. . .

Gangrene of a book's spine

It's mine, finally. The spine is rotting, half the pages are torn, burnt, or just missing entirely, and the cover is obscured by a large dark red-brown stain, but the book is mine. About fucking time, too. You wouldn't believe the amount of effort I had to put into getting it. People have killed for it before. None of that matters now, though, now that it's in my hot little hands.

The Book of the Mysteries.

There have been legends about it since the beginning. Oh, it's been called by different names, but the premise was the same. All the old forbidden secrets are in here, names of forgotten gods, lost rituals and sacred truths. Unimaginable power is contained within these few pages.

Now what?

I've spent my life finding the literally damned thing, with never a thought as to what I was going to do with it once I found it. It was an impossible quest, an unholy grail. The idea that it might eventually actually belong to me was not one I gave serious consideration to.

It would seem that now is the time for such consideration, then.

I could use it to fulfill all my cherished wishes, my deepest desires, the twisted fevered imaginings of my dark soul. I could turn my enemies into soulless husks, gain wealth and power beyond the dreams of avarice, raise an undead army to topple the government and install me as allpowerful lord and master over all I survey.

But that just doesn't appeal to me.

I don't really have any enemies, I'm living perfectly comfortably on the money I already have, and can you think of anything duller than being lord and master over all you survey? Where's the challenge? Where's the excitement, the thrill of the hunt?

No, my only real desires until now have been for the book itself.

I've trekked through murky jungles, searched ancient temples for clues as to its location, bribed and beaten locals for tips, and in extreme cases stole bits of time-ravaged papers from the bookcases of eccentric millionaires who didn't know what I wanted but who were determined to keep me from getting it. I've lied to customs officials, seduced the odd attractive woman, and gained a reputation as an utter lunatic in the scientific community, and I've never had as much fun in my life.

Which brings back the original question. Now what?

Wait a moment. Hold on just one minute. I think I have an idea. It's crazy, but it just might work. If only the book has the proper incantation... yes. Here.

Yes.

Now the book is gone. Thrown back into the mists of time. Hidden once more in some accursed dungeon somewhere on this planet. Somewhere. None really know where.

It will be mine.