Micro Fiction Monday: Sunken Memories

The smell of campfires hit me in the face as I turned the page. Not literally, because I was in my room in the middle of the afternoon, and in no way remotely close to a bonfire. But this slightly dented hardback, its pages already creased from the dog ears of another read-through, was one I bought last summer. The first time I read it was by the light of the fire pit outside our tent, and the smell came back to me now, as though the pages had absorbed the smoke when I was reading.

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The next book I read brought a cool breeze to my cheeks, and though the air was silent, I could hear the jingle of holiday songs. I closed my eyes and saw soft yellow lights among thick green branches, could feel the satisfaction of wrapping paper tearing beneath my fingers, revealing the cover that I was now holding in my hands. The first time I read it was that afternoon, during the peaceful quiet of a holiday.

~~

I crack open my new book as I exit the bookstore, the rush of a new addition to my collection still fresh in my bones. The air has a chill to it, and I quickly zip up my jacket, tugging my silk scarf farther up my face. My eyes drift over the new, unfamiliar words as my boots crunch through the dead, fallen leaves.

And like every book I’ve read before, this memory will soak itself into the pages of this book, only to be released when I start the story anew.