(Photo Credit: CEAyr)
Words had long ceased to have meaning and meaning itself, was no longer capable of being articulated in words. The interaction between eyes, words and pages had irretrievably lost its cusp. There was nothing left to either define or redefine. The world itself was a vast endless plateau of never ending books each indistinguishable from the rest. It was more a churn arising out of a mass assembly endeavour than a spontaneous outcome of lambent ingenuity.
The same books were being read in prison libraries as well as Parliament portals. A vile and toxic air, uniformly breathed in by all.
(Word Count: 100)
This story was written as part of the FRIDAY FICTIONEERS challenge, more about which may be found HERE
For more stories based on the above prompt, click HERE