Reality becomes Fiction

In creative writing we had to write a short story based off a newyorker cover. This is what i chose! XD

     Libraries are so very quiet. Some people just lounge around and read, some Google bunches of subjects and procrastinate from finishing their research papers for school, and then there are the few who just sit in chairs sized for giants and text people they don’t even like, just because they are bored.

     A chair, the ugly shade of forest green, sits separate from all the others. Books cover the wall behind it. I walk over and sit down in the ugly chair, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that millions of eyes are burning in into my skull. I can feel the temperature rise and sweat beads start forming on my forehead. I feel uncomfortable. Looking behind me, I see nothing, oblivious to the fact that I am against a wall of books.

     I pull out my computer and go to type. Nothing happens. I can’t move my hands. It’s as if an unknown force holds my body hostage and I am their slave for all eternity. I giggle quietly to calm my nerves.

“Maybe I should just read a book or something.” Why would I want to read? I hate reading. Why and I standing up? Really?

“Yes, come over here!” The voice repeats, getting louder the closer I become to the bookshelf. I look around, but no one seems to hear the voices but me. To them I am just a regular person standing with ones own free will and grabbing a regular book, but I know that this isn’t just me. I am not doing this by myself. I know that I am not.

“Read me! I’m over here.”

“No, read me.”

“No, me.”

“NO, me!”

“I’m way better than all of them” The many voices are too overwhelming for my brain to handle. I  try covering my ears, but it seems to make no difference. They are getting louder. I am the only one to hear them. Why me? Why this moment in time? Why this place?

     I am soon on the ground squeezing my knees closer and closer to my chest forcing them to bend in ways that I never thought were possible. I black out the shape of a rectangle embedded in my brain.   

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

When the book begin to talk at the library. Time to escape toward outside. A very interesting tale. Good books can pull you to them with good titles or recommendations. Thank you for sharing the interesting tale.
Coyote