Brian’s Book Portal
If you had a special bookcase like Brian’s, perhaps you’d have no interest in talking to anyone either.
Brian was famous within his school for his horrible socialising skills. Every time he was approached with his nose buried deep into the pages of a book clutched in his hands, he would stutter and blankly gaze at the person. Everyone had given up on speaking with him, because he never gave much room for conversation to begin with.
Grunts and nods were not exactly responses to conversational discussions. His eyes were never even focused on the person, but rather the pages of the alternative world in his hands.
What no one knew was that Brian was actually an exceptional social butterfly, fluttering and flapping his wings through the gates of different worlds. He did so with the help of his secret portal.
He called it his Book Portal.
Brian went home that one day after an agonisingly long day of school, and he carelessly dropped his backpack on the floor of his bedroom, before kicking it lazily to the side and out of his way. He wasted no time, kicking his shoes off while somehow managing to walk forward towards his bookcase.
It was truly magnificent.
It was a rich, dark wood with hand carvings of illustrations of books, ink bottles, quills, and fountain pens. He delicately placed his hand on the book case’s left side, and whispered, “Edgar Allan Poe.”
The Book Case rumbled gently, before the books in it morphed together to form a door for him, and Brian twisted the doorknob and entered. In front of him were three grand oak doors, each with carvings in their centres of a few of Poe’s works.
One door read, “The Pit and the Pendulum”, another titled, “The Red Death”, and third read, “William Wilson.”
Brian pressed his palm against his chin thoughtfully as his eyes swept from one door to another, attempting to make up his mind on which world to enter. He thoroughly enjoyed all three stories.
Having made up his mind at last, Brian reached for the door with the carvings reading “The Red Death.” He excitedly twisted the doorknob, and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, his shoes touched the green grass beneath him, and he lifted his gaze up ahead, where a grand castle was shown in the distance — Prince Prospero’s castle.
Brian smiled as the wind ruffled his hair, messing it up slightly. His nerves burnt with a delicious form of thrill for adventure, for he was about to live through Edgar’s tragic story of The Red Death.
And he was ready.
