When we went through the backpack of the dead woman we found under the bridge, there was nothing there but dog-eared copies of stolen library books. She had no ID, no clothing, nothing but books. The Harry Potter books and “A Wrinkle in Time” appeared to be her favorites, judging by the amount of use they showed. Did she have a shopping cart or some other belongings somewhere that contained more practical survival gear? I went down to the homeless camp near the railroad tracks to ask around.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “dog-eared.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “Dog-Eared”

  1. Maggie picked up the poetry book at the bookstore’s clearance table and started flipping through the pages. She came across a sonnet written by Christina Rossetti that made her ponder on life, death and what we leave behind of ourselves once we no longer inhabit this earthly realm. She dog-eared the page and walked toward the cashier register.

  2. She entered his private office. She’d have to be extremely careful not to leave any trace of her visit. He would be so upset. But she couldn’t pretend everything was all right any longer. She opened the top drawer and pulled out an agenda. She automatically flipped to the dog-eared pages. Each page was a day on which he had cancelled their plans. Rendez-vous with another woman?

    1. If anyone has read my story I am most interested to know what the perception of the point of the story is. Its main thrust, its focus. This is for scientific reasons, in terms of a perception exercise. And actually I am interested in those perspectives on the story in terms of what anyone thinks the average or general reader would have in regard to the story. Average reader as in someone that reads more than occasionally.

      I have come across a reaction to the story that is so far removed from what I would have thought possible it is disconcerting. I am keen to test my own perceptions thus.

  3. Dust flitted off the cover as she pulled it from its dilapidated home: the shelf. She coughed lightly, but her grandfather’s study seemed acclimated to the grime. The tome weighed in her palm; she flipped it open and a nonchalant, dog-eared page captivated her, smelling of tobacco, mint, and him.

  4. She was always miffed at having to inherit text-books. They were four siblings, so when the books came to her, they would have notes , comments scrawled on the edges, cartoons with rude remarks , food-stains of all conceivable kind; from grease of the samosas to the stickiness of pedas, all were there. What she hated most were dog -eared pages, which almost tore at the edges, some taking valuable print along with them.
    How she wished she got new books, mint condition, crisp-white and smelling of ‘newness’; instead of the stale odour she had to contend with.
    Her religious elder sister would anoint the front pages with a vermillion ‘tika’, and write down the names of scores of Gods and goddesses down the front page(in a desperate attempt to pass exams by propitiating ‘all of them’), not leaving any space to write even her name. Ugh!!

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