Most Boring Book Ever! Novels & Stories

“Business plans blah blah...Argh!, I would probably doze off at the second page and that has like 400 pages?!” “I’m the one reading it and not you. Why are you complaining?” “Tsk! You are so boring, you should get something more interesting to read not this boring book” He looked at me amusedly and moved closer to me making me rest my back at the shelf. “You are getting books for your exam? Are the books in any way fun to read?” “No, because they are textbooks and textbooks are naturally boring” “So...?” He looked at me questionably. “You aren’t attending any school anymore. No exams to worry about. Why do you even need to read books? This kind for that matter” I scoffed.

All the way down to dull and lifeless as, witch after witch, speech after speech, my soul was sucked out through my ears and devoured by the deepest boredom I'd ever felt in my entire life. I caught myself wishing Belaisle would show up just so I had something to do. Or Galleytrot's giant snail. But picturing it sliding its slimy way over the assembled witches and magical beings just led me to sigh and shift in my seat. There was only so much I could do with a man-eating gastropod to keep me amused. Who knew the opening day of conclave was mind-numbing exploration of each and every Council and attending coven's rewind of the last one hundred dismally wretched years?

Content and excited, I ate my food happily as I read my novel, IN LOVE WITH MY PRISONER, with a pleased smile on my face. A few hours later, I stood to my feet. I finished my novel and decided to take a walk around the mansion. ;wvi's absence always made the m, mansion seem too big, or too large as the walls would drone on and on without any end. I hated it. I wasn’t hungry anymore. Nor was I wasn’t tired. I was just… bored. Bored enough to start noticing things, awkward things around the mansion as the hours passed by. The first was in the east hallway.

There is a television, with a control with an infinity of channels, there is a shelf with an infinity of books, no matter how much he threw the control, the books out the window, or perhaps the television out the window, in moments, it returned to the same where he was before. The books seemed to be the same, the same days, stuck there, which seemed like a very bad joke that would take him to the same moment, the television showed the world around him, which he couldn't go, the books, they always seemed the same. same, but he never remembered which book he read, because all the covers were the same.

I sat there listening to the most boring account of the book we were reading by Dr Flint. It was Flint’s voice that was the problem. He droned on and on. What made it even worse was that every few lines, he stopped and explained to us what he had read. It was so grating, I could feel myself falling asleep. My eyes were so dry and my lids so heavy. I tried desperately to stay awake, but the more he spoke, the closer to sleep I got. I gave in and closed my eyes, still concentrating on his voice drifting through the room towards me.

“Can I even complain? What do you think I should do?” No reply. Just constant movement. I turned to Roxy. “What about you Roxy?” She yawned then licked at my hands. “Sorry if I'm boring you. I don’t have that much entertainment to offer besides these crappy romance novels” —I raised a red hard cover book I was with— “that are crazily interesting. The stakes are absolutely ridiculous but honestly I have to fuel the delusional antics because I picked them up. And I'm sure you’re tired of hearing me talk about them already.”

"Yeah. It's kind of boring and I don't see the point of reading books. What are we gonna do reading that?" I shook my head at him. "You're missing a lot in your life. Anyways, my favorite book is Nights in Rodanthe by Nicholas Sparks." "Hmm," he hummed. "What's your favourite song?" And so we went on talking about random things. We were questioning each other for about half an hour when I finally got bored of it. "I think that's enough," I finally said. "What? We still have an hour left until we get home." "But I don't want to ask any more questions. I am tired," I said, and right on cue a yawn escaped my lips.

Sex. Nope, I won't go there. I'm not thinking of that. After moments and moments of reading the same paragraph again and again, I gave up and placed the boom back to where it belongs. I wasn't really paying attention to the storyline of the book, I'm just senselessly reading. I don't even know what the book is all about.

It was truly a sacred place. I plopped myself down on the wooden chair and buried my head on the burrow I made with my arms on the table. I sighed deeply, not understanding the pain and supreme tiredness I was feeling. Pain and tiredness wasn't new to me but this was particularly different. I grabbed my favourite book, Othello by Shakespeare and sat, running my hand along the spine of the book. I opened the book and it landed on a page that I had a left a note in. I skimmed the page, reading the parts I had highlighted with a light blue highlighter. I took the note and read it:

Me: What were you doing? B: Reading a book actually. I chuckled as I thought of my response. Me: Oh. Are you always this boring? Reading books on a weekend? I could imagine him laughing at that, or getting annoyed. Either way, my legs didn't stop kicking behind me. B: Depends on what you define as boring. In my world, reading is for the learned, how about yours? I chuckled at his response, he would say anything to not be on the losing end. Me: Don't you get tired of carrying that ego around?