The Man in the Library

I

"I am a vessel," he says.

His words echo endlessly down the warrens, flesh walls pulsating and listening.

"I am a vessel," he says.

Two swords still embedded through his torso give off a silver glint in the radiance of the ratway lighting. Red, malicious ambiance to give sight to the wicked and the lost. But for he is neither, it shimmers in apathy, it witnesses his bloody mortality without response.

"I am a vessel," he chokes, and dies.

--

I close the leather-bound tome as the last of its words resound in my mind. The library has given me another chunk of thought to feast upon. I return the tome to its home, note its blurred title, and sigh as I acknowledge the completion of another row. One more to complete the shelf in full. But that will have to wait for the next night. I feel myself waking now.

With a start my eyes shoot open. The alarm blaring with similar indifference to the ratway's lamp. Or whatever such device that novel intended to illuminate to me.

I swing my feet over and inhale deeply the acrid air of a crumbling household.

"About time you woke up." Her words ring hollow through repetition. I've heard it before, and will hear it again. I struggle to wake up successfully from the alarm mechanisms I put forth. But I still have to try, no job I've ever worked allowed dynamic start times. Perhaps that's the reason of today for our collapse; my enduring fight with night's embrace.

"Sorry. Maybe one day I'll-"

"We both know you won't. And that's fine."

I nod, the courses I can take here all lead to great, meandering webs of argumentative woe. I choose none of the above, instead opting to start my day as though she was elsewhere.

After some time, the noise of the oldest cracks through the firmament.

I move to the hallway outside of our bedroom, and see her poking her head out.

"Hey, nugget."

She walks over with a slight smile, I'm unsure if it is out of grogginess or wondering if a fight just ended. Her mother can be cruel to her in the wake. Perhaps I can too.

I return her smile with a broader one of my own, and then point downstairs.

"I still have to brush my teeth and then make everyone some breakfast. You, meanwhile-"

"I know, dad. It's just hard, you're better at the game. You have that experience and stuff."

"Years and years of practice hath made mine hands calloused in the mines of game. And I want your hands similarly calloused. Can't have me win every battle for you."

She nods, feigning discontent and then running downstairs. I turn around and return to the room. I feel her eyes on me.

"What?"

"You never played those games much when we were dating. I don't want both of them playing as much as you do."

"I hid it better when we were dating."

"You hid a lot better when we were dating."

"I can say the same about you."

"Really? Give me something then. What do I do differently? At least before we started this bullshit process."

"I don't want to get into it."

"You never do, Jason. You run from every problem like this-" I close the door to the bathroom and put my hands on the sink, bracing against it. She's not wrong, but she doesn't know why. I know they can hear us, and I see no gain in this. I know it's an aggression to shut her out, I would be furious. And if I pushed a bit more to avoid doing that, maybe she'd come back. But I just break seeing their faces when I know they heard us. Or maybe I'm the one breaking.

I look in the mirror. The folds of my flesh spell a story I don't much care to read. But I'm no saint, I can feel the bias bleeding into my thoughts. It's all on her for our problems, and I'm so innocent.

But I'm no saint.

I wash my face, and complete the morning's ritual.

--

"I am a vessel."

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Grady coughs out between his coffee, confusion staining his countenance.

"Sorry, something I read that's stuck in my head. I'm waiting on some data from the lab."

"Right, I love those sorts of novels. You read a sentence and you carry it for a while, trying to fit it in conversations, even sometimes clumsily," he adds with a grin. "Let me know if you hear back today, if not it's not a big deal. But it isn't small either, try to have it situated before Tuesday as-" his words drone out into the background cacophony. Tuesday. Today is Friday, so I essentially have a two day deadline. He's not a cruel man, but he doesn't understand how impossibly slow these lab techs have become. Fresh-out-of-undergrad hires that make their day to day into epiphany. They made what used to be a simple, bordering fun job into a hellish transgression against patience. I either cave and push them, or my boss caves and pushes me. And here I am at the precipice, oblivion before me.

I am a vessel caught between a myriad of noise. I just want to go back to the library.