I wandered through the rows books; all neatly organized. Occasionally I would pull out one of the pieces of literature due to the thought that it looked interesting. A particularly interesting book caught my eye in the Non-Fiction section. Its cover was a dark unsettling shade of red while the book's spine had three bands of golden along the top and bottom. It didn't have a title and was obviously old from how the cover clung on loosely and the condition of the thing.
I flipped it open to a random spot and began to read it to see if it was any good to me;
The dawn is cold, we awoke at an early hour were mist still covers the rich soil in thick layers. The larks haven't even released their morning song yet and all is still in this deathly quiet forest. Still we do not know were we are. A hunting expedition gone horribly wrong.
Trees loom over head, taller than what we have ever seen as if giants of long ago stuck them there into the ground. No game has been spotted to even shoot at. My men are hungry, weary and cold. With loaded muskets slung over our back we trudge on through this accursed place.
Perhaps we are going in circles? I wouldn't know. We were supposed to explore yet here we are trapped in a cycle of walk, rest, starve. Yet we dare not misplace our hope tho' some of my men seem to be giving up.
I stopped reading figuring that the book was a journal of some sort.
Amazing that it survived this long.... And it's interesting...
Flipping back a few pages I wanted to figure out how they got lost;
Tonight, we celebrate with a round of Whiskey for Christmass eve is here. Jackson and Mark and shot and killed two bucks elk and a medium sized bird with colorful feathers. Now we must pick who must skin them, we could surely use their hides, for winter is almost upon us and with it freezing weather. So someone of steady hand. They present the killed game to our leaders, who use their marrow and bone and tonge to craft a stew.
The fire crackles and roars before us as we feast on boiled elk meat, the embers flicker into the darkening sky above. I could see the other camps; laughter floated from them.
We add some wild carrots to the stew along with some meat and soon everyone has some in the slightly cracked wooden bowls. Zesty jubilation fills our camp as we trade stories and sing songs in our half drunken state.
The whiskey burns down my throat, but it leaves me warm and blurs away the hardships of this expedition almost to the point as if they aren't there anymore. Forget about the strange encounters with the natives, the peculiar events that have happened and just fall into the exultation of the camp, the happiness of the men around me.
I growled in frustration, that wasn't it, although happy and lighthearted it didn't tell how they got lost. The man did mention a hunting party in the first entry I read so I scanned over pages until I found I mention of that;
Capt. William has chosen me to lead a hunting party. It is childish, but I am giddy with joy, this is an opportunity for me to move up. I must prepare for everything, nothing shall go astray while I am supervising. The morning dawn is just starting to lighten into it's cool cerulean hue. Not a single cloud mars the perfect strip of blue that floats above.
I just finished polished my musket, it's bullets shinned and rounded. The barrel of the gun glinted in the pale sunlight. The men in the camp were just starting to rise; the fire had burned out long ago. The blackened wood that was once smoldering was no longer hot and now cool to the touch.
We had camped near the sideline of the forest. The tall golden grass of the plains abruptly cut off to make way for the woodland where forest trees loomed tall, covered with emerald shaded leaves and tough dark bark in which was flakily layered.
All the men in my hunting party had awoken and now we start to set forth with our muskets and rifles. We prepare to half explore and half hunt for game to feed our bellies in the woodland that I conclude hasn't yet been seen by man's eye. Sleep seems to have evaded me previous night in my feverous excitement, so I shall end my entry here my men are waiting for me.
~ Jones O' Brian
I flipped onward to a few pages after that entry. At least I knew his name now. But why was it never mentioned in the history books? Before reading the page, I took out my phone and searched up 'Jones O' Brian'. Other than the fact that it kept trying to correct my search to someone else I got no result for Jones O' Brian.
Is this person actually just fictional? Does this journal just belong in the Fiction section of the Miaskoa Library? Who the 50 shades of fuck is Jones O' Brian?
The journal had a slip of silk attached to it so presumably Jones O' Brian could mark were he left off writing last in his journal. So I marked last the page and walked up to the Librarian to see what was wrong with this thing.
She was sitting back behind her desk; she hadn't moved at all and was humming happily. When she saw book in my hand her humming stopped and pretended to never notice it in the first place. "Miss, the author of this seems to a man called Jones O' Brian but when I look him up, no results pertaining to my question appear." I said irritated.
The Librarian looked up surprised, actually surprise "So you don't know? But..." She peered at me with the same quizzical expression that Scarlet often had. "Never mind. Jones O' Brian got lost on a hunting party." I nodded for her to continue; I already knew that. I could tell that gears were turning in her head. "That's hardly a reason to be mentioned." She blinked down at me.