By Juliet Boyd

“No, I don’t want to touch it. It’s dirty.”

Safina stared at the book her mother had placed in front of her. The thought of the hundreds of fingers that had turned the pages made her gag. She wanted to get the bleach out and wipe their imprint away. Instead she opted for some gloves.

“I just don’t get it,” she said, as she turned on the light to see the words.

The pages were browned and fragile to the touch. Safina leafed through the first chapter. A flattened spider stared back at her from the page.

“Gross!” she cried as the book flew across the room.

Juliet Boyd lives and works in Somerset and enjoys writing a shorter kind of fiction.

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