Warning Signs

“Why do you have so many books?”

Emille looked back and saw Remy leaning lazily against her bookshelf. Remy’s finger rested on one of the many hard spines, and then she flicked it gently. The little cloud of dust, held majestically in the golden rays entering through the balcony, fell slowly as Emille walked close to Remy.

“Because I’m going to read them someday.”

Remy looked at the taller woman, the corners of her mouth rising.

“You haven’t read these books?”

Her tone was almost accusatory, and Emille felt slightly awkward. She shrugged.

“But you just bought like…six new books!” Remy laughed, pushing Emille gently. Understanding that she meant no harm, Emille laughed as well.

“That’s true. And I’ll read them!”

Remy looked back around at the extensive collection.

“So why keep them all if you haven’t read them?”

Emille looked to her bookshelf, searching for the words. She must have been silent for a while, because Remy looked around and waved a hand in front of her face.

“You still here?”

Emille laughed again, and returned the soft push.

“I keep them because books tell us things.”

“What things?”

Emille looked back at the battered — and fresh — spines in her collection.

“They tell us about…love, and pain…”

Remy looked back at Emille, but her eyes were glazed and far-seeing.

“And books give us warnings…”

Emille trailed off, her finger absentmindedly stroking a battered volume. Remy watched, as the dust settled.