It is not often that I visit the city center to do some shopping, but when it happens, I always visit a bookstore. At first I tell myself it's just to browse and see what's new, maybe write some titles down on a piece paper to check them out later – but inevitably, I always leave with a book (or two). A truly bittersweet moment – I already have a big enough backlog for reading as-is, and now I just added more on top of it. There are times when I finish these titles I buy quite fast, right after buying them, but sometimes they sit on my bookshelf for months before I touch them again. This is a tale of such a visit to the bookstore that ended with a book getting a new home.

 My watch was ticking in intervals – the hand that counts seconds was still, and then it jumped forward by 5 seconds. The thought of it being a problem of the battery didn't struck me – I thought the watchmaker would need to repair some broken mechanism. When I arrived at his shop and he casually remarked it just needs a battery change, I felt a little bit silly. He handed me a paper slip and told me: come back in 20 minutes. And so, finding myself with some time that I needed to pass, I immediately knew how and where I want to spend it – browsing books at the bookstore. Before I changed jobs, I walked through a different part of Our Town, where I often passed by a bookstore and everyday was a challenge not to spend some afternoon time in it after work. I used to visit it at least 2 times a week – but held myself back on buying new titles all the time. There was one book that I always passed by during those afternoons, but never bought – and it's name? Kafka on the shore. And here it was, grabbing my attention once more. This time around, I picked it up. I flipped it to the backside to read the synopsis. Abstract – that was the first word that came into mind when I finished reading it. It told me something about the plot, but it felt like it actually didn't tell me anything at all. I was puzzled. Flabbergasted, even! The books I've read before always had a conventional synopsis.

“Are you curious about that book?” I heard coming from my right side. Startled, I looked at the person who said the question – a chubby, short brunette with blue eyes. She wore blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a red jacket. Is it weird I remember her so vividly? Perhaps, this encounter with 'Kafka on the shore' left such a deep impression in me that everything leading up to it's discovery is etched into my brain. Anyhow, I replied.

“Yes, the synopsis is quite perplexing, and it left me curious as to what kind of literary work this book is.”

She gave a little smile. Not to me, no, but to her memory of the book, I'm sure. She picked up a copy, ran her thumb quickly through the closed pages, then looked at me.

“Do you read fantasy fiction?”

“Ah, yes, I do – I grew up with it and it kind of stuck with me. It's nice to imagine something that doesn't exist in our reality, and doesn't have roots in our modern technology.”

“Well, you see, for me, the new, modern fantasy releases are, in essence, just a copy and paste. The character names change, the name of the world changes, but the way the plot progresses and what happens in it does not change. That's how it feels to me. And I was, and still am, tired of it. That's why I looked for a change of pace. So I picked up 'Kafka on the shore' on a whim. And it changed everything. I also read the synopsis and was left with nothing but shock – and curiosity. And it was refreshing. The main character, Kafka, this 15 years old boy, the way he's written – it makes you feel at times as if he's not 15. And then, in another chapter, there are scenes where you realize, he indeed is just a 15-year old. The genre of the book is magical realism and surrealism. And oh boy, is it surreal! The whole thing feels like a fever dream – and that's what makes it refreshing and exciting for those of us that never really experienced such genres. Reading the synopsis before the book leaves you puzzled, and reading it after finishing the book makes you realize it told you the plain truth of what happened, even if does not explain how. So, in short, I wholeheartedly recommend the book, is all. I don't want to spoil anything if you do decide to read it. Please, do give it a chance. Sorry for taking your time with the long monologue. It's just... the book is very special to me.”

This girl spoke about the book with such fervor that all I could do was quietly stand there, just looking at her and listening. It was rather heartwarming to hear the passion of a reader talking about a precious book. I cracked a smile at her and replied. “Don't worry about it, I appreciate your little 'review'. I will definitely give it a try.” With that, we said our goodbyes and parted ways. That day, the one to accompany me to pick up my watch was the book – Kafka on the shore. And I do not regret indulging in my guilty pleasure on that day.

Written by Red.

The cool, salty ocean breeze hits your nostrils and breathes back life into you. The journey to the beach was arduous due to the hot, stuffy air that made you lapse for air, but the destination was worth it. The cool breeze hits your sweaty t-shirt, stuck to your back because of the wetness. You leave your flip-flops at top of the staircase and start the descent. Thankfully the concrete is warm and not scalding hot – it's evening, the sun is going down and so the concrete has cooled to a bearable temperature for your feet. When they hit the sand, a small chill runs through your legs. Sand cools down easily and your feet just confirmed the fact. You stomp around in it in one place for a bit, enjoying the feel of the sand sliding between your toes. After enjoying the sand like a little kid for a while, you walk towards the ocean. The sky is cloudy but still blue, and the sinking Sun with it's orange hue creates a clash of blue versus orange all around you as the ocean reflects the sky. When your feet touch the wet sand, another chill jolts through your body and then the cold water hits your ankles. You stand there, basking in the sunset, enjoying a little respite from the summer heat before it all starts again.

Written by Red.

The wood crackles from the touch of the flame and releases a comforting aroma. You lower yourself into the armchair, snuggle into the soft blanket. Next to you is a small table with a lamp, cup of tea and a book. The tea's steam lets you know it is piping hot and too much for your mouth to handle – for now, at least. You pick up the book and open it, the spine cracking. When the time to flip the page comes, you gently take the edge of the paper in between your thumb and index finger, tracing them along it. As you are ready to flip the page, a ball of black and white fur lands in your lap, makes itself cozy and calmly breathes, it's little body rising up and down. You stroke the little furry heater and it begins to purr. Moments later, you continue with the book from which the little furball distracted you from.

Written by Red.

a bustling ghost city full of noise yet it is only an echo of a hollow existence

a personification of indifference full of blank faces where is the joy? no one knows

I gaze upon the black abyss above devoid of stars and in the next moment a spark of hope ignites

standing in the rain she is waiting for me I know it's her I've met her in my dreams

Written by Red.

her touch sends shivers down deep to the marrow of my bones

her gaze icy yet it burns me and everything within

every time I pray to hold her just for a minute longer

yet when the sun comes up she is no longer there my silent wish unanswered

the sheets next to me devoid of her warmth yet full of her fragrance

I sigh and close my eyes only to meet her again in my dreams

Written by Red.

a white sky filled with black crows

a shell that protects this fragile world

my pleasure in times of dread

protect me for a little while with your embrace

even if I forsake you you will be mine forevermore.

Written by Red.

Wondering where the current will lead, For a moment it falls asleep. Awoken by unknown greed, It spots a place that falls deep.

Separating from the flow, It swims a bit low. Through a tunnel full of darkness, It does not know what it's about to witness.

A sunken city, deep beneath, Sleeps in it's watery grave. Guarded by two warriors that bare their teeth, Ready to challenge the brave.

Written by Red.

Yet as you age, Your heart is filled with rage. Even after countless fights, You start to loathe the knights.

A cold voice Prompts you to make a choice. Feeling no regret, You want to forget.

Tying them to their pillars of lies, You're ready to give up the bonds, As a flock of crows silently flies, Their tears form salty ponds.

Burning at the stake, Your knights are lifeless. Due to your mistake, They're no longer timeless.

Lowering your head with shame, At your feet are their charred corpses. You know you're the one to blame, Only now, realizing your losses.

Written by Red.

The Traveller spoke in a calm voice, asking The Magician about the flower's origin. The Magician looked on in disbelief, and The Traveller showed a shadowy grin.

You call yourself a holder of divine knowledge, yet you seem to be quite on the edge. Have you not been beyond the borders of your kingdom, never seeking the outside freedom?

The world outside the kingdom is vast, though you have never left in the past. You could have left but you did not, have they, perhaps, tied you to this spot?

The Traveller left without another word, leaving behind the questions stabbing like a sword. The Magician suddenly longed to see the freedom, so he ventured to the heart of the kingdom.

Unbeknownst to him, the future was looking grim. The people were living in poverty, while wealthy nobles treated them like property.

On The Magician's adventure, he felt his heart rupture. What he saw, was his kingdom's fatal flaw.

A broken mother's sad weeps, as her young son eternally sleeps. A hanged father's wish for his daughter, who was taken like a lamb for slaughter.

The Magician was taken over by grief, looking at what the kingdom has become in disbelief. This kingdom he no longer understood, when in front of a mountain of corpses he stood.

In front of the corpses where he stands, he saw blood on his hands. A chill froze him to the core, was there nothing he could have done?

Perhaps if he didn't stay in his tower, the daughter would have grown into a beautiful flower. The son would be a good father, and with the old parents at the table gather.

Burning with blazing rage, it was time for the final stage. On this stage The King would appear, confronted by The Magician full of fear.

As he confronted the King, the birds started to sing. They sang a song full of sorrow, because The Magician would never see the tomorrow.

Once upon a time there was a magician with knowledge divine, that lived through ages, met kings, fought wars and put his life on the line. He was shackled under the kingdom, for The Magician longed to see freedom.

Written by Red.

A forest where the path is never clear, a silver mist slithers through it's trees. It's tears shimmer in the dark with ease, and the next step, filled with fears.

Taking a look around the hall, in the corner I spot a shadowy ball. As I carefully tread towards the shadow, a pained fiend shows me it's sorrow.

The feeling of a trusted glance, sets in motion sparks that ablaze. A burning passion suddenly awoken, softly charred the emotions that were broken.

Across the hall is a door, a door that leads to a path. A path to a garden with petals scattered across it's floor, the flowers, destroyed with a wilted bond.

I wish to not take care of the flowers anymore, the hatred for the gifter fueled furthermore. A person that left me all alone, made me wear a crown of the foolish one.

Perhaps another time, my visit to the hall will not be so lonesome. Yet I cannot help but wonder, who'd dare to catch a glimpse of this burdensome?

Written by Red.