Epistles [Book 1]: Mr. Nobody | Complete

4

Dear Mr. Nobody,
Some say that I'm crazy. You called me original. Some say I'm captive, you called me free. I can never outline the way I feel about you. On my worst of days you made things better, and on my best of days you made it worse. My strange friend... You are poetry, every inch of you a hymn unsung.

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Day Four.
18-02-2015

"And over here we have Chance Ville's oldest photo of the town." I folded my arms behind my back as several cameras flashed.

"Why does it look like a ghost town?" A little boy at the front of the crowd questioned me for the hundredth time.

"Back then, the population was a mere two hundred people," I explained, "So, child, it wasn't buzzing with excitement like it is now."

A few moments passed until finally, my half of the tour was completed. Another guide came over and led the excited tourists elsewhere.

I checked the time on my watch that I had bought recently. My new shift was going to begin in half an hour. I rushed to the bathroom before any stray visitors could ask me to show them around.

Ah yes, Chance Ville's largest, world-renowned and highly respected museum. The tour guides kept permanent smiles plastered on to their faces and happily repeated the same, monotone facts thousands of times a day.

My new job.

I had leapt far out of my comfort zone and interacted several times too many, for my liking. And it was only my second day on the job.

"Nobody?" I whispered into total silence while washing my hands at the sink, "Are you there?"

A sudden thought grabbed at my conscience. What if there was someone in one of the stalls? They would be more than weirded out, and I would be deeply embarrassed.

On a more important note, ever since my argument with Jesse two days before, I hadn't seen Nobody. He just... left. A part of me was hurt and an even smaller part- glad.

Just then, I noticed a thick, red liquid oozing from the corners of the mirror and quickly rushing to cover the surface. I freaked out, but not any more than when a gigantic, hairy spider appeared beside me. Its head was decorated in many sets of compound eyes. As it turned to face me, they all blinked at once.

I covered my mouth and backed away. The moment my back crashed into the cold wall, the tarantula broke down into thousands of smaller ones, racing toward me. I yelped, then sprinted for the door. As I reached the exit, there was a little, green ogre in my way. I fell and rolled into the centre of the museum, shouting and begging for mercy.

I came to a stop on my back. I turned over to my stomach and hunched over, coughing and sputtering.

"Woah," Nobody stooped beside me, "Is this the new way of getting around? By rolling on the hard floor?"

A few concerned spectators and co-workers ran to my assistance and helped me up. I swayed out of their arms at first, overcome with nausea.

I glimpsed back to the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" One of the tour guides asked me as I limped toward a chair, "What happened?"