The hinges creaked as Rebekah pushed the door open. The hardwood floors, which were scattered with candle wax and random polaroids, creaked under her step. It was time to face it. The small bookstore that she had abandoned years ago.
She drew her gaze to golden, flickering fairy lights which were set behind a tiny desk. She looked around and saw that the red paint was peeling off in some spots. In the very back corner, a small table was littered with empty water bottles and chip bags. She turned around and saw steel black shelves on which were old books and letters, shrouded in dust, that looked like no-one had read them in a hundred years. She remembered the day she had first seen them. She wanted to touch the pages, and understand what it was to be alive in another time, seeing what they saw and feeling what they felt.
She looked out the small window and saw the night sky twinkling and the waves crashing with white foam falling forward and sinking back into the soft sand. Rebekah's eyes reflected the glimmer of the melodious waves. She turned back and climbed the wide-set staircase up to the second floor, bypassing a collection of photos caked in dust. Where she would usually take the stairs two at a time, pretending the walls were as empty as she treated them, she decided to face the pain.
She sees her friends that jumped on a plane to watch her money rain like London in the winter. She sees herself as she once was. Sitting cross legged in the dim light with dust collected on her pinned up hair. Just for a moment she allowed herself to wonder what had happened? Where did the madness and the loneliness come from? She remembered the days her store would have bustling crowds each waiting to envelop themselves into adventures alongside fictional characters. But that moment is gone. She climbs up the stairs.
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