The boy sat
Quietly
Diligently turning
Page after page
Eyes focused on the text
And nothing else
He was ****** in
He was engaged
Everything around him was just a blur
The only thing real
Was the little square book
Gripped tightly
In his hands

A man walked into the room
The boy didn't notice him
So he moved closer
And closer
Until he was standing
Directly above
The boy
The boy still paid no mind
Still completely fixated on his reading material
Too distracted to care about
Anything else
"You shouldn't be reading that, you know."
And the boy looked up
Disoriented and confused
The boy raised an eyebrow, suspiciously

"And why shouldn't I?"
The man sighed
Crouched down
And looked the boy directly
In the eyes
And said with a certain frankness
"Because the author killed himself."
The boy smirked a little
A devious little smirk
And said
"Well, that's because he was crazy."

The man nodded
And smiled
And wrinkled his mouth into a little
Slit
And said
"Maybe. But he wasn't always that way.
Don't you do your research?"
The boy was starting to get
Annoyed
He shook his head
"Of course I did. But he's a great author.
Are you trying to say I shouldn't read this because the man who wrote it
Took his
Own life?"
And the man smiled a little more
"No, no. That's not it.
I just don't think it's the healthiest thing to read is all."
And the man stood up

"Well I feel fine.
If you don't mind, I think I'm going to
Get back to reading, thanks."
And the boy averted his eyes
Back to his story
But the man wasn't finished
"You're only on page forty-three."
He said
"It took the author
The the end
Of the story
To gain his courage
And find the trigger."
And then he shut his mouth
Turned around
And walked out of the room
Leaving the boy
His book
And the story
Alone