The Book by M. Clifford Read Free Book Online

fact, it had been pretty damn complicated. At least he knew what he knew and going through the motions everyday kept things safe. His routine was solid. But now, even attempting to rekindle that state of mind seemed impossible. It wasn’t working because this was huge. No, beyond huge.
    Still, hadn’t all of it been so odd? Why Holden? How was it possible that this enormous detail about everyday life had lost itself on everyone except him? He wasn’t the type of person that thought about deep things or went on long arduous walks to contemplate the circularity of the universe. He was average. Below that, if he could have things his way. Sure, he was a reader - most people were. But beyond The Book, he didn’t think much. He watched television and hung out with his guys. The extent of his brain power was tested only with sprinkler fitting. He knew sprinklers. And his daughter, Jane. He knew he loved her. He also knew the names of every player on the Chicago Blackhawks, but that didn’t do him much good. And, of course, a point of pride was that he knew the streets. In fact, he could be blindfolded and dropped anywhere in Chicago and would have the ability to pinpoint what intersection he was at, simply through the sounds of the street. Those were the things he knew and he was fine with that. He always felt that most other people, with their dreams and goals, were brought into this world with a much larger mind. His birth category had smaller brains; but since his brain was smaller, he was plum happy that way. He didn’t know any better. Life was small. Life was simple. But hey, the guy was happy.
    Still, if that was true, if those books and many others – bigger, more substantial books that Holden could never imagine – were edited and altered, how was it that no one else had discovered such irregularities? If stumbling on that single, inaccurate page in Marion’s bar meant that he was the first person outside of the Publishing House to know about the differences, what was he supposed to do about that? How could anyone, especially someone like Holden Clifford, react properly when met with such life-altering knowledge?
    Without a clue of what to do, Holden trudged onto the bus with the rest of the museum-goers, found a seat and crashed into it. He wasn’t surprised to find that nearly every person on the bus had a face that was glowing with dull, green light. Clouds had unfolded across the sky while he was inside the museum and the fact that it was going to rain again made the green lights shine ever brighter on the focused faces of those holding The Book. Even with his reservations and unanswered questions, it was a natural tendency for Holden to reach into his jacket pocket to pull out his copy of the Book. He wanted to resist. To avoid falling back into his old rhythm because something was wrong. But he didn’t. He opened the digital reading device and flipped again to The Catcher in the Rye . Only this time, he found himself clicking through the many menus of extra notes and details.
    There it was. A crisp photograph of the original, printed book. There were many pictures available. He was able to see the front cover, the back, the binding, and even a photograph of the author himself. Naturally, the Publishing House found the most crisp, unblemished images possible. Holden would have preferred something that actually looked real, with creases and stains. Something that didn’t looked fabricated and airbrushed for optimal pixel value. What he saw made him sad, but mostly for a different reason. Holden realized in that humid, condensed bus that this was likely the closest he would come to seeing his favorite book in person and that the rest of his life would be filled with a forced decision to forget.
     
     
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    The bus came to a stop in Uptown and Holden stepped off with two others – people with a destination in mind that walked briskly toward it because the rain had returned.