The Hiding Place: A Novel

by C.J. Tudor

life full of promise. But that’s all life ever is. A promise. Not a guarantee. We like to believe we have our place all set out in the future, but we only have a reservation. Life can be canceled at any moment, with no warning, no refund, no matter how far along you are in the journey. Even if you’ve barely had time to take in the scenery.

Sometimes, I wonder how the hell we even became friends. I guess, like a lot of relationships, it was a mixture of circumstance and alcohol (on my part, at least).

“You have a way of making bad choices.” “Got to be good at something.”

That’s the problem with life. It never gives you a heads-up. Never offers you even the slightest clue that this might be an important moment. You might want to take some time, drink it in. It never lets you know that something is worth holding on to until it’s gone.

Never trust a person whose bookshelves are lined with pristine books, or worse, someone who places the books with their covers facing outward. That person is not a reader. That person is a shower. Look at me and my great literary taste. Look at these acclaimed tomes that I have, most probably, never read. A reader cracks the spine, thumbs the pages, absorbs every word and nuance. You might not be able to judge a book by its cover, but you can definitely judge the person who owns the book.

“We’re all still children inside. The same fears, the same joys. We just get taller, and better at hiding things.”