A Bridge of Green Books

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Hal decided to build on one side of the river first, stacking each book on another; he was surprised how many books he had with green covers, paperbacks and hardbacks, the latter with green dust jackets even if their inner board covers were anything but green.


To be any shade or all shades of green on the outside was his only prescription for the books he used.


But once he had deemed the tower of books to be tall enough, he suddenly knew he wouldn’t be able to complete the bridge without first crossing the river’s wild currents by means of the completed bridge.

Hal picked up the randomly unused book that he had left out on a whim as he thought somehow that it would have been the last straw, as it were, to topple the tower. He opened it at any page.


He read it with interest. Words were a sort of bridge towards meaning. Or towards each other.


‘Why build a bridge with books?’ Hal thought, as he eventually looked up. ‘There must be a better way.’


He saw a figure on the opposite bank who was building a tower of his or her own as if to prove the point. And those books didn’t look to be green at all.


Hal almost cried.


Please see #DFLewisThingie on Twitter for other old unpublished short fictions

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