library #2

The feeling was in the pit of your stomach. Unease. The feeling came in through your senses. The feeling traveled like a stream out of your heart and through your arteries. Usually streams are peaceful, but this was a stream of terror. The people in the library sat quietly reading, but they were equally terrifying. The people who wrote the newspaper; they were terrifying too. Most of the books were arsonists or concrete trucks. Some of the books were paramedics. Some were acquaintances and few were friends. The pillars holding up the building were the parents and the couches and tables were the children. None of the people knew what they wanted to be. Some thought they did, but they didn't. There were blonde girls with asses that hung out of their jean shorts. The elevator was an esophagus and the stairs were lungs. Some words would make the bad things go away. A page can be a portal. But most of the time they were no more important than a fast food taco party pack. Or as worthless as a thousand emotionally involved poems.