Shivers

I sat there, anticipation clouding my thoughts. My fingers drummed on the desk, my other hand digging into my cheek.

"No! Move that there! The ping-pong ball goes in the jug first." Her voice is shaky, unsteady. The robot that the other girl is controlling jolts backwards and then shoots forwards, running over the scattered pennies within the wooden box.

"Steadily gather the ball," she mutters, and the other one fiddles with the remote just so that it scoops up the ping-pong ball and unsteadily dumps it into the milk jug.

"SCIENCE!" They yell in unison, sweat dripping from their brow. They straighten their backs, standing up.

The event supervisor eyes them curiously, confused, and walks back to the stand where he makes some calculations.

"Two hundred and fifty three points. Good job, girls."

~What kind of ending is this~

Books

Books

by Christine Cheng

She laughs. The sound echoes throughout the huge chamber, eerily bouncing off the walls countless times and echoing back to me. She’s going crazy, and I am too. With endless water but no food, we’re trapped inside this hold, locked in forever. Or so it feels like.

According to our jailers, inside this library there is a key. On the very top of the building there is this deadbolt that is one foot thick, chained shut with a giant lock. The locked glass is too high to reach, even with the spiral stone staircase that stretches top to bottom. A fall will simply kill you.

He throws on the top stair of the deep, dark dungeon. A note flutters down the emptiness of the chasm.

“Trash. Those who’ll sacrifice others should rot and die.”

She breathes hard, exhaling deep, long regret.

“We’ll never get out.” Her voice is hollow.

“Don’t say that,” I murmur back. I finger slowly through the books, dusting off the spines so that I could read the titles. Failures of War, Still Alone, Memoirs of Tony Ross, Parenting 101. None of them seem right. I take them all out, quickly examine the insides. Nothing.

I throw the books down below. After five minutes, a dull thud is heard, but by then I’ve already moved on.

She picks apart the books below.

“This is the thousandth book,” I rasp, tired and exhausted. My eyes are going to close and the hunger bashes my stomach. How to Persevere is its title. How ironic. There’s no reply down below.

I slump down on the stairs. The stone is slick and cool, despite the warm rays beating us from above. I’m done looking for a key, robotically picking through these books one by one. I crack open the dusty book and start to digest the prose.

I slowly read the introduction. It’s not much information, but it’s interesting after examining titles.

“Keep on going, for you’re not at the end yet. You’re never at the end, unless you’ve finished,” I breathe, trying to focus. The words are blurry and I can’t concentrate well. “I have a spine and a front and a back, but a face is what I lack. My 100’s are your clue, only until 2,000 is what’s due.”

The words are on paper pasted onto the book. I rip it off, stuff it in my pocket.

“Look!” I slide down the handle of the staircase, my feet facing in. It’s a steep fall, and my hands tingle nervously. The wind ruffles my hair and I smell the musky scent of this giant place. The mix of books, old and new, rush past my face. I stop at the end, double over and gasp.

She slowly lifts her head. Her hair is tangled, her eyes still closed.

“A book.”

“What?”

“The answer is a book,” she sighs. Turning away, she shuffles through the giant mess of piled papers and books. Her job was to tear apart each book page by page. “A book has a spine, front and back, but no face.”

I sip water from the well at the bottom, trying to stave off the gnawing pain.

She continues feeling around, not even bothering to open her eyes. “100’s are your clue. Every hundredth book should have part of the key.”

“How did you know to keep each book?”

She licks her lips. “I had a hunch.”

The everlasting fire crackles, keeping us warm. She throws masses and masses of papers and covers into the fire, causing it to flare up.

“Go back up and collect the next hundreds of books starting after the book you left up there,” she orders.

I scramble up the stairs, breathless and exhausted. My knees ache, my head feels light, and my legs burn ferociously. I still claw my way up, step after step after step. My lungs heave, and everything is hot, but I still climb. Step after step after step.

I hear rhythmic tearing down below- she’s started on the old titles. I finally reach How to Persevere once again, and pick it up. I sit with my back to the empty, dusty shelves, gasping to catch my breath. I clutch the book in my hands, hugging it to my chest. I sigh when I finally manage to calm my heartbeat and stand up.

I dash through the stairs once again, tracing my finger and pulling out every one hundredth book. No more slow, arduous lugging of choice books- just quick pulls out of the shelf.

The Journey to the End. The Finish of Beginnings. Only Time Will Tell. The Soul, Mind, Body. One Step at a Time. Youth. Determination is the Key. Why Some Succeed and Others Don’t.

I cough, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. It’s spattered with blood. Suddenly, everything is hazy. I slump down, exhausted. Fumbling around for the books, I throw what I can down.

I hear one giant thud.

For a full ten minutes, I’m paralyzed. My body convulses, but there is no control over them. When I finally can move once more, I realize two things. For one, I am just where I extracted the last book, yet I could see the last book- it was a pristine white color with a bloodred inking of the title on the spine. The other thing was that I still had the first book- How to Persevere, in my hands. Too exhausted to get up, I once more open up the book, this time right in the middle.

“Set a goal.”

I want to reach the last book.

“Create steps how to get there.”

Clamber up somehow. Crawl if I need to.

“Create a backup plan.”

Send a note to her down there.

“Execute.”

Only thing left to do.

I flip to the title page in the book, turning it to make the blank page that’s behind the cover to face me. I take my incisors and bite the meat of my finger until I taste blood. I write the name of the last book on this book in red.

The Key.

I drop my book down. Then I face the task ahead of me. I set my hands on the slender poles that connect the handle of the staircase to the stairs and pull myself up. My muscles spasm, but I manage to stand up. I try to run, but stumble, as the stairs seem to want me to stop everything and fail.

I slowly set one forearm in front of the other, army-crawling my way up. I finally reach the book and set two fingers in the hold created by the spine and pull it forcefully enough so that it falls down below.

“The Key,” her voice whispers. “The Key.”

A final thud hits the floor.

My ragged breath burns my throat, but once again I force myself to slide down the handle. When I reach the bottom, I collapse. My face hits the cool floor, exhausted.

She pours cool water on my hands. “I need these.”

I struggle, gather myself up. She points at the remaining books- none of the pages are in sight. Only the spine, front and back are left. Then, from her hands, she reveals tattered and faded pieces of paper.

Half a chocolate, french and sweet, yet I’m not good to eat.

“Bon bon,” she answers.

Other side, is not where water’s been, for almost any liquid is a sin.

“Fire,” I groan.

“Bonfire,” we mutter together.

“I’ve found this in the thousandth book.” She holds up a box with a tiny key on top, so tiny that it has no hope of being the match for the giant lock in the top. She turns around the box, revealing it to be a small batch of matches. Her hand quivers slightly. “After feeling around, the pool for the water has a lock in it. There’s a giant hidden panel inside.”

“Did you unlock it yet?” I state.

“Not yet.”

“It’s obvious! We just use the fire and start a giant bonfire. We hide in this panel, or maybe douse the fire in the fireplace and take shelter there! Then all the shelves will burn down and we’ll have found the key!”

She shakes her head in disappointment. “We’ll have to sift through all the ashes. It’ll take even longer.”

She plants her hand on a block of metal. “This is the real key to the way out. I’m pretty sure this is a super magnet.”

I look at the piece, feel its smooth surface. It’s definitely the source of the loud noise I heard after throwing down books. I was in a haze and couldn’t notice anything else that was going on, much less the weight of the books.

“Let’s go.”

“Wait.” She gives me a sheet of paper with her other hand. “We can’t. Read this.”

I’ll go, solid then gone

In the liquid I’ll belong.

“We can’t put it in water,” I state, surprised. “Does that matter?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I can’t go.”

“Why?”

She points at the small brass-colored bracelet wreathing her wrist.

I remember.

“Hey, you! Hold STILL!” He snaps on a ring-like piece of metal on her hand and welds it together with a blowtorch fire.

He ignores her screams as her flesh burns and singes from contact with the red-hot metal.

“I’ll be stuck here.”

“No.” I state, firmly and strongly.

But she tackles me with her shoulder, pushing me into the pool. With careful maneuvering, she guides me into the small gate within. The pool actually has a deep chamber, then a shallower second place with air. The glass is hazy from the top, but inside I can see her slight figure. I’m feeble and useless, unable to fight back.  

“Sorry.” Her eyes seem wet, cold, sad. “But only one of us could live from the beginning.”

He throws on the top stair of the deep, dark dungeon. A note flutters down the emptiness of the chasm.

“Trash. Those who’ll sacrifice others should rot and die.”

My throat convulses, retches more blood. My lungs are heaving and heaving but no relief seems to come. I stare at her back, small and overcome.

She sits above, shoulders slumped. A sign of complete defeat.

I hear it before I see it. The sandy scratch of a match head striking the rough, flat surface. The hiss of fire coming to life.

Then the puff of something coming alight. The crackling, then the roar of material being engulfed.

I see her, shadowed by the flickering flames licking the books.

“... Those who’ll sacrifice others should rot and die.”

“... sacrifice others should rot and die.”

“... rot and die.”

“Trash…”

I gather my breath, one tight compact balloon in my throat. My eyes stinging, my nose raw, I push through the big pool, let go of my enclosed air.

“No. Don’t. You can’t let it go to waste,” she mutters when seeing me. Her eyes are ablaze, reflecting the flickering flames behind. Tears thunder down, her eyes open and her arms hugging her knees. Her eyes dart from me to the flames, again and again.

“Don’t. It’ll be for nothing.  Go back. You have to save yourself.”

“You can’t be the sacrifice,” I mutter.

“I can.”

“Those who’ll sacrifice others should rot and die,” I preach.

Suddenly something clicks- her eyes betray her emotions she wants to hide. She’s stuck in fear, frozen in possibility. I simply lock onto her wrist and plunge in the water, drag her under.

The world is wet and cold, yet dry and hot at the same time. There’s peace and calm, yet pain and recklessness. There is no equilibrium- however, it seems like there should be. Don’t be fooled- not everything is what they say it is.

I choke, swallowing water in the deep depths.

She grabs onto the edge of the pool surface, choking. She shakes her hair from side to side, slowly, gently. I grab myself up as well, facing her.

The magnet is gone, as well as her hand. Burned onto her wrist is a scar that says set free.

Then she cries.

I hold her hand tight.

Then the glass finally opens.

April

Pollen

allergies

I have died.