Library – Pt 2

The paradox of my writing is that it can let me say so many things that I would not have been able to say in person, but that it keeps me away from anyone being able to say anything to me. I guess that’s okay for the situation I’m in now, because I’m not so sure I want to hear anyone else speak for a little while. Except you. I miss you. I wish you were here, able to say something to me.

The men didn’t get into the library, somehow. They came in waves to the window, piling on top of each other. The windows are about ten feet high, and they were covered to the top in waves of blue shirts. The ones who hit the glass first I had to feel sorry for, even if they are trying to kill me. Are they trying to kill me?

Anyways, the men who hit the glass first became the ones at the bottom of the pile of bodies. They didn’t get back up. The others did, though, and they backed away slowly and began staring at me. That same stare with the same black-hole eyes. It was like a forest of eerie, tall men all wearing the same blue shirt; there were over one hundred, but I can’t tell how many more, it just went on forever.

I couldn’t move again, or scream.

Then there was a howl, like I had heard the first blue shirt man let out, but this one came from inside the library. The blue shirt men outside didn’t move, and their eyes didn’t change, but for some reason I could move now. Everything was silent for a long few seconds. And then screaming, not howling, but normal screaming. It was a man’s – loud and painful. I heard someone’s fist pounding on the wall down the hall and someone trying to walk. I heard more screaming.

After that I heard nothing, followed by a whispered “help.”

I turned to see a bloodied hand gripping around the corner of the wall. A man stumbled behind the hand, with his other hand holding his side tightly. He was around 40, another normal looking guy. He was wearing jeans and no shirt. Maybe not that normal looking, but still.

He frightened me when I saw him. Why is that? Why are we afraid of people who need our help? I don’t think it’s because we don’t want to help them. I think maybe we just don’t want to become a part of anything. We don’t want to be scammed. We don’t want to get hurt. We don’t want to know the wrong people, or we don’t want to this or do that.

Well, I’m already a part of this. Even though he scared me, I quickly inched towards him. I tried to make my posture as gentle as possible. As I got closer, I saw that he was holding his side because it was bleeding heavily. I gasped, again scared, but didn’t say anything. I jogged to the other side of the room where there was a jacket left in the lost and found. I jogged back and put the arms of the jacket widely around him. He grabbed the arms eventually, and we tied it over his wound. I got him a chair and a cup of water, he didn’t want anything else.

When he looked at me, and when he spoke to me, he didn’t look hurt like you’d think. He looked sad, and scared. His tone made me feel lonely, like both of us knew he could not do more than just speak to me at this point, and that then he’d be gone.

He couldn’t tell me much. He told me to look in the hallway bathroom, that was the most important thing he wanted to make sure of. But then he told me that he was sorry, and that he didn’t want to frighten anyone or hurt anyone. Then he told me that he couldn’t remember much from “before,” but that maybe he’s happy about that. But maybe not, too. I half-smiled, because smiling felt right and wrong, and because I didn’t know what else to do. What else to say, or how to look or what to do with myself.

And then he was gone.

I sat, and cried, and tried to figure things out for a bit. All of the men were still outside, though, so I didn’t want to stay within their view.

I went into the bathroom like the man had told me to do. I found one of the blue shirts on the floor. It was just a thick t-shirt with teal and green stripes on the side. The stripes looked different up close, though. Picking up the shirt, I realized that the lines were actually wires. The wires went into the shirt, which was covered in blood. I did my best to flip it inside out without touching too much of it. On the inside there was a connection piece, like some sort of plug. Did this shirt plug into the man out there? Is it plugged into the men outside?

Next to the shirt was a cell phone. I looked on the screen to see a message reading CONNECTION LOST flashing on it. I pressed the home button, it wasn’t any normal operating system on the phone. There was only a folder on the screen that said ‘notes’.


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