A Month Of Writing: August 19th 2018

During the Month of August 2018, Each day I Wrote Two pages of fiction in my Travelers Notebook. Here are some of the extracts.

August 19th

A long day at work had tired her out and it was the first day back after a three day weekend. And standing and waiting in the cold for what seamed like at least 40 minuets or more, which in fact was only 20 minuets.

Getting on to the bus, only two stops from its stating rote, meant that it was empty. Heading to the back seat, she made herself comfy as the bus continued its journey. 

Neon lights from the shops lit the roads on the late autumn evening.

As the bus pulled in to the next stop, she looked around as two more people climb aboard. looking at the opposite seats with a few papers and magazines laid. she moved over to the neighbouring seat and reached for the both. Picking them up she saw a think black notebook with scraps of paper sticking out of the sides, its cover slightly bowed with its contents  elastic closure stretched keeping it closed, Staring at it unsure weather to pick it up or just leave it. But there was something about it… It was as if it was asking her to pick it up.  Moving back over to the seat that she had chosen by the window laying the papers and the magazines on her lap and looking at the notebook laying on top of them.

She stared at it wondering if there might be a name and number or an email inside so she could return it to its owner.

Slipping off the elastic, carefully not to knock and of the lose pages out of their carefully placed places.

The front page with its lies for its owner to scribe their name was blank. Glancing up as the bus stopped again letting no one off or on, waiting to move on.

So she began to look through the book. Scribbled notes on each page, some clear and readable, others scribbled roughly and practically unreadable. with strange symbols which almost seamed religious but she was unsure.

Pages from books stuck in with lines high lighted and question marks and questions noted. “Why was she there?” “Why did the writer include this?” “Why did he do that?”. It all seamed strange and pointless, yet it intrigued her, so she kept going, the lose pages had more notes on, then there was scribbled pictures in pen and some in pencil of screaming faces, people burning, similar to the images of witch trills. Dark twisted images of statues of Angels. More lose pages some from the Bible, defaced with drawings.

It all made her feel unease but there was something about the book that made her want to turn each page, despite her instinct to close it and leave it on the seat next to her and go.

A dark curiosity made her turn the next page, eyes taking in each spread of strange dark weirdness…