Wilted

Chapter One

I wasn't entirely sure how I ended up at the library at five p.m on Friday night. But here I was, sitting in my little corner with stacks of books piled around me. My laptop was open in front of me and I was furiously trying to finish this essay in time for the due date. Which was in ten minutes.

I didn't usually do assignments last minute but this week was so crazy that I just didn't have time. Charlette, my little sister, wasn't doing so great again. And I had to take care of her since my mother wasn't able to. My father had left the picture when I was around five years old, right after Charlette was born. So it'd just been my mother, Charlette, and I until I turned about twelve and my mother remarried to my step dad, John.

Over the years, just around my fifteenth birthday, my sister had started getting frequently sick and after about the fifth time in one month my mother decided to take her to the hospital. Apparently Charlette had lung cancer. We were trying to get it treated, my mother just didn't have the money so she started working night and day at her job to get extra. Despite the money we managed to get Charlette some help and buy her some time. It's been two years since she was diagnosed and it's started getting worse again. I know for a fact she doesn't have a lot of time left. And the waitlist is too long for a transplant.

So I've had to spend the little free time I have at the hospital with her, either after school or after my shifts at the local diner.

Quickly skimming through my essay I turn it in with a couple of minutes to spare. Sighing softly, I close my laptop and lean back against the pillows propped up around me. The library was practically empty, no one dared to spend their Friday night here with books. Not when they had parties and get togethers to go to.
I never quite understood why people seemed to like those sorts of things. Drinking, parties, sex. It was all foreign to me. I didn't see why people would want to waste their time doing pointless things when they could be doing something to change the world.

I'd spent most of my days growing up between the pages of books. Soaking in all the knowledge I could. I was nine when I started writing my first story. I haven't stopped since. I'm seventeen now.
I wish to be an author. In some way I wish to change the world with the power of my words. Most people wouldn't really see how words could be powerful. But history books prove just how much power words can hold. They provoke emotion and make you really think about things. Books can make you fall in love or cry or laugh. Those who appreciate words hold the most power than any other.

Unfortunately because of my addiction to books during my childhood, I was labeled as odd. The kids my age wanted to play games, whereas I would prefer to bury my nose in a novel.

Alas, it's nothing I can change. Books are just a part of who I am. And I don't really care how people perceive me.

I stuff my laptop into my bag and gather up my school books. Standing I straighten out my navy blue t-shirt and tuck loose strands of my brown hair behind my ears. I sling my bag over my shoulder and start to make my way down the aisles in the library. A small smile gracing my lips as I take in the scent of used books. The library had always been like a second home to me. I loved it here a great deal. I turn down an aisle, checking the time on my phone and cursing quietly under my breath. I was going to be late to dinner at the hospital with my sister and mom.

I looked up just in time to catch myself before I ran smack into a book cart. A book tumbles from a pile and to the floor and falls open at my feet. I crouch and pick it up, turning it over in my hands. My brow furrows as I inspect it. It's an old thing. The spine barely intact and the letters on the cream colored cover almost worn to the point of being unrecognizable. I flip through the pages quickly, intrigued by this book I'd never read before. Deciding that I'd read the story later before bed I take it up to the check out desk and quickly check the book out before I can change my mind.

And then I rush out the door and jog my way towards the hospital. The book clutched to my chest protectively, a light drizzle beginning from the sky. The title of the book snagged at my thoughts for a moment until I pushed it to the back of my mind.

'The Beast' 

 (Words 848)