“Rain…again…rain. As if the weather is lacking fantasy for any other display of nature. How gloomy are these grey days! Who said that it’s romantic to sit on the windowsill and listen to the rain? It’s certainly not when you see the same scene for a week or so. So boring when the view doesn’t change, as if you got stuck in time, and for sure there is nothing romantic in listening to the same monotonous waterfalls behind the window.” This thought was bothering her all day; she looked to the window once again with hope to see at least one tiny change, but for nothing.
Tea was already cold, same as weather, but she took the cup and made a little gulp, “tasteless…as well as rain”, she thought. The picture behind the window had no colour, even the trees that were supposed to be bright green and full of life seemed now to be dark dirty green, there was no sky, no clouds, just a pale shroud that was covering the whole city. The only sound that was diluting the drumming of rain was birds, “seems that the weather doesn’t affect their mood”, she thought.
This day seemed to be unbearably long for Sarah. On her little wooden table a small book was lying, which she was reading from time to time these rainy days. “Short stories”, read Sarah aloud, “why the rain doesn’t know the word “short”, or maybe I need to find a book with long story to make the rain pass?” This idea made her get up and leave a big fluffy warm quilt that was hugging her. She went straight to the bookcase and began to read the names of the books that were thicker than the rest. “So many black covers, this darkness is following me even that I got farther from the rainy window”, with this thought she rejected at once all books with dark cover, and started to pay attention to bright ones.
When she moved one book with ugly bloody red cover, another one that was standing in the same row fell on the floor and opened somewhere in the middle of the book. She bent to pick it up and the first word that she noticed on the opened page was “light”. “That’s exactly what I am looking for”, Sarah was about to slam the book to check if the word she read corresponded to the cover, but something made her stop. She neither saw the colour of the cover nor knew the name of the book. Sarah decided to read the page that was opened “page 127, then it has a bit less than 300 pages”.
The rain was getting stronger. Sarah began to read “…the iron tunnel was leading to the black massive door, behind it a thin line of light was seen, it was disappearing from time to time when someone was passing next to the door”, a sudden loud sound of thunder made her flinch and the book fell from her hands. Sarah knew that the book closed but tried not to look on the floor, something was making her play the rules of her childish don’t-look-at-the-cover game. She closed her eyes and bent, having groped the book she stood up and opened it, just after that she let herself open her eyes, the page said 123. “Almost the same”, she thought and began to turn the pages carefully. Page 127, Sarah looked at the first line “A small family lived in a little country that was not so far from the city…”, she read. “Country? What country? Where is the tunnel? The light?” she asked herself and kept on reading the page anxiously, then the next one, but not a single sentence about light or tunnel. She checked page 126 and 129 but the pages were obstinately telling the story of a family in the country. “Did this sentence exist?” she thought.
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