Post by crysohardbleeding on Feb 23, 2009 23:16:14 GMT -5
The lights of the library had always been dim lighted. They dimness of the library protected the books in a shadowy certainty from those who threatened to endanger the books with rough and careless hands. Only the hands of the careful ever crept into this place of semi-darkness. The lights did not only protect the books but the people who spent their time lounging about with a thick volume resting on their lap and many more lying in a pile beside them. When in the library they were safe from judgment and the cruelty of the other inhabitants of Stonebrook. Time in the library was endless, a person could spend three days and three nights in the solitude of the library and not realize it was more than a few mere hours, but in fact days among the leather bound novels. The usual sounds of the library, the echoing of pages turning, were audible. It was the only noise heard in the library and the library greedily consumed the noise, happy to have something echoing off its walls.
The library was just shelves upon shelves of leather clad books. Each book was different from the one next. Each had its unique texture and size, but especially each had something different between the covers of the book. Each novel yearned to be opened, to have someone read the story within and learn the lesson that was trying to be taught. Some books didn’t have a lesson, but characters for you to fall in love with, even some for you to hate. Each book was different. Each was given a life by its author and couldn’t wait for someone to dive head first into the vast pool of knowledge and excitement that lay before them. Not many students, however, stepped foot into the wonders of the library. Many had more important matters to tend to, or so that was what they said. This wasn’t frowned upon by the library though, it was welcomed actually. Only those who cared for the stories and the condition they were in were welcomed with open covers. Those who took pride in reading and did it daily were the ones who spent more time in the library than in their own dorm rooms.
There was one student who spent every waking moment in the hall of books. She was more welcomed than the actual Liberian, but this girl was coming closer and closer to taking her job all together. This girl knew the library better than the creators of the school; she even loved it more too. To this lonely girl the library was her life, her heart, and her soul. Some would call it said to have such a dedication to a thing that was becoming outdated by technology. It wasn’t, not in the least. She called it a purpose. She had given herself the purpose in life to take care of the books no one else took the time to notice. She, however, took attention to detail to the next level. She was so good with detail that she could even fix the books that threatened to die on her. The art of bookbinding was said to be dead, but it lived in her.
The girl was an odd site, that much could be said about her. Her hair was a dark shade of russet with weaves of vibrant red.( In the right light it even looked like her head was constantly bleeding). In her hair was a dozen or more hair slips, all colors ranging of the brightest of pinks to the darkest of violets. One single hair slip stood out, a smiley face that was your typical dull yellow with a creepy smile. The skin of death lingered on the hands of the girl, with black nail polish crudely painted on her nails. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, they were even as lonely looking as it too. The girl, from what anyone could tell, was short and with her shortness came in outfit that only the skinniest of people could fit into. A short skirt the color of the night sky rested on her thighs, with rainbow colored socks resting below her knees. Her feet were held by the worn of converse, the strings barley clung to the tongue of the shoe and they were dirty, so the color was unknown. It looked like it used to be a color of either red of black. Then there was her upper half. She wore a simple long sleeved white shirt with a small black vest on top. At her side was a messenger bag filled to the brim with novels from the library.
Claire and her daemon, Damien, sat in the most alienated section of the library. The young female of sixteen leaned against a bookshelf. Her legs crossed, with the head of her black cat resting on her locked ankles. The cat, with violet eyes, scanned the area with such bored eyes it looked like the cat was going to fall into a coma. The owner of the cat sat intently looking down at the pages of a volume as thick as she was. The title was illegible, the leather was worn and the pages looked like they could only tolerate the softest of touches now. Claire had that touch, she was so gentle with the books, and it was like she was holding a small child.
The cat gave a yawn and turned around in the girl’s lap. The cat slide between her thigh and the book and rubbed up against her stomach, a soft purr emitting from its snout. The girl with graceful hands placed a piece of red string between the pages of the book, closed it and gently laid it beside her. The cat stood on its hind legs as it begged for the girl to pick him up with his sad little eyes. The girl grabbed him and pulled him closer to her chest. The cat mewed happily. “Let’s go outside.” Damien suggested, rubbing up against her neck. The girl removed him from her personal space and held him in the air a few inches from her chest. She observed the feline for a moment before pulling him back to her chest. The cat scoffed “All we ever do is sit inside this moldy library.” Like saying that was going to change Claire’s mind. She simply shook her head as she petted the top of Damien’s head. He couldn’t help but purr “Your wasting your life away in such a boring place, my dear.” “Maybe I want too.” This time it was Claire’s voice. It was softer than any other voice in Stonebrook, but also it was the abnormally attractive. “Whatever you say.” The cat didn’t want to start another fight with her about what they did with their free time. He knew she was going to win and that was the way it should be. The girl gave a nod and slowly rose to her feet, holding the small animal in her arms gingerly. She moved over to the windowsill and let the cat drop to its feet. “This is a start.” The girl rolled her eyes and sat beside Damien who looked up at the bright sky. Claire much preferred sitting in the dim lights, but the cat dealt with it day in and day out. She owed him this much.
The library was just shelves upon shelves of leather clad books. Each book was different from the one next. Each had its unique texture and size, but especially each had something different between the covers of the book. Each novel yearned to be opened, to have someone read the story within and learn the lesson that was trying to be taught. Some books didn’t have a lesson, but characters for you to fall in love with, even some for you to hate. Each book was different. Each was given a life by its author and couldn’t wait for someone to dive head first into the vast pool of knowledge and excitement that lay before them. Not many students, however, stepped foot into the wonders of the library. Many had more important matters to tend to, or so that was what they said. This wasn’t frowned upon by the library though, it was welcomed actually. Only those who cared for the stories and the condition they were in were welcomed with open covers. Those who took pride in reading and did it daily were the ones who spent more time in the library than in their own dorm rooms.
There was one student who spent every waking moment in the hall of books. She was more welcomed than the actual Liberian, but this girl was coming closer and closer to taking her job all together. This girl knew the library better than the creators of the school; she even loved it more too. To this lonely girl the library was her life, her heart, and her soul. Some would call it said to have such a dedication to a thing that was becoming outdated by technology. It wasn’t, not in the least. She called it a purpose. She had given herself the purpose in life to take care of the books no one else took the time to notice. She, however, took attention to detail to the next level. She was so good with detail that she could even fix the books that threatened to die on her. The art of bookbinding was said to be dead, but it lived in her.
The girl was an odd site, that much could be said about her. Her hair was a dark shade of russet with weaves of vibrant red.( In the right light it even looked like her head was constantly bleeding). In her hair was a dozen or more hair slips, all colors ranging of the brightest of pinks to the darkest of violets. One single hair slip stood out, a smiley face that was your typical dull yellow with a creepy smile. The skin of death lingered on the hands of the girl, with black nail polish crudely painted on her nails. Her eyes were as blue as the sea, they were even as lonely looking as it too. The girl, from what anyone could tell, was short and with her shortness came in outfit that only the skinniest of people could fit into. A short skirt the color of the night sky rested on her thighs, with rainbow colored socks resting below her knees. Her feet were held by the worn of converse, the strings barley clung to the tongue of the shoe and they were dirty, so the color was unknown. It looked like it used to be a color of either red of black. Then there was her upper half. She wore a simple long sleeved white shirt with a small black vest on top. At her side was a messenger bag filled to the brim with novels from the library.
Claire and her daemon, Damien, sat in the most alienated section of the library. The young female of sixteen leaned against a bookshelf. Her legs crossed, with the head of her black cat resting on her locked ankles. The cat, with violet eyes, scanned the area with such bored eyes it looked like the cat was going to fall into a coma. The owner of the cat sat intently looking down at the pages of a volume as thick as she was. The title was illegible, the leather was worn and the pages looked like they could only tolerate the softest of touches now. Claire had that touch, she was so gentle with the books, and it was like she was holding a small child.
The cat gave a yawn and turned around in the girl’s lap. The cat slide between her thigh and the book and rubbed up against her stomach, a soft purr emitting from its snout. The girl with graceful hands placed a piece of red string between the pages of the book, closed it and gently laid it beside her. The cat stood on its hind legs as it begged for the girl to pick him up with his sad little eyes. The girl grabbed him and pulled him closer to her chest. The cat mewed happily. “Let’s go outside.” Damien suggested, rubbing up against her neck. The girl removed him from her personal space and held him in the air a few inches from her chest. She observed the feline for a moment before pulling him back to her chest. The cat scoffed “All we ever do is sit inside this moldy library.” Like saying that was going to change Claire’s mind. She simply shook her head as she petted the top of Damien’s head. He couldn’t help but purr “Your wasting your life away in such a boring place, my dear.” “Maybe I want too.” This time it was Claire’s voice. It was softer than any other voice in Stonebrook, but also it was the abnormally attractive. “Whatever you say.” The cat didn’t want to start another fight with her about what they did with their free time. He knew she was going to win and that was the way it should be. The girl gave a nod and slowly rose to her feet, holding the small animal in her arms gingerly. She moved over to the windowsill and let the cat drop to its feet. “This is a start.” The girl rolled her eyes and sat beside Damien who looked up at the bright sky. Claire much preferred sitting in the dim lights, but the cat dealt with it day in and day out. She owed him this much.