Interlude

bookshelves

“It’s here somewhere I know it is,” he mumbled, pawing through the dusty LPs.

I wandered around the cramped room, idly investigating. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed full of old books and strange odds and ends. A small stone bookend carved into a rearing horse propped up a row of nineteenth century novels: Austen, Collins, Dickens, Gaskell. A small glass-topped box with a cracked pane held a withered butterfly on a pin.

“Aha!” he cried.

Soon the sweet sounds of Moonlight Sonata filled the room.

In response to today’s Daily Post: Final Trio – Bookshelf, Something cracked and a song I love – a little 99 word flash fiction-y tidbit

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