Myst - Book 1
Myst
Chapter 1 - The Reading

It was the dead of night, everyone slept at home. The stars lit the sky and the moon, its last quarter shining from the east. A stray dog barking, the crickets chirping in the distance. Tranquil, calm, peace. In the sky, unaware of anything, a sparkle. Through the sky, an image, faint and far, what seemed to be the view from a rip. Through it, an eclipse, a white ring became a thin crescent that grew larger, and fatter, into a sun, and the sky beyond the sky lightened to blue. Through the fissure, a man falls, traveling far and fast but not long. Just as the man fell, he disappeared without any trace, except for his book, that continued to fall into the starry expanse. Further down, faster, longer. It left space and hit the sky, continuing through, the fell into the cloud line, clear of any traffic. The final approach, and the book slowed down, as if gravity lost its effect. It continued slower to the ground until eventually, it hovered for a split second above the ground, and there, planted on the side of the road, without a sound, nor a scratch, the book lay peacefully on the bare grass.

For 16 hours the book slept on that very spot, even in the day noone bothered nor cared, for half the time they were still asleep. A man, the first, saw it from over the hill. He hurried to see it, nearly dropping his own. He stammered down the foot and stopped right on top of it, panting and out of breath. His Irish accent distorted by the jog;
'What
is
this
taing?', panting uncontrollably, catching the last of his breath. His arms flopped and retrieved the book, 'Myst?', quoting the title. He examined the books exterior, 'Looks old,
but not damaged,
must've been put here
not long ago.', slowly catching. 'I can read this. Just a bit thick.' It looked as thick as a brick, and felt as heavy as one, 'I'm guessing.........seven, seven fifty pages.' He returned to the front, 'Who wrote it?', scanning the cover and spine, 'Where's the author?' He shrugged, and proceeded home, beginning to read his new book, '"The Chronicles of Myst Island and the Four Ages Therein"?! Great, fictitious history. One of those Lord of the Rings type taings.', he continued onward home, and thus began the journey he is yet to undertake.

For a week he read Myst, in the morning, instead of his boring morning shows, he read. During tea and lunch, when he hung with his friends, he read between conversations. When he walked home, he was nose deep in Myst, buried in the wonder and detail the author conveyed, which he eventually found out to be Atrus. Even at home, he read the most there, with his brother interrupting or watching TV, or on the net. And before he slept, he'd sneak a couple more pages before turning out the light. Tonight however, is a little different, for he is now on the second last page. He yawned, and he knew he was tired, but he had a page left, Come on!, he thought, Why not? It's probably only half a page anyway. he turned the page and, to his surprise, a page was missing, torn from the book. And the last page, that was even stranger, 'What the hell is this?', he said over the static. The last page had a picture at the top, and it was moving, like a little telly in the page. Shocked, the man shook his head, 'I knew this book was strange, but not that strange.' He touched the picture for but a second, and then, he glowed, and disappeared, under a low murmur.

He linked into Myst. With no way out.