There it was. You could see the corner of the folded yellowed parchment sticking out of the torn lining of the battered book.
This was it. The thing you’d searched for for so long. The thing that had consumed your every waking thought, had dominated your mind. The thing that had almost driven you to madness. The thing that had ruined your life as you pushed everything, everyone, away in pursuit of your obsession.
Now you can just reach out and take it, folded up so nicely in the old book. It almost seems to glow.
For a moment, you hold back. What if after all this searching, there’s nothing?
But you know there’s only one way to find out. You stretch out your hand and pick up the battered book, running your fingers along the ancient spine.
It’s just lain here in this dusty bookshop for fifty years. Nobody had any idea what it was. Just an odd little volume with a loose page tucked inside.
Carefully, you open the cover and see the words that make your heart leap.
Property of Sir Jonathon Thunder.
This is his book. His last secret.
You pull out the parchment. The map.
Tears stream down your face as you read the word at the top of the page, sprawled in black ink.
Word Count: 200
This is my entry for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Week 8.Thank you to rogershipp for running the challenge. Image is from publicdomainarchive.com.
Also, anyone who gets my reference is awesome and had a similar childhood to mine.