Mr. Limbo (Troya)

“If you can’t find something to live for, you better find something to die for.” -Anonymous

Mr. Limbo sat on the sofa with his head in his right hand. His left hand caressed his thigh as he stared into the flames of the fire place. I sat on the couch opposite of him examining him. He looked tired..... from what? I couldn’t tell.

It’s hard to tell what Mr. Limbo is thinking sometimes. He doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t really do much. Well, he works at the library, but nothing much else besides sleep and eat… and I rarely see him do that. Especially, eat.

I’ve come in many times and seen him hard at work trying to maintain the library.

Even though we have every form of technology to help and do it for him, he DEMANDS that he does it himself. Denzark* (*idiot).

He can be very stubborn sometimes. Especially, when it comes to books and how they should be handled and maintained. Though, I can understand that to some degree. The books we have are very old and have a lot of history behind them. They need a lot of care and maintenance. They need to be taken care of.

That’s the problem though. As much as I love to read the books within the library, I do think it is time to upgrade some of the books. Especially, the ones falling apart. They need to be replaced with new books with updated knowledge. But....... that’s never going to happen. Since everything is mainstream, there apparently no need for these books.

This library is considered a relic of the a past. A Ligra*. A forgotten *monument* that is filled with nothing but dust and ghosts. Those ghost being Mr. Limbo, and I the “hippie”( As people around my age liked to call me.). I’m surprised they still use that word. It’s so old.

Mr. Limbo shifted his attention towards me. I stared into his eyes. The small pale, yellow dots behind his mask looked different; they looked sad. His posture, usually more composed and assertive, was slouched over and crooked. His hand still caressing his thigh, he eyed me up and down; examining me.

“What are you still doing here, Troya?” He asked.

His voice a deflated inflection of its normal deep, soft tone. He continued to stare. Even going as far as to raise an eyebrow (you can tell sometimes what faces he makes behind his mask by the way it moves.).

“I-I was just catching up on some reading,” I stammered.

I was alarmed by the question. He’s used to me staying late to read, so for him to ask such a thing was weird. Though, sometimes I think he has dementia.

He paused. Then, he turned his full attention towards me. His posture straightened, and the sadness in his eyes seemed to disappear. He got up from his seat and made his way towards me. I repositioned myself on the couch to give him room to sit. He sat beside me, gently.

He crossed his legs and clasped his hands as he continued to look at me.

“So, what’s the book you’re interested in this time?” he asked.

I grinned. I gleefully reach into my bag that I was carrying on me, and carefully whipped out the book. He slowly outstretched his hand, slightly; offering to give the book a look. I place the book in his hand, and he took it.

I watched as he examined the book with care. He traced his fingers along the books cover. He seemed mesmerized by it. I listened as his rhythmic breathing gently filled the lounging area.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he began to chuckle gently, “The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

I looked at him, surprised that he knew what I was reading. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. He does run this library. However, this library is huge. I highly doubted that he’s read every book in here. It would be impossible to remember them all. Besides this isn’t even a library book. It’s mine.

“You’ve read this book?” I questioned.

He looked up from the book and at me.

“Yes,” he started, “when I was in school.”

He went back examining the book.

I looked at him in a state of bewilderment. “School?” I asked.

“Yes, Troya,” he sighed, “A school. High school to be specific. A place full of horny teens, stress, and anger issues....... “ He chuckled again. That’s twice in one day.

“He’s awfully peachy today,” I thought to myself.

Indeed, he was. Usually when I talk to him, I can barely get more than four words out of him. He keeps all conversations short. Today, however, he seems more willing to talk.

“A rare opportunity,” I thought, “this is a good chance, if any, to learn more about him.”

Mr. Limbo didn’t like talking about himself much. I think it has to do with the war. Seeing as he was forced to serve, and then was on the side that lost; I think I know why.

“Well. I don’t think I know,” I thought.

Mr. Limbo is very..... “touchy picky” when it comes to talking about the war. The “Big War”. The war to end all debates between man and demon. The Last Earth War.

I had heard stories about The Last Earth War; the war that nearly wiped all existence on earth as we know it. However, all the stories were different. They were different, in a sense, that everyone didn’t experience the war the same way.

Everyone went through hell during from what I heard. Every single one. However, there were some that were lucky. They’re those who had it more easy during the war then most. Those who found an escape from it from taking a dimensional rift to somewhere else, or a place to hide.

Mr. Limbo didn’t seem like one of those people though. In a matter of fact, from what I can gather.... the war might have hit Mr. Limbo the hardest. It would probably explained why he was so distant all the time. Roaming the isles of the library all by himself. A ghost of the past. Lost in a new world not their own.

I watched as Mr. Limbo opened my book with care. Making sure not to lose my place, he looked through the first few pages of the book. His eyes brightened. I watched as they went from dull sickish yellow dots, to a pair of vibrant hazel eyes.

“Zeppllin,” I thought, “Is he.....?”

I watch as Mr. Limbo seemed to lose himself in my book. His body, which was stoic and well composed, was very relaxed. His posture still straightened, but his shoulders were slouched. His breathing was more quiet. It wasn’t as exaggerated as it usually was with his deep inhaled and exhales. His hands gripped the book more firmly.

I sat and watched in awe as Mr. Limbo...... imprinted* on my book. A trait that is only exclusive to lycanthropes.

I was..... starstruck. If that’s the right word. Mr. Limbo was rarely seen relaxed. Especially, in such a manner as this. He usually was very closed off; limiting his interaction with others as much as possible. For him to.... it blows my mind. It truly blows my mind.

I sat closer to get a closer look at where he was in the book. “Valck,” I said aloud.

Mr. Limbo looked up from the book and stared at me. His eyes dimmed a little. “What is it?” he asked.

“Oh uh,” I stammered, “You’re a very fast reader.”

He was already on chapter two.

Mr. Limbo did a double take and looked at the book. “O-Oh,” he stuttered, “I-I’m sorry. I’ve seemed to have gotten lost in thought-“

I cut him off. “No,” I said, “it’s fine. Really.” I looked at the book.

“Are you enjoying it?” I asked.

He closed the book and looked at the cover again. It was a faded hard back cover with a blue face on it. A small city could be seen in the bottom right corner as the title stretched above it.

“Yes,” he started, “it brings back memories.”

The tone of his voice was distant and sad. The vibrancy in his eyes still present, but ever so aged with marks of time. I felt bad. I felt like I was beginning to ruin something.

I leaned over towards him, slightly. I watched as he eyed me, curiously. I could sense that he was stiffening up. He wasn’t used to people being so close.

“How did you read the book in school?” I asked. I wanted to bring his attention back to the book.

“Uh,” he stammered at first, “Well, it depended on our teacher. Sometimes we read it at home for homework. Sometimes she read it to us during class. Then, we were asked questions about the chapters we read.”

I looked at him confused. “Homework?” I stated, “what’s that?” I was truly confused. I didn’t understand that term.

Mr. Limbo performed a deep sigh. “Your Seskks don’t issue work to perform at home?”

I scrunched my face in disgust. “Valck no! Eww! You’re Seskk issued you work for home?”

“You children are too damn privileged. I swear,” he sighed in annoyance.

“Uh-,” I paused. I was trying not to laugh.

“Homework?” I thought in utter disbelief. “I wish my seskk would offer me homework. It would never get done.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, “Your ass would have failed the coarse and repeated the grade.”

“What do you mean repeat the grade?” I questioned.

“It means that you would have to redo everything for that curriculum,” he stated, “that includes the other subjects such as math and etc. for that year.”

I was taken aback. “Everything!” I shouted.

Mr. Limbo retracted his head slightly in annoyance. “Oops,” I said, “Sorry Mr. Limbo.”

Mr. Limbo shook his head slowly; acknowledging me. “Yes.....Everything.”

I sat up straight. “That’s ugly,” I thought aloud, “Why though?”

Mr. Limbo just shrugged. He didn’t say anything else. I think he was getting tired of me asking questions. I might have ruined the moment by accidentally shouting in his ear.

I looked into his eyes. They were still the beautiful, vibrant hazel color they were earlier. Not wanting to annoy him anymore than he already was, I chose to only talk about the book.

“So, do you remember what it was like to be read to in class?” I asked.

Mr. Limbo took a deep breath before letting out a loud sigh. I watched as he leaned back on the couch and looked towards the ceiling. I could hear a quiver in his voice.

“It was very peaceful,” he said.

I continued to look at him. I was curious after all. We both existed in a weird world where everyone seems to live forever. He came from a different time. A different place. It was like he came from a far away land. A mythical creature out of it’s natural habitat. He was almost like an alien.

“It was a simpler time back then,” he whispered, “I look back now and there is so much that I took for granted; so much that I let go to waste. I was blessed. I just didn’t know how much though. When.... when my teacher read to me and the class, it was so relaxing. Time seemed to go by so fast as I sat and listened to stories she told.”

He paused and looked at me. “I might have taken a lot of things for granted, but that’s not one of them,” he finished.

I looked at him and looked at the book. I couldn’t help, but feel a wave of sadness rush over me. He never talks like that. I could tell that him just speaking those words hurt him deeply.

I small sense of jealousy rushed over me.

“I want to experience something like that,” I thought to myself.

In truth, I never had. All the way up to the age of 6, I was, technically, completely illiterate and couldn’t understand anybody. I had survived off body language and grunts. I had extremely limited experience with other people until I was met by my adoptive mother in white room who adopted me. Sara and Mr. Limbo. Sara, who took me in was a good mother. However, she didn’t read to me. At least not the way Mr. Limbo got read to in school. Don’t get me wrong, if I had asked she probably would have given the chance. But, I don’t think she would did it without someone asking because nobody read to her either growing up. She was a street orphan like me.

I looked at Mr. Limbo. “Mr. Limbo,” I started, “can you read to me like they did in your school?”

Mr. Limbo just stared at me. His eyes locked onto mine completely. I couldn’t read his expressions. I didn’t know if I had asked the wrong question.

“Umm,” he sighed in discomfort.

“I don’t want to be a bother. It’s just that nobody has really read to me like that,” I explained, “I want to experience something like that.”

He nodded slowly. He understood. He looked around slightly.

“I don’t know kiddo,” he started, “Don’t you have to be back at Saras at a certain time?”

I shrugged. “No. Not really. Today is my free day. After work I didn’t really have anything else to do so I was going to read all day. You already know Sara doesn’t have a strict curfew for me. Unlike everyone else at the adoption home, I’m old enough and completely capable of handling myself in most situations.”

Which wasn’t a lie. The other kids there were still small children. Yes, there some that were older that lived in the adoption home, but they really didn’t stay long. When my adoptive mother, Sara, brought me to the orphanage, there was always people going in and out. None of the older kids stayed long. Even though I hung around a lot more, I was no exception.

Mr. Limbo eyed me for a while before giving me his answer. He let out a sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

I squealed in excitement as proceeded too scoot closer him. I watch as he opened the book to where I left off. I stopped him. “Wait no. Start over,” I demanded.

Mr. Limbo raised an eyebrow under his mask. “Are you sure?” He questioned.

“Of course,” I said, “I need the full experience.”

Mr. Limbo grunted in acceptance. I leaned onto his shoulder to get a better look at the book in his hands.

“In my younger and vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my head ever since-.” Mr. Limbo’s soft yet deep voice was very therapeutic. I listened as the words he spoke danced in my ears.

The descriptive text flowing like music in my noggin caused reality to alter. My vision darkened. Sleep was nigh. His voice mere jumble now. And just like that, I was swept under the deep sea of slumber.

Imprinting- when a lycanthrope imprints on a person or object, they have formed a strong emotional connection or attachment to the item. These object or person that was imprinted upon can used as a sense of comfort for the imprintee. This can be very viable in certain situations. Especially, mindless Lycanthropes.