4 At the High Platform, Church of Jetkins

13th October

Borrowing a book at the school library is my everyday work after class hours. The librarian knows me well as she encounters me each day.

At some point, I know her from her round dark spectacles, thin line brows, blue orbs that seemingly strict and penetrating your soul, tiny pointed nose, and thin pinkish lips. She has this small mole under her right eye.

If she asks you about your library pass being left or misplace, she’ll look at you with eyes knitting and ask you, “How on earth do you forget it?!”

That’s when students indeed ran and never got back at the library or touched their feet at the doorway. But there are still people who are brave enough to face her.

I’m still grateful to those ignorant and incompetent students for their passes. I’m a king now living and enjoying the library with a few bookish.

Eyeing me got the librarian stopped looked away. I’m the one who certainly can’t let out the strict librarian free from her cage.

But thing changed when I once borrowed a book about History.

“Library pass, please”, she uttered while stamping the last page of the book.

Before I reached my pass, she eyed me in her stoic and expressionless façade. I stopped for a while and saw a glitching light on her eyes, and suddenly an image of a woman spitting blood appeared.

“What the!” I grimaced as the image became real. The librarian still spitting blood that reached my cheeks. Silky and foul odour crimson blood covered my face making me nauseous.

Seconds passed, she vomited a pile of black hair covered in blood, dropping on the book I wanted to borrow. She reached the book towards me, and drops of blood and hair strands hanging the edges.

I indeed imagine things. I have to blink as many times as possible, and not I should let my eyes look away.

***

At all cost, I didn't let my eyes left him. Some things like these, thoughtfully confessed, I'm an unbeliever. That's why I'm confused. Why he let me saw his foot? And as an assistant, you must obligatorily be on your master's side no matter what. But she wasn't.

His cold hands stretched and patted my shoulders endlessly. I stopped my eyes in doing a shocked reaction and maintained my sight on him. He's still closing his orbs and saying his prayers until he stopped.

"A week of nightmares. Bloody faces. Darkness." As he speaks, I couldn't utter a word. My forehead creased nonstop; cold sweats started to build, nervousness and fear are circling inside me. My breathing is heavy. How did he? He knew even without asking me.

When he opened his eyes, pity and fear are visible. I felt his hands turned warm, and a particular sensation was passed unto me. Those coldness, nervousness, anxiety, and heavy breathing went their opposites, came into normal. Like nothing happened. His fear also paved away and pitied one left.

"Come." Inviting me to step my foot into their high pavement where the center table is located. He welcomed me by climbing first. Without a second thought, I followed.

Those doubts I have awhile vanished. Reverend gave me the warmth I needed to feel comforted. I absolutely in the right place, at the right time.

"Do you feel something?" he asked.

"N-nothing, reverend." Due to overwhelming feelings, I stuttered.

"I know bewilderment ensued your soul." Letting my stuttered moment aside, he started. "But I can't tell you. The gift must be remained solemn for the reverend."

I smiled made him lift his lips for a curve.

"I'll leave you with these: be courageous and remember that the above, from now on will guide you."

And with that, he left me unspoken. His back was facing me. I stopped and looked up. The direct ray of light blinded my sight; I shook my head instantly. Face the passage where reverend went. He didn't let me thanked him.

It may sound rude but, did he even know how to appreciate and be grateful for someone's safety? Or he's also the same with those selfish bastard antagonists. They just wanted to be evil and destruct the world with their ungratefulness and unique inventions?

In his case, I might think not. My mind such vague and disoriented, putting reality and alien-air-head villain together just like what I've read. That's why I know what to do with my old goodies. Not healthy to read through.

"How was the session done?" Her melodic voice didn't fashionably complement her black outfit. And nothing made sense.

And the thing had already been done without her here assisting her beloved reverend. She just appeared from somewhere.

"Went well. Thank you for having me," I said, spilling and tapping Asst. McLinn's shoulder. She just grinned and, after, let her lips into one line. "I should get off."

Not minding any reply and her sudden change of reaction, walking down the stairs gave me a relaxing momentum. It was not a good day to describe but, I'm feeling renewed, refreshed.

My foot landed on the dusty road with a thud. Quiet surroundings as the sun shone above my head directly. Noon exactly or passed. Not good at estimating, indeed.

Roaming my eyes around the district can't be explained how empty-handed until I saw numbers of ruined structures of piled up cement. Just two blocks away from the right side of the church.

Dried, giant, dead trees surround the abandoned place. Right from my foot, I can distinguish that the soil was black and unhealthy. Those piled structures have burnt marks, and the fire got some. The smell of ash and burnt objects goes with the wind. I didn't sense these while walking here. Or was it just the breeze changes?

A man in his sweater, faded black pants, discarded shoes, and a baseball cap directed his way into the burnt place. He did not mind the hot rays of the sun. He had a black sack on his left hand. I conclude that he's a dumpster.

Upon entering the burnt yard, he excavated for about a minute and got something from the whole. Afterward got his way back, just passing by me.

From my point of view, he's holding a ring: a burnt ring.

"Still, the mass grave gave me precious things."

My eyes went shocked. Mass grave? That burnt place is a mass grave? Or was it a mass grave?