I wake up in a daze, my body still draped in the comforting warmth from the books that had protected me from the unforgiving cold. Books stack in shelves that reach up to the ceiling, each one standing rigid and upright, almost like a silent army on guard. Curiously, I grab onto one of the books. Each one identical in form, but unique in its details. I wonder, if there are so many, just how valuable could they be?

The content of the book in my hands is about history. Each word, each sentence feels to have been carefully picked, it paints a vivid picture of humanity’s journey through time. Grueling struggles and atrocities tumble from its pages. The words speak of devastating wars fought by men in metal armor and metal sharp sticks, brutal kingdoms commanded by few, and led by a single man. Tragic tales of unfairness that stripped away countless lives. Yet, despite these harsh words, the book is filled with stories of resilience and triumph. Glorious revolutions led by a single man against kingdoms, that ignited the spark of freedom in a continent filled with tyrants, who met his end with a sad downfall, but forever changing the future of all generations.

Technological breakthroughs that reshaped societies, extraordinary individuals who, against all odds, made their mark on the sands of time by their knowledge, sadly not knowing their inventions will be used by the wrong people. Each horror followed by justice, each accomplishment a testament to the indomitable spirit of humankind. The book ends with peace, but from the context, there seemed to be many more struggles that humanity faced afterwards. I look for any book that would follow up what happens next.

yet a different book catches my sight. Its literature captivates me . Each word, each sentence is a delicate thread in an intricate tapestry, one that can shift and change with each subsequent line, reshaping the context of every phrase in many ways. The potency of every word, every phrase is astounding, the impact profound.

The insights woven into the narrative offer a breathtaking view. They speak of love, loss, joy, despair, life, death. It’s a testament to how the power of words can unravel the most profound thoughts and feelings, conveying a depth of understanding that’s as beautiful as it is bewildering. This power, that can end the world, is used to make written love, making each word dance, to pleasantly make every sentence shine. Sadly, this book ends as well. I grab the next closest book.

The next book I pick up is a homage to art. Each word, each sentence a brushstroke, painting a vibrant picture in my mind followed by pictures that copied its existence from the text. It tells of the magnificent creations of human imagination, of their ability to express complex emotions and ideas in the most nuanced of ways. It delves into the nature of artistic expression, exploring how individuals, regardless of their limitations, have been able to produce works of stunning complexity and profound beauty. The narrative marvels at the intricacy of each masterpiece, every sculpture, every painting, every melody, each a testament to the boundless potential of the human mind. I quickly finish it and move onto the next.

I keep reading, and reading, until I finish all the books in my surroundings, so I begin to look around. I wander through the aisles, my hand glides along the books, fingers tracing the imprints of covers. A book on so-called ‘classics’ catches my eye, a black and white image of a symphony orchestra on the cover. I open it, and the words dance before my eyes, weaving a musical score that resonates in my ears. I can almost hear the symphony, each note echoing through the silent library, filling it with an unseen orchestra’s melody.

Just as I’m about to lose myself in the symphony, a sound catches my attention. It’s not part of the music. A surprised intake of breath. I turn around to see two men in blue , and the slim shape of a man, standing at the end of the aisle, a look of confusion on their faces.

—————————————————————————————————

My morning was unfurling just as any other. Early 20s and already shouldering the responsibility of opening the library, I was moving about busily, shelving books and setting things in order for the day. It was a rhythm I’d grown accustomed to, a predictable morning that hummed alongside the growing light of dawn. Maybe I’ll do this even after I retire?

My train of thought over my sad future was disturbed—a young man, lost in a pile of books, looking startlingly out of place.No patrons should be inside yet, I mean, the library hadn’t even been opened. I thought it was a homeless man, but he was dressed in a patient’s clothes from the local hospital.

How did he end up here?I walked not too far, to check the back doors. They weren’t locked, last night’s shift forgot to lock the doors before close time, the manager will be upset if she saw this.

My mind started racing, questions bubbling up one after the other. Was he a runaway patient? Should I approach him or leave him be? His fascination with the books was noticeable from afar, his eyes attached to all the books around him, stacks on stacks, I wonder how long he has been here for? As a lover of literature, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration.

However, the responsibility of my position dawned on me. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the police. I kept my sight towards the man making sure he didn’t leave my sight, but all he could stare at were the books.

The serene calm of the library was disrupted by the arrival of the police. Their stern faces and official attire contrast with the ambiance of the library. The young man was calm as the police took him away. Within 15 minutes all had been solved, I was glad that it was over quickly, but as he left, I felt a bit sad. The last look he gave to the books, full of longing, stuck with me. I could still see it even after everything was back to normal. He had a love for books just like me. It was hard to see the end of that love.

————————————————————————————————————

I was brought back to the hospital by the men in blue, Dr. Park and the nurse greet me with concerned eyes and gentle words, a stark contrast to the cold indifference of the men in blue. The symphony was still echoing in my ears, dancing in my mind, a piece of the library that had lodged itself within me, a sanctuary amidst the unknown.

But as I settled back into the hospital, the vibrant symphony that had been playing in my mind fades into silence, drowned out by the monotonous beeping of machines. The rustling of sheets and the hushed murmurs of the hospital staff echo in the stark, impersonal room, a harsh contrast to the comforting whisper of book pages turning in the quiet library.

I tried to hold onto the lingering echoes of the symphony from the library, the only remnants of my brief escape. But they were fading, slipping away until all that was left were the beeping hospital noises.

Kerlin grabbed my shoulder, jolting me back to the here and now, a cold breeze flows through my back, realization hit, that the book filled room might forever be out of my reach. The first joy I’ve felt since waking up will be taken away from me. I don’t want to be here any longer, I want to leave this hospital that has red crimson dotted covers, I want to leave this hospital with the screens that make me feel trapped, cornered, with no way out. I want to know, I want to know why things are around me. I don’t want to see anymore people lose their colors, their life becoming as pale and as colorless as the hospital sheets. I want to go back and learn why this place is, so that maybe i can learn my place in this world.

I get impatient.

————————————————————————————————————

Dr. Park leaned against the doorframe of Hanniel’s room, arms crossed over his white coat, a concerned frown on his face. He watched as Hanniel sat motionless on the hospital bed, his eyes wide and fearful.

“He looks terrified, Kerlin,” Dr. Park murmured, turning to the nurse beside him.

Kerlin, nodded sympathetically. “He does. It’s like he’s lost something.”

“Do you think it’s because of the library ?” Dr. Park wondered aloud, rubbing his chin. “He was reading there, engrossed in the books. How many times do we see a comatose patient rush out the emergency room and later be found in a library reading books?”

“Stop with the jokes” Kerlin shot back, her eyes still on Hanniel. “He seemed happier after that, though. Like he found some joy there. Maybe he’s scared that he won’t get to feel that again.”

Dr. Park sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll have to monitor him closely. Make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

“But there’s something else,” Kerlin said slowly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just fear in his eyes. It’s desperation. Like he’s clinging on to something.”

Without warning, Hanniel with a sudden burst of determination and desperation, shoves Kerlin aside, catching her off guard and rushes past her. She’s staggered, and tries to regain her balance but falls on the curtains.

Dr. Park’s shock was shown in his face, and before he could react, Hanniel was charging towards him, a wild rush in his eyes. It was bizarre, for a patient who had not moved for multiple years and who barely ate even after waking up, he had a force in him. The dr.park tried to react to sudden ferocity, but he was pushed back, the air knocked from his lungs.

But reflexes kicked in. As Hanniel dashed past him, afterall he used to play football long ago, with his younger brother who always liked to try and push past him and park would let him, this deep memory revived. Dr. Park reached out, his fingers closing around Hanniel’s ankle. Hanniel stumbled, and Dr. Park used the momentary lapse to regain his footing.

It all unfolded in a flurry of chaos. Orderly shouts, Kerlin’s surprised yelp, the shrill alarm of a nearby machine as it got knocked over in the chaos. Hanniel thrashed, trying to balance himself, but Dr. Park reached out to his leg, grabbing it, his grip was tight, unyielding.

“You’re not ready, Hanniel!” Dr. Park gasped, straining to keep his grip on Hanniel’s flailing leg.

But his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Hanniel continued to struggle, his desperate bid for escape making people around panic through the no longer quiet hospital ward.

Hanniel let out a raw cry bathed in desperation. “I want to go back!” His voice was heard by everyone standing in the sterile hospital hallways.

But then, as quickly as the chaos had erupted, it stopped. Hanniel’s eyes rolled back, exhaustion finally reached him, his struggling ceased, and his body went limp in Dr. Park’s grasp. With a thud that seemed to echo in every spectator’s mind, Hanniel collapsed to the floor, unconscious.Dr. Park and Nurse Kerlin could only stare at Hanniel collapsed on the floor, their hearts pounding in their chests. The silence in the aftermath of Hanniel’s outburst was thick and heavy, broken only by the loud screeching beeping of the machines that had fallen and the dense stare of every patient that was watching the situation unfold.