Books

Miss M couldn't remember the last time she'd read a book, but she remembered how nice it had been.

She liked the smell of books, their rich mustiness, the thickness of the pages, turning them, one by one.

The sound it made.

She could drown in books, could sink deep down, enfolded.

You weren't quite floating; it was more like going under and afterwards you'd forgotten who you were.

Birds sang. Light faded. Shadows fell.

People were murdered.

Trains passed through tunnels and sounded their horns.

Reading, time passed slowly, whereas time spent not reading passed quickly and without satisfaction.