As I slowly crept towards it I looked in both directions to make sure no-one was watching me. For some peculiar reason, I felt dangerous. Similar to what I had felt as a small child stealing books my mum had never let me buy. She was dead now. I didn’t have to follow her rules, or anybody else’s for that matter.
I carefully knelt down, caressing the binding of the novel. It was frayed at the edges, but the colour was rich, the golden tone blinding me with its brightness. I flicked my head around, was someone shining a light? Of course not, the library was always empty six in the morning.
Gently easing open the book, I found myself unable to even glance at the words on the page. Somebody's eyes were fixed on me, I could feel their gaze pierce my skin, and my face tightened, my breathing grew heavy and erratic. I turned a fraction to the right, and I couldn't see a thing, but someone was there, and the books were closing in on me, oppressive and unkind. I couldn't breathe, and when I did it was too loud, too conspicuous, and the person would hear, the books would hear. In my panic, I must have knocked the heavy golden novel off my lap, it fell face down, and I hadn't read a word. The delicate pages had scattered all over the ivory floor and down the ladder, rubbing against the rough wooden steps, causing them to creak. Almost as if the book had a life of its own, choosing its own path.
Another book had fallen from its place, crashing to the floor as the previous one had done. Was there another person in my presence… another soul with thoughts and actions of its own? Blood rushed through my veins, the pumping of my heart increasing with every movement.
I heard the familiar creaking of the door. Someone had to be there. Or was it just the wind? The pages that had once been scattered along the ladder, lifted; flying through the air. The sharp edges of the paper headed in my direction, as if it wanted to take my life into its own pages. I flung myself to the floor in bewilderment and fright and forced my hand onto my ears, pushing harder and harder.
‘No-one is here.’
I repeated this reassuring phrase again and again in my head – but this time it didn’t work. Why wasn’t it working? – It had always worked. I was trapped in my own frustration and turmoil. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, still positioned, and forced upon my ears. Someone was watching. Someone had to be watching. The only place I felt I belonged, and I had to escape. I took a few deep breaths: in through the nose, and out through the mouth; in, and out…
It was simple really. All I had to do was climb down the ladder, and walk out the door. But in my head, such a simple task inhibited confrontation and danger. What if that person had been watching me all along, sensed the danger I felt, watched me drop the book and let all the delicate words spill out; as if I had not a care in the world. Books and words were the only thing I could understand, sympathize with, and lose myself in. Stories somehow just made sense, people however did not. I caught a whiff of sandalwood, or was that just the bookshelf?
I propped myself on the ladder and gazed downwards. I didn't want to go to the bottom floor because then it would be easier for him to see me, and he would say things to me. A person had once said: ‘the human race consists of similar cell structure’. This means that two beings can’t be at all that different. I realized that the other guy must have a life; I started to put myself in his shoes, because I'd been told that is what one must do in such a situation, so I started with imagining what he would see every morning. His bed would be white with a red stripe across the width of it, carefully draped over his Ikea mattress. Maybe he had a family and his favorite colour was blue. His favorite food was pea and ham soup and he loved books just like me. I felt like I knew him already. Making my way down the ladder felt a whole lot easier now things in my mind made sense – just like books. Well not completely, but near enough to ease the tension.
As my feet touched the floor, I smoothed my hair and brushed down my wooly jumper. First appearances always counted, and I had to make sure I made this one good. I made my way towards the distinguished oak door and opened it.
“Hello?”
No reply. I closed the door and fumbled my way around the library.
“Hello?”
Still no reply
“Hello?” I shouted it this time; frustrated that the man was leaving no reply.
I ran around the library. He probably just wanted to play a game of hide and seek. Silence...some may call this silence golden, but not me. He should’ve known I didn’t like playing games.
