Re: General Venting
Date: 2015-06-14 08:40 pm (UTC)
I keep my books as trophies. Each one carefully mounted on its own sculpted plaque, nailed up in neat rows and rows and rows along my walls, a testament to my insatiable intellectual virility. When I have guests, I lead them upstairs to gaze awestruck on the innumerable pinioned novels. I trail my fingertips along their spines, pause when I reach The Tale of Genji. "This big boy put up quite the fight," I reminisce, my eyes heating with the memory of bloodlust and adrenaline. "Took me three months to wrestle down, but in the end he was just another beast to conquer."
My guests laugh politely to hide their fear. They think of their own books at home, untethered in their bedrooms and relaxing complacent on coffee tables. Defenseless against voracious eyes. My guests think if they can keep me happy, they can get home in time to safely lock their books away.
They're wrong; they'll never get home again, and no lock can keep me from my prey.