Post by Felix Long on May 17, 2006 1:17:30 GMT -5
The smell of old newspapers caught in his nose - that acridy, inky smell that always reminded him of learning, books and mysteries yet to be uncovered. He had spent four days, now, just sitting at the same desk, slowly, methodically going through every word of every article in the papers from the year his father died. Three hundred and sixty-five files in total. And he had barely scratched the surface.
Carelessly pushing the paper in his hands to the side - a witch waved merrily from the front page, and Felix could have sworn that he heard a strangled shriek come from somewhere behind him; no doubt Madam Pince was keeping a careful eye on a boy never really known for the preservation of books - Felix dragged the next yellowing paper from the haphazard pile quivering in front of him, resolutely forcing his eyes to carefully scan the words for a mention of his father, or even someone who could have been Lucas Long.
He groaned, though, after just a few short moments of staring at the front page, pressing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Lowering his hands, Felix simply stared at the papers with tired eyes, almost willing his father to leap from the pages, ready to tell his son everything - who he had been, why he had been attacked, who the attackers had been, why he had abandoned Felix in the first place...
And so much more. For twelve years - ever since being abandoned with his grandparents at the age of six - Felix had remained uninterested in Lucas. Until the man's death, and his sudden, unstoppable re-entry into Felix's life. Never before had Felix felt such a burning desire to just know something, to discover what something meant - it was as if the spirit of his dead father was driving him forward, now, demanding for the story to be told.
Sighing, Felix leant forward, lying his forehead down on the warm, wooden table top.
Carelessly pushing the paper in his hands to the side - a witch waved merrily from the front page, and Felix could have sworn that he heard a strangled shriek come from somewhere behind him; no doubt Madam Pince was keeping a careful eye on a boy never really known for the preservation of books - Felix dragged the next yellowing paper from the haphazard pile quivering in front of him, resolutely forcing his eyes to carefully scan the words for a mention of his father, or even someone who could have been Lucas Long.
He groaned, though, after just a few short moments of staring at the front page, pressing his eyes with the heels of his palms. Lowering his hands, Felix simply stared at the papers with tired eyes, almost willing his father to leap from the pages, ready to tell his son everything - who he had been, why he had been attacked, who the attackers had been, why he had abandoned Felix in the first place...
And so much more. For twelve years - ever since being abandoned with his grandparents at the age of six - Felix had remained uninterested in Lucas. Until the man's death, and his sudden, unstoppable re-entry into Felix's life. Never before had Felix felt such a burning desire to just know something, to discover what something meant - it was as if the spirit of his dead father was driving him forward, now, demanding for the story to be told.
Sighing, Felix leant forward, lying his forehead down on the warm, wooden table top.
