The Second Forever by Colin Thompson

across and rubbing out the word.
    Your blood now creaks in your veins, barely moving. Your heart sleeps too, as does mine. Not so much sleeping as hibernating, time slows down until it becomes too heavy to move.
    And now, know you, that your soul sits in the palm of my hand.
    Know now, that you too have become forever . . .
    â€˜I can’t do this,’ said Peter. ‘After all we did to destroy this evil thing, I just can’t bring it back to life.’
    â€˜We haven’t got a choice,’ said Festival, putting her hand on Peter’s arm. ‘And anyway, even if we stop now, it’s already done.’
    Peter nodded and put his hand over hers.
    They knew they had no choice and they also knew their future – a future that was now set in stone. The original book had only been twenty-seven pages long, but it only took a single page to make the reader immortal, which Peter and Festival were now once more.

    One hour later it was done. Any empty spaces there may have been in their memories had beenfilled instantly as they had written the pages. Looking back it felt as if, once they had started, the book had re-written itself, needing only their hands to hold the pen. And all the while Syracuse had slept, except for a split second when she had opened her eyes, which neither of the children had noticed.
    When Bathline had given Peter the original book, she had pulled down an old velvet curtain from the window, torn it into strips and wrapped the book up tightly, telling him he must never read it. Now Peter took the curtain from the other side of the window, tore that into strips and wrapped up the new book in the same way. It was more of a symbolic gesture than a way of stopping them reading it. They were already immortal, but it might be enough to imprison the book when others wanted to read it. It might buy time for Peter and Festival to get away.
    â€˜We have to find a safe place to hide the book until it is time for us to leave,’ Peter whispered.
    â€˜Let’s go and ask your grandfather,’ said Festival. ‘He’ll probably have an idea.’

    â€˜I have the very place,’ said Peter’s grandfather. He indicated that no one should speak and pointed to his mattress. Peter lifted up the edge while Festival pushed the book under as far as she could reach.
    â€˜I would take you there myself,’ said the old man in a clear, loud voice for anyone who might be listening in, ‘but I fear I am too unwell to leave my bed until after the next full moon. I am unable to sleep, and lying here hour after hour through the long dark nights wears me out. I suggest you hide the book in the dinosaur gallery, where there are many unused cupboards that no one has looked in for years.’

    He fell silent then, beckoning the two children to come closer before continuing in a whisper, ‘Go to the gallery and pretend to put something in one of the cupboards.’ Then, lying back in his pillows, he closed his eyes and said, ‘Can you imagine how it feelsknowing that you are older than your own father?’
    Peter reached down and touched the old man on the shoulder before he and Festival headed down towards the dinosaur gallery.

‘ C an we go outside now?’ asked Festival the next morning. ‘We still have days to wait until the full moon.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Peter. ‘We’ll go to the botanic gardens. It used to be the only outside place that came anywhere near being as wonderful as here.’

    Before the drought it only took an hour or so to reach the gardens, but since the rains had failed, everything had been slowed down to conserve energy and water. Private cars were almost unknown now. They lay unused in driveways and gardens. The air was so thick with dust that their engines would choke to a standstill in less than akilometre.
    Only the network of electric trains that criss-crossed the city were still in regular service. They had