THIEF [S.M.]

five

★ ★ ★ A SERIES OF EVENTS OCCURRING ★ ★ ★
IN VENUS' PERSPECTIVE

"Your Aunt Mona is doing fine, I'm having a wonderful time here in Nevada, Venus. I wish you were here. Mona is missing you. Even her cats miss you. And the weather, oh my goodness. It's very hot compared New York."

"Well, I'm glad you're having such a splendid trip, mom. I wish I could visit Aunt Mona. It feels like it's been years since I last saw her. Funny enough, I saw her just last Thanksgiving."

She seemed to be in a daze. Her voice sounded unusually hoarse, but I assumed the phone just altered the tone of her voice.

"Mhm," she hummed.

There was a peculiar pause. I didn't know whether to say anything or not. What was there left say? So, instead we shared our goodbyes and the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a moment, placing it face-down on my nightstand, peeling the silky duvet off myself and sitting up.

I got dressed, tugging on a black skirt and a white top.

For breakfast I poured myself a bowl of cereal, simple and easy. I'm not much of a cook, anyway.

By the time I finished up, it was time for work. I climbed into a cab at 9:33 AM., and arrived at the red-bricked building at 9:49AM.

The library was an idyllic place, to me, anyway. With stone gargoyles greeting you every time you graze past them, and up the short staircases between the two, and when your foot lands on the mahogany wood of the library floors, a gentle noise echoes, and the divine smell of fresh ink and paper is like a breath of fresh air. The warmth of the room blows against my brumal cheeks, and a feeling of complete comfort ignites in the pit of my stomach, and I feel like I'm home.

At that moment a hasty Mrs. Acker comes barreling down the aisle, a stack of multicolored books pressed to her chest, and her circular spectacles slipping down the bridge of her wrinkled nose.

"Venus, darling there you are! Where in God's name have you been? I've been waiting for you for thirty straight minutes!" she chided, waving a shaky finger at me as the stack of books became unbalanced at its lack of support, and tumbled to the ground, creating a loud booming noise.

Mrs. Acker scoffed, throwing her hands up in distress as I bent down to gather the fallen items.

"Mrs. Acker, I don't mean to contradict you, but it's 9:52. I'm not due to work for another ten minutes."

"My clock reads 10:30." she declared, pointing to the clock at the back of the building. Her head tipped slightly to the right, her thin white hair swaying along with the movement.

"I think your clock isn't... well, correct," I giggled.

Mrs. Acker stood, baffled at my observation before a loud cackle escaped her agape mouth.

"Damned clock, must be broken! D' you mind fixing that for me, dear, if you find the time?" she suggested with a heartwarming smile.

I nodded,"Absolutely. I'll just put these books away first,"

"Thank you, love!" Mrs. Acker simpered,"You do that, I'll be in the back. I've got labels to put on the new books." She swiveled around and pranced to the back of the library, her large, stubby figure bobbing with every small step she took.

Mrs. Acker. She was really the only person I talked to around here. She was patient and kind. She had her feisty moments, and her silly ones too. She was a wonderful, effulgent soul.

I returned the books to precisely were they belonged, and cleared up any mess I found in the aisles. Newcomers never quite knew how to organize them alphabetically by the authors last name, so rather, they just laid them down on the edge of the shelf, or shoved them away in the wrong spot.

Eventually I had finished and was climbing up onto a step stool to reach for the broken clock, clutching it carefully and tiptoeing back down with it still in my grasp. The sound of the heavy wood door at the front of the edifice resonated throughout the tall walls, and prominent footsteps were heard shuffling down the lengthy aisle between all of the shelves.

Behind the shelf nearest to me, peeked out a tall, familiar figure. Shawn. His dark eyes widened and he cleared his throat as he stepped forward.

In his hands was a book with a dark maroon paper back, and his fingers caressed its smooth exterior tenderly before quietly placing it on the counter before me. "I finished my book,"

The cover read "The Diary Of Anne Frank," and I smiled down at the book, memories from grade six when I read the book fluttering in and out of my brain.

"If you liked this book, you should definitely read Night by Elie Wiesel." I said.

He chuckled, a cute, chesty laugh. "Already did."

I picked up the book and slipped it into the return box beneath the countertop, leaning over it to rest my chin on my palm. "It's so strange seeing you return something other than a piece of my clothing to me," I joked, earning a grin.

"It's not my fault you can't keep track of your clothes," he played, shrugging.

He was definitely cute, but he didn't seem to be... well, my type.