Vibrant shades of orange fill the evening sky, with hints of red seeping over the horizon, and little Italian village.It was almost like a splash of watercolour leaking, taking its own path over the paper. I was on my own mission to find a book, one that my teacher had recommended earlier that day.
I remember thinking it sounded familiar, I’m sure I’ve seen it upon one of the creakist shelves in the house. I mean, it's easy to say, seeing as the walls are lined with books of all sorts.
Observing the lake, I noticed how it had once been a fast-tempered deep blue abyss, but is now calm and flowing slowly.
As the sun waves its last goodbyes to the little village I was in, the lake shined to its full potential. It reminded me of the Eiffel Tower when night came. Specs of light performing a dance, hopping from wave to wave, as it glimmers the power of the setting sun.
Glancing to the far right of the wide, everlasting lake, I can see multiple boats of traditional fishermen, closely packed together like a group of cold penguins, rocking back and forth in a steady motion, each one sure of which direction to bob in unison next.
Peering up at the winding, uneven path I am about to walk up the hill, I realise the scale of the tall hills that surround the grand lake so closely, as if guarding it from dangers of the outside world. Slowly and steadily, I take one step at a time, careful as to not twist my bare ankle on the ageing cobblestones that line the way to the peak of the hill.
A man of quicker pace brushes past my shoulder, followed by another man pushing an old cart filled with fresh tropical fruits, such as oranges, kiwis, and bananas.
I take a deep breath in to make sure to make the most of the aroma of the fruits.
The two shopkeepers are evidently more accustomed to the sheer steepness of the hill, as they both overtake me swiftly.
A rebelling orange drops out of one of the closely filled boxes, rolling at an increasing speed towards my shoes. As it finally comes into contact with my foot, I peer down at it, observing how much it resembled the fading sky, bright as fire, with a circular highlight near the top, as if imitating the burning sun which was now almost fully set.
I pick it up and reach over to place it gently on top of the other ripe oranges. An organised mess, tightly packed, ready to be sold. The shopkeeper nods his head, indicating his thanks, and continues to push his cart up the hill, with confidence and strength.
I turn right and wander up the winding street for a few more moments, until I arrive at the quaint little house my family was renting. The ancient steps leading the way up to the door, with concave tops after years of use. Families and friends making their way quickly up and down the stairs, eager to get out into the village and socialise, and tired, slower steps, ready to get cosy inside.
A feeling of cold air travels around me as I step into the shaded doorway.
Big, aged wooden details line the tall door, with a rusted handle. A high-pitched scratching sound rings in my ears as I force the key into the rough keyhole. I rotate the key slowly, careful as not to damage the workings inside the door. Once the ancient door was unlocked, it steadily opened and welcomed me into the residence.
The entrance was dark, the lights were all shut and natural light from the sun had vanished.
I reach over to switch the lights on, avoiding knocking anything over by accident.
As the room is lit up the artworks hung up on the wall come to life and the colours that fill the room are once again vibrant. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with old books that could be considered as antiques, to new magazines, depicting the modern time drama in the celebrity world.
I carefully step closer to the shelves, and the titles become clearer and clearer. I can almost manage to see through the thick layers of dust that have accumulated over the many years.
Taking a deep breath in, although slightly shaky, it calms my nerves. It didn't feel right, considering actually taking out one of the books. They had been there for as long as I can remember, no one ever went near.
After a good five minutes of careful decision making, I reach up to the top shelf. I slide out the largest book.
It was heavy. Very heavy.
A wave of panic rushed through my body as the other books started to lean, faster and faster.
Like an avalanche, the slow downfall of books fell upon me. It was a loud, crashing sound. Huge clouds of dark smoke take over the room.
Once I had recovered from the coughing fit I was in, due to the dust, I slowly looked down. At least one hundred books were in a complete mess, piled on the wooden floor.
I should've gone with my instinct. I’ll need a way to cover this up quickly, somehow or another.