what falls upon these tattered pages. {nathan/deja}

[grim.]

D E J A  R E X I A N

    The glare of the blood orange sun flickers through the crease in my window. My speckled eyelids flutter open as my mouth widens to release a ferocious yawn. After a few moments of watching the yellow jackets buzz above the daisies just outside my window, I push myself out of my not so cozy cot. I rustle my hair into a satisfying bunch and pull my favorite green shirt of my bare body. I shimmy a pair of blue jeans on and slip a pair of yellowed sneakers over my now sock covered feet.

    Today was my one single day to call my own, the day that I was capable of anything, because there was nothing restricting my hours. I walk out of the front entry of my home leaving my parents in quiet a hurry, and I begin to bolt down the gravel path to a place that brings me so much joy, the library. So much knowledge in a single building, philosophical questions and poetry to fill my mind for ages, the slightest bit of a smile crooks over the corners of my lips as I edge closer to my destination.

    I had a particular novel in mind, though I was unaware of its name. I had known it was written by a very ignored genius from district three, his writings completely filled this void of oblivion inside of me, though few were even aware of his name. Sylvester Gordon, a man that I would entrust with my life. He spoke of our society as a whole, of the meaning of humans, and the race that has become so predictable. He was a man who held an abundance of power over me. But at the same time held nothing over me, because he, just as I, was just a human.

    I feel the grit of my sneakers on the front porch of the library, my arms practically flailing to get the silver knob open. But at last I had entered the building, and just like so many times before I stop and stare in wonder at all the literature that fills the many shelves among this room. Each time I busted through those doors it had seemed like an even more extraordinary site.

    I give a slight nod to the librarian, the same man that I had seen weekly since before i can remember. his soft old eyes smiling at me, he understood my love for the pages beneath these covers, and him just as I, knew the wonder that this very room possessed. I start to briskly walk to the the shelves labeled "Philosophy", and I begin rummaging through the books my eyes flickering through the titles of so many novels, my heart filled with nostalgia.

    Within moments I had found what I was looking for, and I steadily carry it to a near by desk and sit ever so gently, placing the bonded cover carefully onto the wooden table. I then open the very first page, the scent of book glue and tattered pages filled my nostrils, and then my eyes begin to swim along the sentences, my face smiling joyously.

     I had been in such a rush to find this treasure that I had neglected to even acknowledge my surroundings. There were a few classmates that I had recognized, none of them had I been interested in enough to want to socialize, but there is a particular boy that catches my eye, possibly because his head towered so high he can be seen from nearly anywhere in the library, or perhaps it was his familiar face, had I known this boy? Or was it simply a trick of my anatomy?

district seven . eighteen . word count:642.table by Arx <3