Empty Shelves, Empty Hearts

I wake up groggy the next day, in a bed that is not my own, in clothes that I do not own. I blink, trying to make sense of it all, and the last day hits me like a truck - maybe that's truck-kun's way of making itself present. I breathe heavily, letting the weight of it all pass through me, before getting up and looking around the other Aya's bedroom. Surprisingly, it feels like my own.

The same mess surrounds me, although a bit different. Clothes of this world folded and left on a chair. Papers spread on the table, with a pile of books near the bed. A water jug on the writing desk. Everything is the same as my own bedroom, and still so different; a new reality for the same person as I've always been. I stretch and walk to the nearby bathroom, getting ready for the day, my eyes closed as I crack my neck softly. I turn on the water, running my hand through it before opening my eyes, just to be faced with the same ink blackness that was dripping out of the wood on the barn yesterday.

I gasp, pulling my hands back, but they aren't stained with ink. And, as I blink again, the water is back to normal. I frown, staring at it for a few seconds.

"What the hell is going on here..?" I ask myself, before tentatively putting my hands back in the water. Since nothing happens, I then wash my face, thinking about what to do. Something is clearly wrong in this reality, and not only Failure's challenge rings in my mind, compelling me to do something, but also the chilling sense that I am in danger. That something is watching me. If I start to act like myself, I might raise suspicion.

In that moment, I bury Aya the writer, and bring forth Aya the (pretend) librarian.

"I'll blend in today. Observe. Try to figure out what's all... This." I say to myself as I pat my cheeks, trying to anchor myself. "I can do it. It shouldn't be hard to act as a NPC - I wrote thousands of them. You can do this, Aya."

I nod to myself, before finishing getting ready for the day and going down for breakfast. I open the library's windows, letting some new air flow into the stale one of the building, before looking for the bread Ms. Honeyswitch gave me. However, two things catch my eyes: The first, are the dying flowers on her window across the street - I could swear they were just fine yesterday. The second was a bit more worrying. The loaf of bread, as soon as I grabbed it in my hands, started to get moldy and stale at an alarming rate. I release it with a yelp, and watch as the bread that I saw Martha bake last afternoon turns into ink that soaks the floorboards before being absorbed by the library. The building groans as the ink disappear - almost as if it were enjoying it. I frown, choosing to mask my fear with sarcasm.

"Thank you for stealing my breakfast, you old bastard." I mutter to the building, looking for things to make at least a cup of coffee. The building groans again as if laughing at me. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. See what happens if I let a lit match fall around here." I groan. "Ugh, I'm talking to a building. Great way of starting your day, Aya, especially when you don't want to call attention to yourself. At least I'm alone."

I stop when I say that, the gears in my head turning at an alarming rate.

"This is a public library, where classes are held. I shouldn't be alone right now - why there's no one coming?"

Unfortunately - or fortunately - no one answers me in this empty library. Not even the building groans, and that somehow makes me feel more unsettled. I quickly do a cup of coffee that turns out too strong, but drink it black anyway.

Just as I was finishing that cup, I see a young boy, no more than ten, looking in by the window. I smile at him, but as soon as our eyes meet, he pales, his own eyes widening, and ducks under the window. I quickly go to that same window, trying to get a glimpse of him, but the only thing I can see is his back before he turns the corner.

"Strange..." I mutter, taking a few steps back. "Why is that kid alone at this time? They should be having classes..."

I look around, but again, only the silence answers me. I sigh, and go to the door, opening it and looking at the lack of movement on the streets. By now, it was mid-morning. By now, people should be around. The town should be lively. And yet...

To say that not a soul was out would be a lie - I could see an old man stumbling at the end of the street, coming my way. I wave at him, and his broken pace stops for a second before his steps get faster and faster toward me.

"What the...?"

I take a few steps back, startled, as the old man stops in front of me. He opens his mouth, as if to say hello, but only guttural sounds come from his throat. However, he doesn't stop. He keeps talking, as if in a normal conversation, and that just creeps me out more - the sounds sounding more and more like a pen furiously crossing out words, to the point that the paper tears apart. A sound I know very well.

I take another step back into the building, half scared and half playing the librarian role. "Sir... Do you need any books? Our library is open..." I ask, trying to maintain a polite facade, even though I am almost pooping my pants.

The old man screeches as I enter the library, and turns to leave, as if nothing had ever happened. He once again starts his broken pace, breathing hard, and only then I can see the ink stains his footsteps left behind on the dirt.

"Okay, you saw that too, right?" I ask the building around me. "What the hell was wrong with that old guy? And why the hell no one is on the streets besides... Whatever he was?"

I half expected the building to groan again in response, but in reality, nothing happened. I take a deep breath, and finally it starts to sink in - I am alone here, with no knowledge of what is happening.

Luckily for me, the only place I am apparently safe is also the place that contains the most knowledge, so I steel my resolve.

"Okay. Okay. That's fine. I just need to read, and I might find clues on what the hell is happening."

I close the door behind me, and dive headfirst into reading. First, I get into the history section. Most of those I knew instinctively - this was, after all, the world I wrote. But... Things seemed off. Nothing about recent events in these books, nor a section of newspapers nearby. I spend the day reading until the last book on that shelf, before going to bed.

The next day, I don't even bother opening the library properly. I Just get to the next shelf and read as much as I can. The world outside keeps silent, to the point that not even birds chirp outside anymore. I don't look - I know nothing is waiting for me there. However, the more I read, the more I feel like I've already read all of it.

By the third day, half of the library is read, and then I figure out why I've already felt like I've read it. Volume after volume, I see pieces of myself. A poem I wrote at twelve, pages from a novel I abandoned at sixteen, even an essay I swore I'd deleted. No wonder it all felt so familiar. It was me. Every word was mine.

By the fourth day, the paranoia settles. The ink starts to seep my vision sometimes, forming people that are not there when I turn to look. I can feel eyes on me at all times, but I am always alone.

By the fifth day, the children's session is the only one left. I frown, still feeling like I'm being watched, but not feeling any more enlightened. That's when I see the kid looking at me again through the window - he's paler today, and his eyes go toward the kid's shelves as if he was seeing a monster, before running away again.

I look at the shelf, and suddenly, there's a new book there - one I've never seen before. One that I know, and I don't know how I know, shouldn't be here.

I slowly go to it, grabbing it with shaky hands, and immediately I feel the ink staining my hands. It's a black leather book that I slowly open only to find empty pages.

"Really? All of this work for this? Hells, I need to go out, I'm getting too paranoid..." I start, sagging my shoulders. "And I still don't know why I'm here...."

Then the book flips itself to the first page, startling me out of my thoughts, and ink starts to write itself.

"You should not be here." It starts. "You are not her."

"What.... The... Fuck..." I mutter, my eyes big as saucers, but not being able to let go of the book in my hands.

"You are the betrayer. You left. It all started to crumble then. You are not welcome."

The book in my hand starts to bleed more and more, reminding me of the bread from a few days back. My hands start to burn, making me drop the book and shake them, trying to get the ink out.

"Shit--! It burns--"
But the thought dies halfway through my lips as a thunderous crack shatters the silence. I quickly turn to look out the window, just to be greeted by a thunderstorm of hail hitting the walls. There's another crack as a red lightning bolt falls down nearby, and that makes my soul jump out of my skin.

Not as much as the sound of another book falling down from its bookshelf.

I jump and turn back towards the shelves, only to be greeted by the library in complete and utter chaos. The books start to jump out of their bookshelves, one by one, and open in the page I stopped writing them. Every single one of them, in turn, reminds me of something incomplete. Of another failure I left behind.

"Stop!" I scream to the building. "Please! I know it, ok? I know! But I don't think I have a choice! Not anymore!"

The clock on the front table cracks, it's ticking stopping. For a second, it seems like the whole library stops with it.

A second in the eye of the storm.

All the books around me start to bleed in unison, their inks forming a black pool near the door. I gulp, but can't help my own curiosity. I take a few tentative steps towards the ink pool, and look into it, wondering if anything is happening there.

When I look into it, I see my old bedroom from above. I see my bed. And... I see myself. A deathly pale version of myself, with my eyes open and glossed over, with ink marks running down my face. Or... Is it blood? Her eyes don't blink. They just stare back at me, as if waiting for me to admit it. I gasp, and take a few steps back, but it's too late.

The image is already ingrained in my brain.

Is that how my parents found me? That... Gruesome scene? Did I Really die, and this is just... What? Hell? Heaven? Or is it a hallucination of a dying mind?

Thunder cracks outside again, and a hail the size of a baseball hits the window, cracking the glass. That startles to the point of jumping again, and as I look outside, I can see my reflection on the cracked glass. Another lightning strikes, and I can't tell if the marks on my face are tears of ink or blood.

I blink again, and suddenly, the tear tracks are gone from my face. I touch my cheeks, my breath ragged, but don't feel anything other than my own flesh and skin. I look back to the pool of ink, only to find there is nothing there - not even a slight trace of the mess the books bled.

The books, however, are still on the ground, grim reminders of what happened... And what I left behind.

"I don't know what's happening." I start, my voice low, as I close my hands into fists, frustrated. "But if this is a prank played by the gods, it's not funny! You all abandoned me! The only one who wanted me was fucking Failure!" I scream to the air. "And even so, you keep haunting me! I know, ok? I never amounted to anything! And now this? Playing tricks on my mind just because? For what? Fun? Making me give up fully? Well, newsflash for you, I already did, and look at where it got me! So, damn it all! You might want to say otherwise, to scream at my face that I'm not welcome, but I'm alive!" I yell with all my lungs. "I'm still here! I'm! Still! Here!" I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, drumming like the summer festivals in my hometown. I can feel the blood running through my veins, the air rushing in and out of me.

It doesn't matter if this is not real to anyone else. It's real to me.

"I'm still here." I say again, this time feeling a calming conviction wash over me. "And I'll be damned if I don't make it count this time."

I take a few breaths, calming myself down. The library remains the same around me - a chaos of books all around, but none answer me like I expected. I sigh, and rub my face, frustrated, before starting to grab the books off the floor. I start to pile them on the front desk, thinking about reorganizing tomorrow, when something catches my eye.

There, on the front desk, is the same diary of tasks the other Aya was keeping. And, on the last page, the words 'Autonomy under observation' are crossed out, with a new hasty handwriting underneath.

"Anomaly detected. Choken progress failed. Verification needed."

Verification needed, huh? Well, whatever the hell was supposed to happen, apparently I stopped it, and someone would come check why. That only steeled my resolve further, so I ripped the last page off, holding it tightly in my hands, before hastily grabbing a nearby pen and writing underneath the unknown calligraphy.

"Bring it on."