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As he lowers himself into the dark chair by the unruly fire, He looks at the cover of an old book. Abigail Davis. He’s read this story before. The cover is worn and partly ripped from circumstances of an aged life, but the inside pages were pristine. The protagonist is introduced, Abigail Davis, but she is very familiar to the Reader already and an instant connection inspires Him to pull His glasses from a small pouch for a more detailed look.
It’s a beginning like any other, small steps with big firsts that build and connect the character and Reader. But as the story grows, so does Abigail. Page by page her life is exposed; raw and bear waiting for the Examiner to pull apart the ascending and descending plots that bound the book together.
Devastation impacted Abigail early in the novel. The sudden death of her father was as instant blow to the entire Davis family; however, Abigail did not recover as quickly as the rest. Heartache and grief gripped her body and paralyzed her mind. The unbearable loss only taught Abigail to withhold love from those placed in her life.
The Reader pauses, her pain has gripped His heart but with tender hands He turns to the next page.
Blank. Void. Nothing is written on the page. It’s a part of Abigail’s life that emptiness had taken over and there was little she could do. Since his death, every decision took her farther away from the family she had once known. A new boyfriend: jailed. Different friends: on drugs. Chains of events that lead Abigail down the wide path of destruction. Every decision started a new link and every link started a new page. But this wasn’t the story she wanted to write.
Abruptly the Reader stood. Where were the clean pages He had seen before? This story had changed and the filthy collection He was now holding began to burn in His hands. There was no other choice. As He took off His glasses and brought those large hands to His face, the Reader tiredly rubbed His eyes and brought Abigail Davis to the hearth.
But something caught His ear. There was a soft calling that tugged at His heart as He opened the book once again. Something was different. Something was new.
Abigail had descended to her lowest and hope had withdrawn into the dark but someone was calling out. It was a voice familiar to her, a kindness she had known in her childhood. Abigail closed her eyes and answered.
The Reader stopped, and as the soiled pages transformed into the spotless paper that once was, He laid the book on the fire and patiently waited for it to turn into gold.
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