Description
It was a god damn book. He thought, why would she send me a stupid book?, and then he read the cover and came to the realization. It was a book with HER NAME on it. He felt like his stomach suddenly turned upside down at the prospect. The sole idea of her writing a book was reason enough to start freaking out, so he rushed to read the note, his heart lurching. «I'm sorry H, truth can't be half told» said the note, Stupefied with horror, as he was, he continued to read it. Details were so squalid and descriptions were so explicit, every sentence, every paragraph, he just couldn't stop turning the pages. Bottom lines of every page led him to the next one. His eyes getting wider and wider as he kept reading. This couldn't be all just born from fiction, whatsoever. Whoever didn't know her could have thought the author had such a vivid imagination. It was all so familiar; places, people, even stories, all of them told from different viewpoints, using different names and made-up places, but definitely, too close to the real ones. He closed the book at one whack and read no more.
THE BOOK
