Sanctuary

Only Chapter

I had been complacent in my youth. This could be due to my sturdy build and the ever flowing current of patrons who wished to reside in a world other than their own. This has dwindled to just a trickle of the river it once was. The surfaces now bare and dusty, still etched with the names of couples who believed their relationship would surpass its predecessor. Believed their love would last longer than the lovers entombed on the age weakened shelves.

I lament once again the abandonment of this great establishment which currently resembles a tomb for knowledge, a forgotten city which holds the knowledge of the past, the present and the future. I lay surrounded by my brothers, scratched and war-torn from a time when we did not wobble on our legs and bow with the weight of the great tomes of history, and wait for the few patrons who return.

To all but a few we are forgotten, a relic from a time long past.

1, 327 ticks of the roaringly loud clock, the only break to the deafening silence which we are currently encompassed by until she arrives. The incessant ticking driving me crazy as I long for hands to cover my ears.

Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick

749 left

Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick

372 left

Tick...Tick...Tick...Tick

And 1 left.

Tick.

A sharp current of air surges throughout the room as she stumbles in through the door clad in her usual tattered red hoody which barely disguises the mosaic of bruises and scars that litter her emaciated body. Her head is downturned and her headphones are in as she collapses into the seat by my side and catches her breath from the brief run to me and warily eyes the door as a large group of teenagers walk past laughing raucously. A small sigh escapes her lips as she drops her small bag to the ground and leans toward me. It appears as if no one notices.

No one notices the barely concealed bruises she tries to hide with her hood.

No one notices her wince every time something comes in contact with her wrists.

No one notices her tears as she quietly rests in her sanctuary.

But I do.

She is as much my sanctuary as I am hers. She holds me together and proves that my faith in humanity is not for nought as her presence removed the feeling of desolation from my desertion. She caresses my scarred and imperfect surface, so like her own, as my wooden face bows lightly with her weight as she leans onto me for support.

I know she needs this support, she is always here in the afternoons, delaying her return to her home. Delaying returning to her personal hell as she revels in the great knowledge surrounding her and loses herself into a world in which she is not herself. The soft strands of her hair brush my face and I wobble to embrace her weight as she both physically and metaphorically leans on me.

I long for times like this, when I am loved, not forgotten. I long for the soft caress of her fingers as she traces my scars and I long for the ability to do the same for her. I long to pull the hood from her face, to see her smile, a sight I have yet to see even when exploring with the likes of the Cheshire cat or even the Weasley family.

I sigh as the light fades and she slowly draws herself from the seat and the comfort of her weight leaves me feeling bereft. I can only hope she feels the same as she reluctantly checks that her hood covers her face and walks quietly to the door, her arms crossing her chest as she forges her armour before allowing the chilled wind to enter and unsettle the dust once again. After a moment of hesitation where she searches the street for the predators that hunt her before she leaves.

I shiver at the coldness that fills me as I am once again abandoned to count the ticks of the clock, an eternal countdown to her return.

Only 21 hours.

Only 1260 minutes.

Only 75,600 ticks until this terrible tomb is once again inhabited.

And my count begins,

Tick

.....

Tick

......

Tick

.......

One left

Tick.

My muscles tense in excitement as I stare at the door. But she doesn't stumble through like normal, no she doesn't arrive and I stare as her tormentors pass the glass with sombre faces and their heads facing the ground.

A feeling of trepidation fills me but my hope remains as I wait.

And wait

And wait

And wait until my surface is brittle, degraded by age and the eternal discontent with my abandonment. My surface is crawling with the silk thin layers of spider web and the feeling of hundreds of small legs is all I can feel in the dimness of this condemned building.

She has yet to return, she never did.

She's gone.

And I feel my surface crumble.

And never from this place of dim night

depart again

Welp that was not fun to write. I hope everyone can guess what I am. Virtual highfives to everyone who can point out the intertextual allusions.

BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE