A World's Curse

Atlas was never ‘normal’; he was always pouring over books, socially awkward, and spending much of his free time with his grandpa Dean. Together, the two would waste long evenings in the warmth of Dean’s Victorian house, leafing through the pages of old books and reading aloud to one another. Their supply of novels came from an old library in the attic of Dean’s house; it was a slant room with two long bookcases stretching down the length of it. At the end of the room, in front of a circular window that only allowed a single ray of light through, was Dean’s most favorite book—one that Atlas was never supposed to open.

Atlas was first made aware of the tome when he was eight-years-old. He and his grandfather were just returning from a ride in the countryside when Atlas asked, “What are we going to read today?” as soon as the front door closed.

Dean thought for a moment. In the six years that Atlas knew how to read, they’d cleared out the majority of his library. They’d just finished A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens the previous day, and to the best of Dean’s memory: it was at the end of the last shelf. “I dunno, Bub,” Dean told Atlas. ‘Bub’ had been his nickname since he was five and every time Dean spoke the word, Atlas couldn’t help but give a small smile of pleasure.

“Can we go look?” Atlas asked. Dean nodded, and together the two made their way to the library. The entrance was an old pull-down ladder they reached by a hanging string. It creaked as Dean pulled down the wooden slab and it unfolded itself. By tradition, Atlas climbed up first, so Dean could make sure he didn’t fall and hurt himself.

“So what do you wanna read?” Dean asked Atlas. They were looking through the shelves and Atlas clearly recognized each volume that had been stacked there. The first one they’d read together, Silas Marner by George Elliot, was probably the oldest one in the room. The newest was a Stephen King novel, one Dean figured Atlas would have to be older to read.

“Can we read this?” Atlas asked as he came to the book in front of the window. It was on top of a chifferobe with a couple of other books. It was just tall enough to be out of Atlas’s sight, so he had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach the book. He pulled it down and stared at the cover in his hands. It was old, warn, hardcover colored purple. On the front, in the traditional capital letters the title was displayed: A WORLD’S CURSE.

Just as Atlas was about to open the large volume, his grandfather snatched it out of his hands. “No, this isn’t for you,” Dean said. It was one of the first times he’d ever been assertive with Atlas.

“Why not?” Atlas asked, giving the age-old puppy god eyes and puckering his bottom lip.

Dean got down on one knee, leveling himself with Atlas. “Because, Bub, there’s some stuff that you’re not old enough for. Trust me; I’ll let you read it someday.” How long would it be until ‘someday’ came? It wasn’t Dean’s choice.