Bookman: .... 12 AM to 12 AM.
- Bombastic Bookman: 50 times.
- Kaitlyn: I see
- Kaitlyn raises eyebrow
- Isaac: ...So for the next 6 days people will be bombarded with non-stop K-ON shipping.
- Bombastic Bookman: Yes.
- Bombastic Bookman: They should be thanking me.
- Isaac: There’s a word for what this is, Booky.
- Isaac: It starts with ‘a’
- Bombastic Bookman: Amazing?
- Isaac: I was thinking more along the lines of addiction :P
- Bombastic Bookman: .... An amazing addiction?
- Isaac: No no, just addiction
Tsuyuri Kumin-senpai: Cats, chunnibyous and pillows lover.
This was the best moment.
Prompt #145: “Homecoming” by Midnight Specter
Slowly, steadily, he put one foot ahead of the other; grim determination made every attempt to set itself in his eyes, but his trademark emptiness remained stoic, and so with blank, beady eyes looking at very little in particular, he plodded onwards like the dinosaurs of yore.
Each footfall was as a meteorite plowing into the earth; small craters were left wherever he traversed the dusky, brown landscape, searching ever for his one, true love – for miles behind him, a small, almost imperceptible trail of dust marked his trail through the wilderness.
He searched the land with his thousand-yard stare, but nowhere in any of those thousand yards could he find what he sought – a flash of pink, the sound of laughter, the smile that loved him and the bright blue eyes that accompanied them – but though he could find no trace of her, he would still keep on searching. Because she was his Pinkie, and he was her Gummy. Everywhere she went, so did he, even if he had to circle the whole world twice to get there. They were meant to be together.