"Sir, you called for me?" Nathan's voice broke through the disturbing silence. I sat with my elbows resting on my knees and my forehead in my hands. My leather armchair was my place to think, to deeply think. The musty smell somehow cleared my mind. The hair on my arms stood on end like I was cold, but my face was hot. I slowly stood up, my legs sore from sitting to long. My mind was so far gone from this world I forgot how badly my arthritis is. I groaned at the pain in my joints.
Nathan rushed over to me with my cane. It was wood with a handle of gold. Nathan was a lean kid. His blond hair was cut short and spiked up. His green eyes looked worried. I understood why he was so worried, I usually don't ask to be alone in my thoughts. He is usually by my side all day working with me. Nathan then handed me a glass of water, he shook as if he was going to drop the glass. I took the glass before he could spill it. I slowly drank the ice-cold water. Chilling me as it went down my throat. He took the glass back and set it down on a small side table next to my chair. My stomach was fluttering and I almost felt sick.
The room around me was dark and dusty. I rarely came in here. It is a old library filled with books from the past. It creaked and groaned with every step or move you make.
"Thank you, Nathan." My voice sounded foreign to me as it came out in a raspy tone. I cleared my throat and started to walk over to a bookshelf on the far end of the room. "I have important things to discuss with you." I scanned the shelf looking for the right book.
"What do you mean important things? What is more important than our work?" His voice sounded shaky, like he suspected something. Our work was important, it has been vital to the survival of mankind. I was the Author of Books; I have a special gift that was said to have disappeared from existence. I have the gift of writing and imagination. Ever since I was a child I had the gift. I was taught to use this gift to bring stories and books to the world so humans can survive. I see an idea pop out of the thin air like magic and write it down. Nathan is my editor, my apprentice. My hand rested on the top of an old dusty book. The pages were worn and weathered with age. The binding was ripped in some places and title was worn completely off.
"Sir, you haven't left your chair for hours and have not eaten in a while. Sir, is there something wrong?" Nathan laid a hand on my shoulder. I had not noticed he had come up behind me; I looked at his worried eyes.
"Yes, there is something wrong. Someone is in danger; an Author is in danger."
