Congratulations!
The book you dreamt about last night is now in a little brown paper package on your kitchen table.
Please do not be concerned that unwrapping the wrapping will unravel everything in the Universe that is raveled. That probably won’t happen, we think.
You’ll note that the brown paper package is tied up with string. This is a coincidence; please pay it no mind. And the fact that it contains nothing but the cloned whiskers of kittens? That is a feature, not a bug.
The book is quite heavy and yet not very large. It can’t be bound in human skin. It’s TOO heavy. It’s probably adamantium. Have you annoyed Superman lately?
You’re not sure why there’s a huge bite taken out of the book, or why there’s a delicious taste in your mouth which makes you think of wood smoke, red velvet cake, and whiskey. On the other hand, you’re rather curious what would happen if you just nibbled a little bit on the spine.
The book is definitely not glowing. There is assuredly no countdown. The walls of Reality are wearing thin. Assuming Reality has walls. Assuming that the walls are not an illusion, or that Reality is not an illusion.
Actually, the latter would be comforting. But the book has been speaking to you in a soothing voice, assuring you that everything will be fine, and you are certainly not dreaming.
You really wish you were dreaming.
It would be lovely if you were dreaming.
You’re not dreaming. Sorry.
Why not unwrap the thing? Unbind the string? Remove the paper, unstaple staples with the stapler, and see what’s inside?
It’s humming now, rocking back and forth, occasionally chuckling to itself.
You vaguely recall agreeing to either read this book, or be thrown into that volcano.
How far away was that volcano, again?
