The Florence Theory ☆ FRERARD

Chapter 1

What is the meaning of life? Does eternity really exist if we haven't fully lived through it? How do we know that eternity means forever when it could just mean a day? What if we all live through the same day each day but overnight our memories erase and, through coping with this, we decide upon other fake memories, some pleasant and others dreadful, to fill in the gaps to prolong eternity and give ourselves false hope?

As Frank crinkled his nose while immersed in his thoughts, he tapped his pen on the library table's wooden desk along with the song in his headphones. Then, as a moment of realisation and fear washed over him, he pulled himself out of his head and sighed. This was his third existential crisis this week and he was beginning to believe this wasn't normal.

But perhaps it was just procrastination as he had an essay due the next week that remained untouched for the better of a month, which he should probably get started on as it was very important for his college English course. Yeah, it must just be stalling. Although that was the easy solution he chose to avoid dealing with his inner thoughts. But what good comes out of this? His performance in this essay would have no impact on his life in the next five years—or heck, even the next month—or even better, the second after he submits it.

He was doing it again. Frank rolled his eyes, dropped his pen onto his notebook and arose from his chair. He used to remember when libraries had comfortable chairs. Back when he was in high school, he'd come to a library on the West side of town that had chairs so comfortable he'd stay seated on them for hours, even though most of that time was spent doodling little cartoon characters between the margins of his book and counting how many people entered and exited through the doors. Good times—extremely unproductive, but good times.

After gathering his belongings into his backpack, he wandered around the library, hearing the gentle murmurs of conversation humming from each corner of the library and the occasional giggle from a fresh couple or a group of friends. It was welcoming but it made Frank miss his friends. Nevertheless, he focused on directing his thoughts from existential topics and concentrated on the large collection of fiction that stood in front of him on a wooden shelf that rose almost to the ceiling. He'd loved books for as long as he could remember. Ever since he was able to read words, he could always be found holding a book—whether it be Harry Potter or a book he'd found in his house about some niche topic like the diet of whales. Books. Always books. Sometimes even too many.

Frank picked out a book with a visually pleasing cover and read through the blurb. Something about supernatural creatures which was his favourite to read about. He'll be borrowing this one.

Upon hearing the doors of the library swing open and footsteps glide into the room, Frank glanced up from the book intently. Every sound, even the slightest squeak of a chair or a cough would grab his attention like a child snatching lollies from a lolly jar when their parents weren't looking. Although those other situations were boring, this one was far from it. This man that he'd seen enter the library was as if the words 'intriguing', 'interesting' and 'mysterious' merged to create a person. Frank wasn't so sure what fascinated him so much because this man appeared to be normal, just like anyone else he'd seen that day. But there was something strange about him.

Clothing.

It was a warm day—actually, it was a hot day. The middle of August in New York wasn't exactly what you'd call cold. Everyone wore short-sleeved shirts and shorts, with not a single person wearing an article of clothing that extended to their wrists or ankles, and especially not any accessories like gloves—except the man who'd entered the library.

Despite the layers of clothing consisting of a cream turtle-neck sweater, a black trench coat, pants, a pair of leather gloves and some Doc Martens, the stranger moved swiftly throughout the library without any obvious discomfort from overheating and situated himself on a desk facing a window.