Sora could explain when the Prime Minister would die, and who would succeed. She could know the numbers to the lottery, and what scratch tickets would make her a fortune. And if it weren’t for the damn books rules, she would have found all this out already.

[How to torture a book]

•Advice in writing torture scenes?

•How to write painful torture scenes.

•The writer guide to torture!

“Your not going to find anything” the book spoke into her head. It’s voice was like a mosquito with the sound of a chronic smoker, buzzing in her ears so only she could hear.

She closed off the tab and deleted her search history. The book chuckled.

It lied on the side of her desk, all sorts of pins and needles poking into its leather cover. Still, it wouldn’t give in.

“I told you already” the book drawled. “If you wish to see the future, you must pay with a year of your life.”

“And I told you” she retorted, “that’s a load of crap. Your like a genie, I should at least get the first three tries free.”

“That’s not in the rules.”

“You and those damn rules!” She shoved the book off her desk, watching as the pages fluttered back open to the one page she hated seeing.

The book was filled with empty pages, except for the first.

ʀᴜʟᴇꜱ:

•ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛɪᴍᴇ/ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ.

•ɪꜰ ᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ɢᴜᴀʀᴀɴᴛᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ, ɪᴛ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡɴ.

•ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪꜰᴇ.

•ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ (ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛʟʏ).

•ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴜɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴇ.

“Real funny” Sora deadpanned, picking the book up and gripping it tightly. She could feel the power running through it, urging her to ask a question. It didn’t need to speak for her to know what it wanted.

“Don’t you want to know if you’ll get cured?” The book asked.

Sora shivered. “How did you know.”

Of course, the book was probably all knowing. What if it knew what she would respond already?

“It’s because you gave me a mouthful of papers when you shoved me” it said.

Sora looked down at the pile of scattered papers. There was her diagnosis, right besides an F in her physics test.

“What if I don’t have enough years to give?” Sora asked. The doctors predicted she wouldn’t last a year. Treatment wasn’t working either.

“Then you die” it stated without remorse or pity.

Sora sighed. She picked up a pen and opened the book to a blank page.

“Are you going to ask if you get cured?” It inquired.

Sora didn’t see the point in asking that. The answer was clearly no.

ᗯᕼO ᗯIᒪᒪ ᗩTTEᑎᗪ ᗰY ᖴᑌᑎEᖇᗩᒪ?

She didn’t have many friends or family. It would be better to spend her remaining days with people who would be there till the end.

“Book, hello?” She asked it, waiting for it to work.

ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ.

Sora’s stomach dropped. Of course, she didn’t expect many people to show up. But no one? What a sad life she must have lived to achieve that.

She picked up the pen again, spending her second, and probably final year. Maybe it was the magic of the book taunting her to keep asking, throwing out all caution. Or maybe the books words were her final straw.

ᗯᕼY?

Silence. A good silence for a minute, until the letters one by one appeared on the page, until they gazed back at her horror-stricken face.

ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅɪᴇ.

“So clever, Sora” the book said. “What will you do now?”