Descriptions

I should be cleaning my room right now. To be fair, I cleaned out the entryway, and the desk, and part of the area next to my bed. We'll call it half clean. I also have three descriptions due for creative writing. As promised, I'm going to post them here. But for the purpose of suspense, I'm going to post one every day for the next three days. Here's the first assignment.

1. Describe a piece of furniture, a room, or an object that has a history, a special meaning. Use an extended analogy, describe it physically, and tell its story.

I had in my lap a book. Not just any book. This book was large, about the size of my geometry book, except the binding could be measured at about two inches. The cover was thick and bound with leather, the pages sewn in by hand. The leather was worn down and soft, the evidence of decades of handling. A beautiful Celtic knot was embossed into the leather on the front cover, and shiny flecks evidenced that the knot was once ornamented with gold leaf.

As I opened the book, I noticed that the paper was very brittle. It was parchment paper, its golden brown color showing its age. The smell of old paper, not unlike the scent of a library, wafted out of the binding, tickling my nose. I ran my fingers delicately over the first page, noting the soft swishing sounds my fingers made as I smoothed down the paper. The same Celtic knot was printed on the very first page, in dark, heavy ink.

I began turning the pages very gently, smoothing down each paged as it was turned. The artwork in the book was beautiful, starting with woodcuts of fairies and goblins, progressing to stunning hand drawn renditions of mermaids and sea serpents. Each paged crackled like leaves as I explored the book. The pages alternated between artful designs and illustrations and beautiful script. Skimming over the delicately scribed words, the book’s history began to reveal itself.

It had been handed down in my family for nearly a century. One of my relatives, a strong-willed woman by the name of Elizabeth started the tradition of writing down her herbal remedies for things. Her daughter, Penelope, inherited the book and began to write down simple little spells and things she’d learned from her mother. As the book was passed down, mother to daughter, something new was added. Penelope’s great-granddaughter, Victoria, began the drawings. Victoria’s daughter recorded every ritual she ever conducted. And so it passed, all the way down to my mother.

I had seen the book on display in our living room, set up on an ornate bookstand acquired somewhere along the line. I’d run my fingers over it much as I was doing now. There was always a familiar feel in the leather, something that made me feel safe. Every woman in my family had contributed to this book, and now it was mine. I softly closed its covers, and stood. I placed the book on the same stand it had rested on for at least two decades, and smiled proudly. I had a lot of writing to do.