This is just an abstract story I started at school one day due to boredom. I don't know where I plan to go with this, I might make a small series of it, but not a book. Read and tell me what you think! Critique it as harshly as you want. If there's something that doesn't make sense or any grammatical errors, please let me know. Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, like it! ~artsy.
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I never learned to write.
Odd isn't it? Especially since I live in a library...
My name is Devon. I don't know my last name; I can't even spell my first. I think I'm sixteen, but time is an illusion in my life. My hair is short and fluffy, and has never known a comb. My eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep. I never went to school, I don't have parents or friends, and I've given up on God a long time ago.
Of course, I have absolutely no problem in telling you my life story. Who am I talking to? Probably just myself, I've been doing that a lot lately. I get lonely sometimes, especially in the library. I go to bed behind the bookshelves saying that tomorrow will be better, but it never is. I can barely remember my early childhood. All I remember are words though; no blurred images, no flashbacks, or déjà vu. I can remember words hurling themselves at one another, spilling out in a flood so violent that I was swept away into a dark void of insignificance. A hell with no chance of redemption, but I don't believe in Hell anymore. I can remember voices very well. One of the voices was a woman. She sounded beautiful, even when she was furiously screaming and sobbing. The other was a man. His voice sounded muscular and demanding, threatening too. I didn't like his voice at all. Sometimes, I look back into my voice memories and think that those two voices I hear are my parents. But I can never believe it.
The only image affiliated memory I have is limping up large, white steps. I know that this building was the library because an old, female voice said, "The library is closed." Then she gasped and there was silence. That's the only memory that I can see when I think really hard. For every other memory, all I hear are the voices of the people in them. I stay in the back of the library, where all the huge books are. I dream every night that I would be able to read them and laugh and cry with the characters as the story went on. I pick up one every day and try to read the first sentence. They're words to everyone else, but they're meaningless squiggles to me. I end up putting the book up and feel like a failure. Probably because I'm a failure. I'm sixteen and I can't read or write! I'm classified in the same rank as the elderly who couldn't go to school and the illiterate children under the age of five years old!
I'm always out and about town during the afternoons, the library's busiest part of the day, and I come back to my usual spot in the back of the library. There's always a plate of food for me and two glasses: one filled with water and the other filled with milk. And old woman named Lisa brings these things to me. I don't know if she had the same voice as the old lady when I first came here because I have never heard her speak. She always gives me a small gift when the leaves turns red every year. I think it's supposed to be a birthday present, but I don't know the exact day I was born. She gives me a sketchbook every year and a small pack of lead pencils so I can draw. She doesn't know that I can't read. I'm ashamed of telling her that.
One day, Lisa wasn't there. It was odd, because she was always there. I heard the other librarians say that she was on a holiday break and out of the state to visit family. I envied Lisa when I heard. I wish I had a family to visit. I picked up a book and concentrated on the words, hopefully they would make sense if I thought hard enough. It was Saturday, I think, a slow day for the library. There was one person to check out a book and they left quickly. It was almost closing time when the door chimed, signaling that there was someone coming through. I looked up at the counter, the librarians weren't there. A girl, probably my age, walked up to counter and looked for them. They didn't show up so I went to keep her company. I knew what it felt like to come for answers and get nothing.
She looked my way before I got to her. "Hi." She had a bright smile on her face that revealed neon pink and dark blue braces. Her hair was dark red and very curly that fell down to her waist. Her eyes were bright turquoise, probably contacts. Her lips were a dark maroon color, her skin was lightly tanned with dark freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her nose had an emerald piercing that was 5 mm big. "Hello." I looked into her bright turquoise eyes and was hypnotized by the color. How could anyone pull off that color? "Are you looking for something?"
"Um, yeah." She dug out a piece of paper from her back pocket. I noticed then that she wore a loose white blouse with a black and white drawing of a girl and bold writing underneath it. Her pants were bright blue, the same color as her eyes. She wore gray Converse with the white parts colored in bright green highlighter and red hearts on the top of the shoes. "Can you help me find this book?" I took the piece of paper and stared at the words. "I'm sorry that I'm so close to closing time. I'm new here and I'm not good with directions." As she laughed I listened closely. It was very musical, so light and breezy. Her voice was more alluring when I heard her laugh. "Do you carry it?" She asked me now, her bright blue eyes glimmering with anticipation and hope. I didn't want to tell her I couldn't read. "Well, I'm not really sure. I don't exactly officially work here..." I wanted her to come back. She was interesting and very pretty. "Can you come back tomorrow and I will get a definite answer?" This was the only library in town, I'm pretty sure. She perked up, "Of course! I love coming to libraries. All my friends say I have a book fetish." She laughed more passionately now. She sent a tremendous feeling throughout my body with her voice. "I'm Claire, by the way." Who really was Claire? I never have wanted to know a person more than I did right now.
"Are you guys hiring? I'm sixteen and my parents decided I need to be 'responsible.' " She made air quotes around responsible. "Can I get a resume tomorrow when I come back?" I nodded immediately, "Yes, you can." I kept the paper she gave me. "Well, thank you very much." She held our her hand and I shook it. She started to turn around to leave when she stopped and looked back at me. "I didn't catch your name..."
"I'm Devon." She smiled again, causing my body temperature to rise, but not in a bad way. "Devon..." She said my name slow and musically. I wanted to beg her to stay, her voice was fantastic to listen to. She looked so different and unique than everyone else and she had a story behind her existence. I wanted to be able to read that story over and over again before I go to bed every night. I had never met anyone that had made me think and feel like she just did, and I only knew her name! "I'll see you tomorrow." She stopped, "You will be here tomorrow won't you?" The turquoise color intensified as I stared back at them. "I never leave this place." My smile was probably a vain one, but she chuckled and smiled. "I will be saying the same thing soon! It was nice meeting you. See you tomorrow Devon!" There it was again, the way she said my name. It wasn't the same the way others had said it. I wanted to see her again.
I took out the piece of paper from my back pocket and scanned it. Her handwriting was elegant, curly and neat with a unique twist. I wanted to be able to read this, to read her handwriting. It was as interesting as her.
I went to sleep that night behind the bookshelves with the huge books dreaming of Claire.
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