It was a warm summer day, the sun shone high in the sky, the birds chirped loudly in a jubilant chorus, and I hated it. I holed myself inside my gloomy apartment. I lived in a one-room studio apartment, I was sparse in my decorations, all I had was my bed, my closet, and my kitchenette.
I used to go to college, I wanted to become a history teacher once upon a time. At some point, I stopped going, around the same time I bought the book. Near where I live is an antique store with a rather large amount of old books. I only went there once but when I went I felt an almost magnetic pull to the book. It’s an old tome with yellowed pages. The cover is made of a deep crimson leather with black writing of a language I couldn’t read up until now.
I had spent months learning about the book and how to read its contents. Everything from shady message boards to buying strange things from the dark web. My efforts paid off, slowly but surely, I could decipher the text of the book.
The title was, direct.