The Library

The stack of books wobbled precariously in my hands as I attempted unsuccessfully to navigate the library door. “Need a hand?” I turned my head as best I could and nodded a grateful assent to Dave the Librarian, who deftly turned the handle and swung open the door. I staggered inside, the books in my grasp weighing heavily and hampering my movement. “Here let me help you” offered Dave, who took the books before I could reply. My thanks were drowned out by his buoyant reassurance that it was no trouble, and what else was he here for, if not to help encumbered readers such as myself. I smiled in reply and made my way through the towering shelves and artificial alleyways of words to my favourite spot. Though I had worked my way through a substantial amount of books here there were still many I had yet to enjoy. Time slipped away from me as I perused the titles names that sounded reassuring, places that I conjured up strange images. I lost myself in another world.

I was startled from my reverie by a slight movement. Dave was standing behind me, his outline stylised against the dwindling light from the window. “We’re closing soon,” he said, his voice soft albeit alien in the dome of silence that had enveloped around me. I nodded and began to gather the books I would be taking. “I’ll take those” he whispered, his cold fingers closing around my wrist.

The silence swelling once more. The darkness, resolute and indecipherable.

Angie Mullins

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