The Book of Life

        My apologies for not posting earlier...yes it's been twelve days. My apologies. So...

This is a draft to revision piece (short story) and I really ran with it. My draft was nothing like this result, but it was a start. Since this piece is like ten pages long, I will post it in sections.. and perhaps it will help with the suspense. :) That's the hope anyways... So here it is: The Book of Life. Or at least part of it... 

   The Book of Life, as it was called, was made of dark leather and worn from constant use in the past one hundred years. The pages were wrinkled and slightly torn from getting to certain pages quickly. It lay before me now, on the table for my viewing. I was afraid to look at it: afraid of what I might find. Had I lived the life I thought I had or was it all just a big myth and did not matter in the end? I was about to find out, though I was not sure if I really wanted to. I was urged to take the book and open it and contemplate the contents. I was assured that it was not too scary and that I had nothing to lose any more; I am what I am and that’s the end of it.

            I opened the cover and came upon the title page. There, in black ink, my name was listed. Under the careful letters of my name, I found the names of my parents, my brothers and sisters, my wife, and my four children: Max, Alexandra, Sophie, and Geoff. I was amazed to see all of my information listed as well: Date of Birth, Address, etc. Though there was a number I could not recall; it was listed under my social security number. It was twenty digits. I turned toward the assistant who had helped me earlier with a confused look on my face. He laughed and told me that my reaction was not uncommon and that the number was my birth number. Out of all the people born on the earth that was the number I was. I was young compared to some of the numbers they had nowadays. I turned the page.

            The two sheet spread showed a scene that seemed to be in a hospital. Light greens and yellows were surrounding the edges like a blanket. There were two faces in view: my mother and father. They both looked happy. Flowers cluttered the far corner and I noticed a small girl, who would have been my older sister, Sheila. Overall, she looked happy, but angry about the pink paisley dress that my father had obviously picked out for her to wear. I laughed with delight and turned the page.