Until The End

Books and Dog Skirts

>>Lucy's POV<<

I didn't know what to do with myself. I had to get this essay done and emailed to my teacher by Wednesday (i.e three days time.) I played with my pink pencil, twirling it with my fingers and taking off the rubber on top. I needed to concentrate. I needed to focus. This is why people come to libraries. Well, except if you were getting a book, but who actually wants to go to the library? Unless you like it. Ugh, I don't know. All I know is, I hate the library. Yes, It's quiet, peaceful, organised. But it's the smell, I think. Me personally, I hate the smell of books although everyone else in the entire world loves it. Hm, I thought, no. The books can't be smelt unless they are open. They're not. They're closed and stacked on the shelves. I looked at the shelves. They're dusty. Possibly that's the smell - or maybe it's the carpet. I don't know, I smells pretty, hm, I sniffed the air, yeah, horrible.
I looked around the room. Maybe it's the librarian? She dresses in creepy witchy costumes and she goes wearing either no shoes or tinkerbell shoes. She eats weird - turkey meat stuff with gravy and I always have to smell it, like whenever I come here.
But the smell isn't turkey or gravy. I think it might be...the atmosphere. Come on, there's books, dusty shelves, horrible smelling carpet, a weird suspicious librarian, turkey and gravy. Maybe the mixture of these just creates something that makes everyone run in the opposite direction. Wait, but then who would go to the library? What would happen to the librarian? Well, that, I don't care.

"Come on, Lucy!" I spoke quietly to myself. "Snap out of it. Focus."

Then the question came to me. Why could I focus on the library's stinky smell better than I could my essay that literally has my life on it?

I needed to get on with this.

I breathed out, and thought about this stupid essay. The essay is supposed to be about what English Literature was like forty or so years ago. I had my English stupid, smelly, dusty and dirty study book that had to get given to me by the freak show librarian.

Ugh, I really really really hated this place.

Right, Luce. Just do it, don't even think. I put my pencil to the paper and started writing.

English Literature has changed through the ye-

Wait, should I say, 'through,' or 'throughout'? I decided to go with throughout.

English Literature has changed through th-

Ugh, forgot to put, 'throughout.' I rubbed out the words with my rubber. Thank god I decided to use a pencil.

English Literature has changed throughout the years, meani-

Oh for god sakes, you're kidding, right? You can't even see the writing because of the rubber markings, ugh! I pressed harder with my pencil, making the writing stand out more. 'Now it just looks messy!" I sighed with my hands pressed against my face. "I can't do this."

Then, a boy sat diagonal from me at the table. I looked at him, he had short brown hair and he was wearing a black hoodie, black jeans and, what do you know, black trainers. He sat staring at a textbook, just like me. But I didn't recognise him at all. He looked at me and I turned my head quickly, pretending to write something down.

I heard his music from his headphones loud and clear. "Hm da doom ba bam..." he hummed.

I rolled my eyes. Really? Really?
It was then that I realised - this essay was to be emailed, not hand-written. My face collapsed on to the table. Did I just waste an hour of my time in this smelly library for nothing?
I just sat there, my face smooshed into the table, quiety sobbing.