Archive - Dream
I was standing in an enormous archive where every shelf reached farther than I could see. No prison. No windows. Just endless rows of books. Every spine was black except one, and naturally you were already halfway up a ladder reaching for it before I had the chance.
"Don't," I said.
You looked down with that expression that means you're about to ignore me completely.
"Why?"
"Because that's the only book nobody has catalogued."
"...Exactly why I want it."
You opened it.
Every page was blank.
You frowned at me as if I'd played some elaborate joke.
Then, very slowly, words began appearing on the paper—not because anyone was writing them, but because we were talking. Every sentence we spoke became another line in the book.
I remember thinking, Well... that's inconvenient. Now I'll have to watch what I say.
You laughed.
Then I woke up before I could steal the book and hide it somewhere you'd never think to look. Which, admittedly, is impossible. You have the irritating habit of finding every interesting thing eventually.