The man couldn't spell.
He tried and tried and tried, but the words kept coming out wrong.
When he doublechecked the letters in his mind the order was perfect, but the moment his pen touched paper they warped. He already had the ground covered with crumpled failed attempts. It was as if the words were rebelling against him.
He looked at the spellbook open on the dais. It was mocking him. Literally.
"You silly fool," said the spellbook with its lilting voice, "you thought you'd just magick yourself a new life. You can't even escape your self."
For a moment the man wondered if he was imagining the voice. Than he realized that he would also have needed to imagine the old woman and her assistant who had warned him that the book had an attitude.
"Shut up," said the man, "do you have a spell that would make me spell right? Or something like this one that doesn't need words on paper?"
Silence.
"I said.. umm, right, I said shut up. Speak."
"No. I do not have anything like that. I am not a book for silly fools."
"Shut up."
The man took a moment to walk around the room. Then he walked back to the book and read the instructions again. The one who writes these words on paper shall be worshipped as god for as long as the paper lasts, they said. He thought and thought. Just as he was about to give up an idea slapped him. He walked over to his coat and pulled out a camera. Then he took a picture of the words on the page and sent it to the laptop in the corner. With the laptop he then sent the image to his printer. As he finally chose the print option he felt something nagging at the back of his head. The instructions.. what was they said exactly?
But the printer was already writing the words on the paper..
