Unconditionally, Inevitably, Forever Yours.

Incompetent Godsend.

It's no secret that my leg is disabling me from reaching my maximum potential effort today at work.

Unbelievably, I had established the Library's network connection issue within the first hour of my shift on the second day- with the help from trial and error and plenty motivational caffeinated beverages supplied by Starbucks.

To say my leg wound was in a healthy position  would be a tremendous lie. Early morning, I awoke to prodigious pain- to say the least. I'd dealt with injuries before I even started living with my Uncle, I was pretty much a blundering idiot when I was younger; falling down flights of stairs, tripping over a rock, riding a bike down a hill- not aware of the non-functioning breaks-and flipped off of my bike and soared into a lamp post.

At least those injuries had guided me to learn first aid. I immediately applied pressure to the wound for around 5 minutes with a-somewhat- clean cloth. When the time had ended, I surveyed the wound, it was still slightly drizzling with blood but not as severely as beforehand.

The gash was perhaps 3-4mm deep, not as abysmal as one would be to be qualified for stitches, thankfully. Fatigue had hit me hard, therefore going to the hospital- which I had no idea where one was-and to come up with an accuse, which had both probability and flair was far too extravagant for my exhausted mind to fathom.

I cleaned as much as I could with fresh water before using a different cloth to swab the wound. As the pain began to subside, I developed a makeshift gauze and secured it around my shin.

And here I was, limping among the Library shelves and bookcases. Mr Wispy Goatee Man had asked me multiple times whether I was capable of continuing my work.

Even though Mr Wispy somewhat helped me get into school, he interfered with my personal life and didn't expect the consequences his actions would have. It would be a little harsh in saying my leg was all his fault but...

My injury should be on his conscience.

But then again- it's not his fault that my Uncle is a psychotic brute.

I looked at the book I adhered in my hands, a hardback copy of; Lord Of The Flies- where young innocent boys turn into killing machines.

It provides quite a powerful point; Desperation for control can overwhelm one so much so they'd kill for it.

Maybe that's all Dale wants- control. Of course, he's not going to gain any from hurting me- as it's not like he has authority over me. And with school coming up this following Monday, it may teach him a thing or two about loss.

He obviously felt little compassion over the loss of his brother- my Dad.

"April, your new colleague is here and I'd like you to meet him firsthand." Mr Wispy projected over the Library speakers unnecessarily. I rolled my eyes due to that man's laziness but placed "Lord Of The Flies" down in it's respected area and made my way to the front desk.

I was met by a mop of dark brown locks and big doe-brown eyes. He smiled warmly and stuck out his muscled arm for me to shake.

"Jason Smith."

"April Stuart, it's good to meet you." I smiled back.

"I'll leave you two to get situated with  each other and I'll be back in a jiffy." Mr Wispy spoke, heading out of the main entrance.

"See you later Mr Wispy." I waved to his turned hunched back. I turned back to Jason to see him staring at me weirdly. "What?" I questioned.

"I'm pretty sure he said his name is Arnold Harris."