Chaotic Neutral

The sharp buzzing shot through her head again. Pain like a hot poker between the eyes, quickly followed by searing in the left temple. This had been happening for several days now, periods of excruciating pain followed by tiny respites, mere moments of clarity spoiled again by all-consuming agony. 

Amelia wearily brought her hand to her forehead, the mind’s eye. She fluttered her eyelids and glanced around the room. She had come here because it was a place that had once given her peace, connection. She distracted herself here, lost herself among the dusty whispers. In the dimly lit far stacks of the library, she always felt like she needed to stifle a sneeze. She exhaled sharply through her nostrils like a small rodent or a nervous housecat and shrugged her shoulders up into her ears, a ritual that was private and almost sacred back here in the stacks, the way it should be. She reached her hand, arthritic fingers peeking out from burgundy gloves with the tips cut off, toward the books at eye level. She brushed the brittle spines and shivered. She hoped it was the November chill that jolted up her neck, not something more sinister, but she could not shake the unsettled knot that was tying itself in her belly. Was it some eerie connection to souls of the past, or a simple willingness to acknowledge their presence? Amelia was a dreamer, a visionary at one point in her life, and lately she was always conjuring up some lost spirit to connect with. Inanimate objects spoke to her- always gently, never nagging like the flesh and blood of her daily life- because she listened. She humbled herself and opened her mind.

Way back here she felt their presence. Her heart fluttered open, ready to receive. She hovered the tips of her fingers above a compact hardbound edition, breathed in deeply and nodded. She grasped the spine between her middle finger and thumb then gently tugged. It resisted, then gave way and slid into her waiting palm.

Amelia realized she had been holding her breath, and she sharply exhaled, forcing the air through pursed lips like she was breathing out through a straw. She blinked hard- once, twice, three times- until she could focus on the small crimson print stamped onto the rough jute front cover. Lost Worlds of the Mind, her eyes scanned, by A. Wilhausen. Huh, she thought, what are the odds? She could calculate the odds, perhaps, if she was still in the practice of collecting data. How many times had she come here, how many infinite volumes were on the shelves, what was the probability that it would be this one at this time? But she left that life long ago and far behind. She did not need to calculate and regurgitate any more- she had moved beyond the physical. Her dedication was now to a more ethereal realm, a higher plane of consciousness.

She rested her left elbow on her left hip, hunching slightly like she meant to hide the text away from the cold outside. She used her free hand to flip the cover open to the dedication page. The words written there seared her brain, a pain different than the migraine she had been suffering. It was no less intense or escapable, and it brought hot tears to her tired eyes.

To M, my love-

What a labor- and a privilege- to travel the worlds of the mind with you.

Forever my gratitude.

-A

She had lived an eternity- so many lives- since she had put those words to paper. M was gone, as soon she would be. Reading her own thoughts, yet being so far removed from them, had a physical effect on her. Her heart beat quickly like it was trying to escape from her chest. Her breathing was shallow and labored, each inhale more painful than the last. She blinked spastically as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks, running in hot rivulets down her papery skin to her neck, soaking into the thick knit scarf around her neck. Her breath came in gasps now as she crumpled to her knees, so overwhelmed with loss and longing that it suffocated her. She clutched the book to her chest and thought of M. So many long years had passed since their time together, so many missed springs, so many dormant winters. She ached to be near again, to be close. To share so much, and so completely. She was most herself when they were together, and had been desperately working to piece back the broken pieces since they’d been apart. All the work was exhausting, and if she was being honest with herself, fruitless. On this day, at this moment, with the weight of the book against her chest, she knew what she would do.

She held the worn volume close to her breast and tossed her shawl over it, concealing the hard edges. With a flick of her wrist, the dark woven cloth enveloped her, transforming her body into something both shapeless and unassuming. She rose up from the hardwood slowly, feeling the shifting and crackling of bone against bone. She took small, shuffling steps through narrow corridors, down the winding stairs, and toward the circulation desk at the far side of the expansive first floor. She rasped nonsense to herself as she passed the bright young librarian. The girl averted her eyes and busied her hands with the pile of returns in front of her. Amelia shuffled past and out the double doors. This was her magic, projecting the illusion of an addled old woman. She could get away with anything now. The thrill of anonymity and lawlessness twitched her lips into the closest thing to a smile they had tasted in quite some time. She still grasped at the tendrils of the pleasures of youth, knowing well that she could never fully return to them. Maybe that was what made her tiny swirl of chaos even sweeter, she thought to herself as she straightened her shoulders and lengthened her stride.