The Ballad of Death

Chapter 1

Year 2114

January had taken Oslo in its icy hands, enveloping the streets with a carpet of immaculate snow. Erik lay on the couch with the heating spreading warmth throughout the house, making it less gloomy. The thirty-something man wore a long-sleeved t-shirt and was wrapped in a blue fleece blanket: his eyes were fixed on the television, the muscles of his face relaxed, and his jaw loose, detached from the upper jaw. His head drooped towards his right shoulder, and his neck tingled.

The apartment was immersed in absolute silence except for the volume of the TV playing yet another rerun of an old science fiction movie, "Back to the Future," a remake filmed in 2099. The dwelling was adorned with posters of the "Lying Mysteries" films that had made history in American cinema, creating an artistic trend between 2078 and 2091.

The movie was almost over, and Erik seemed to have arms and legs like pudding, but only when someone rang the doorbell did he confirm it.

The man didn't move and continued to watch TV, but the person behind the door decided not to give up. Erik's legs didn't respond to the inputs his brain sent him. The stranger in the hallway rang a third time, and the man was forced to make his lower limbs obey. Erik approached the front door and peeked through the peephole before opening it: on the other side was Rune. He rolled his eyes but opened it without saying a word.

"Were you ignoring me?" the grizzled man had a cadaverous face and strode into the living room of the small house.

The house was a two-room apartment, furnished poorly, seemingly cardboard, but Erik was okay with it: a large bookcase with seven ebony-colored shelves occupied the entire living room wall, almost touching the ceiling, and was filled with books with black covers.

Erik wanted to respond affirmatively, but his upbringing didn't allow it.

"I was just sleeping," he replied flatly. "Can I offer you something warm?" Erik watched the man in the plaid shirt pace back and forth in front of the door while he massacred his fingers, popping the cartilage. The parquet beneath him creaked with every shift of weight, and the homeowner bowed his head and gritted his teeth at every squeak.

"No thanks, it's not cold today," Rune replied.

"The thermometer reads -2 degrees."

"It's almost spring then!" The man waved his fists in the air, pretending to celebrate.

Erik couldn't tell if it was a sarcastic remark or if the guest genuinely thought so and headed towards a cabinet to find a clean cup. He didn't find one and gave up drinking.

The kitchen was equipped with essential appliances for survival, a refrigerator and a microwave, dirty dishes overflowed in the sink while on the island there were scattered greasy stains and Erik's work tag. It was the size of a plasticized business card, showing his personal information and the designation of a specialized librarian.

Rune continued to stroke his reddish beard with his right hand and kept his gaze fixed on the floor as if to check the movement of his feet.

"Something happened," the guest confessed out of the blue, turning his back to the front door.

Erik, with his hands resting on the island counter in the middle of the living room, shrugged and shook his head. He raised his eyebrows and pushed his chin forward, leaning in to listen to his interlocutor.

"You lost a book!" Rune burst out.

"Me?" Erik chuckled. "Which book would I have lost?" The young man approached his bookcase trying not to laugh. Rune had resumed pacing back and forth, filling the space with creaks.

Erik glanced at his books, knowing their order by heart, and despite almost all having black covers, he was certain not one was missing. He tried to count them and confirmed that not a single book was lost.

"Not one of yours," Rune waved his hands disjointedly.

"Why are you so worried if the book isn't even mine?" Erik asked him, raising an eyebrow and his mouth drawn in a grimace.

"You lost a book from the Future Library!" Rune concluded, putting his hands in his hair and stopping his dramatic and restless pace.

For a moment, Erik saw black and thought he was about to faint, but then the pressure seemed to skyrocket. His heart began to race as if it wanted to burst out of his chest and flee.