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Adrian gave a sigh once he found his room, hoping that behind the door was a bedroom with two beds, but he never had such luck. He looked at the golden number six nailed to the door, just making sure it was his. He grabbed the handle and slowly opening the door, wanting to stall his awaiting doom. He was surprised at what he found.
As he suspected, only one bed, but he was somewhat relieved when he saw the small couch that sat just behind it, knowing that that would make a fine place to sleep for the time being. He looked up at the molding in the ceiling, it reminded him of his own library back home, as did the black metal chandelier. He looked at the bed and the rather old fashioned pattern that decorated the cloth, nearly the same as the old chair that sat next to the coffee table and love-seat couch. The love-seat was a burgundy color, with beige accents, so it still fit in the room. But the only thing he didn't like was the [horrible green] rug that sat at the foot of the bed, the green didn't belong at all, but he did like the rug, but it didn't fit, the burgundy one that lied at the bed side, did fit though. He looked on the nightstand and saw some books that had been put there for decoration and picked one up.
The book was one of those old ones that had been beaten up on the inside and was missing a title. Adrian didn't mind one bit though, as long as he could read it, he'd be happy. He walked to the small chair and sat down, and soon he was lost inside the words of a short children book about Indians and settlers in America, it was one feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. He never really read those old time books that had more spelling mistakes than Jack The Ripper and actually enjoy it. Yes, Stephen King's books were nearly only found in junior high school libraries, but anyone could fall in love with his work, children thought he was insane just as much as adults, but somewhere in the middle you get someone who would find the simple things that make you think, that is Adrian.
Even though Adrian enjoys the work of Stephen King more than anyone, he was completely content with reading the untitled book in his hands, it reminded him of a time before he even enjoyed reading, he always wanted to run around in the moorlands of Ireland than read, but he'd always ask the nanny to read him those untitled books they kept before he went to sleep. Adrain had already left the world of the living by now. He was probably stuck in the twilight zone, he always got this way when reading a book, not even paying attention the stench of nostalgia that surrounded him.
Rarely he'd snap out of his trance-like state before, he finished the book, but today wasn't normal and he had things to worry about, in other words his fiance. He closed the book after memorizing the page number and paragraph and put it on the table before getting up and walking towards one of the windows and pulling back on of the curtains and looking outside, wondering about the end of his unused freedom.
 ll squabs -- M C G E E · Wed Jul 22, 2009 @ 07:05am · 0 Comments |
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