Snippet #1205301

Ken

I was cooped up in my room, with nothing but a covered window and a desk, papers defiling it every which way. I probably didn't look my best, unshaven and clearly malnourished, I've been in the same room for a week. Currently, I was sitting on the bed, staring at the digital clock that sat on the table next to my bed. There was utter, insane silence, until the door to my room began to rattle, a few rough knocks and the sound of my friends on the other side.

"Ken!" They had called out, while I simply sat there. Eventually, I moved, stood slowly and sauntered over towards the door, cracking it open. My friends stood in awe of what they saw was left of his friend. "C'mon buddy, you gotta get out of that room," Englishmen were my friends, living here to teach English to rich Greek kids. One of them placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "There's a party out at the beach, You wanna come?"

"No," was my answer.

"I don't care, you're coming," my friends exclaimed, tugging me out of the room and down my stairs to face the brightly lit kitchen and every other room save for my bedroom. They would get me out of the house if it was the last thing they did, it seemed. This depression kept hitting me once every year, around the time my wife passed.

A couple of hours later, us four were heading down to the beach where a crowd of people were either dancing or spending time walking around the beach. At sunset, the area was beautiful, but also depressing if one didn't have a couple to spend the evening with. Eventually, while my friends were hitting up numbers from a few bikini-clad girls, I managed to wander off. Away from the crowd, away from the noise. I walked far enough so that the only thing I could hear were the waves crashing and the muffled sound of voices of the party, as well as the music.

What I came across was a dark cave, too dark now that the sun has set, it wasn't deep, I could see the other end of it. There were cigarette buds littering it, a few empty bottle of alcohol, and what's that in the corner? Slowly, kicking up sand, I approached what looked like an old book. I bent over, lifted it up and brushed the sand off the thing, gazing at the simple brown leather cover. Slowly, I unlatched the hook to open it, and looked down at the several pages of written work. I didn't read it in the cave, it was too dark, I just looked, flipped through it, re-hooked it and tucked it in between my arm.

It looked far more surreal than a typical party night at the beach. So I left with the book in my arms. When I returned, my buddies were all at the bar, drinking it up, so I decided to join them. No one ever took notice of the old book I found, no interest in garbage found at the beach, but I had a feeling this wasn't just any book or journal. I'd have to read it when I got home, and home was the only thing on my mind right now. Too bad, my friends weren't allowing me to leave just yet.