READ THE STORY

Sharika had been hunched forward over her book, sitting on the cracked concrete steps of the abandoned school for hours. Just blocks away from her home, this was her favorite place to read. She looked around and noted the juxtaposition of the school’s abandoned, rusting playground equipment against the shining, oft busy equipment of the newly minted park across the street. The school was named after a leader in human rights. The park was named after a current, local official who may or may not have done anything for the community. The park was pretty nonetheless

She turned the small paperback book over in her juvenile hands, running her fingers along the worn, exterior card-stock protecting the pages within. She thumbed across them from cover to cover, faster and faster until it made a funny sound. She giggled. It had been a while since she last giggled. 

This spot was her favorite as it allowed her to be outside and around the energy of others, but not bothered by them due to its abandoned nature. Right now she craved her own company, welcome company. It had been just a matter of months since her family packed up and moved across the country. Her mother had accepted a dream job. While Sharika was happy for her mother it had been anything but a dream for her. Sharika was intimidated by the kids at her new school. She had tried to make friends but no one was trying back. Alone, she navigated halls of contemporaries meant to know and get along with. At least here there was no pressure to get along with anyone. So many phases of life are awkward on their own and so many others are made awkward by others. At this age, she was experiencing both. 

Her reprieve lay in books. She loved books. She was a voracious reader. The transportive quality they offered, how some could fit in a pocket while others were almost too heavy to carry, but most appreciated was the fact that even if she tried, she could not read all the books in existence. She was thankful for all the people out there making new books, every day increasing the odds against her finishing the world’s offerings. She smiled again as the sun began to set, enjoying its beauty until the realization set in that its departure heralded the dawn of another day of school. She still had time before she had to return home.

Sharika thumbed through the book some more and found a dog-eared page she’d somehow missed. It was in the back of the book, not part of the story, but she couldn’t tell what it had originally been. Some person had glued or otherwise permanently affixed a piece of paper to one of the book’s pages in order to write something else. 

In tight, sloppy but elegant cursive, there was an entire page of handwritten, numbered text. It read:

“Allow me to enumerate a few facts which are all true of one creature. Do not skip ahead. Fully form an opinion as to what this creature might be, then find your answer with the turn of the page. 

In no order of importance:

1. This creature is capable of traveling the farthest distance, in proportion to it’s size, of any creature like it.”

Sharika immediately thought of how small she felt and how far her family had traveled.

“2. Its brain is so large, it comprises 4.2% of its total weight.”

She humbly thought of how many books she read and planned to read.

“3. They’re complete loners. They travel extensively, as previously stated, all by themselves.

4. By lowering their body temperature to near death, they are able to endure severe weather conditions. It actually takes them up to an hour to ‘wake’ from this state.

5.  They must stay in almost constant motion to survive. 

6. They are the only creatures of their kind that can move in the ways they are able.

7. Hopefully by now you’ve surmised I’m describing no human because they hear better than us, and see so vividly they perceive on the ultraviolet frequency.”

She thought to herself, “What kind of creature could be this strong, smart, and independent?” She hoped she could be more like that. The final fact read:

“8. When they are found in groups they’re called a ‘charm’ “

Sharika let out a quiet gasp. She closed the pages on her thumbs, keeping her spot, and hugged the book against her chest. One of the meanings of her name- she had been told many- was ‘charm.’ She reopened the book and finished reading the handwritten prose. 

“I didn’t like the appendix- so I rewrote it.”

The sun had gotten low enough that she needed to make her way home. She kept herself from opening to the next page, delighting in the mysterious identity of this powerful creature.

She crawled into bed, set the book on the modest table next to it, and fell fast asleep hoping for answers in her dreams.

Sharika's eyes fluttered open against the long rays of sun shooting through the middle of her light purple curtains. The young girl slowly rolled over until she remembered the mystery that sat on her bedside table. She had dreamed of cafeteria meatloaf which could talk; she was quite sure that was not the creature the book had described. 

She grabbed the book, sat straight up in bed, and opened to the page of facts. Making herself wait just a second longer she looked up at the wall and blindly turned the page. 

“What could it be,” she whispered aloud

There on the back of the page were no words but a beautiful, hand-painted illustration of a ruby- throated hummingbird. She flipped the page back and read over the facts again. Then back to the illustration. It was vivid, technically proficient, and her wonder-filled eyes took in every detail. Under the bird was a signature that looked as if it read: 

“-R. Reinhardt”

R. Reinhardt, the name sounded familiar but from where? She sat in a moment of silent reflection. What a unique treasure to find in this book. She didn’t wholly approve of someone taking it upon themselves to deface an author’s hard work, but what a little jewel it was. Suddenly a lightbulb flickered in her mind. She flipped the book over and there at the bottom of the front cover was the author’s name. Ryker Reinhardt. She couldn’t wait to return the book to the library, sending it on its way to the next lucky reader.