The Secrets Within Pages

Nevermore

I don't think any other word but- crazy, truly encapsulates how memories feel. How safe yet painful it is to remember the past, how much you love the little puzzle pieces of your life that hide in your subconscious, only revealing themselves after being triggered by a certain smell or place or person and just when you least expect it.

It was exactly how I hoped it would be, exactly how it is every year. I climb up the stairs to the higher level of the library and lean against the rail as I listen to each performer. My favorite part of the whole night was looking at people's faces when the poetry was recited. You could tell from the furrow of their brow, their slight smile, the angle of their body as they lean into the words- the melody of the syllables. They were no longer here, they were in between the stanzas, folded in the letters. As I search their faces, my eye catches an older gentleman on a wheelchair, outside the crowd of the audience- somewhat lurking in the shadows of the bookshelves, yet listening in.

My brows stitched in confusion, eyes squinting in skepticism. 

What was he doing here? 

I don't know who was performing, for all my attention was stolen by the man in the wheelchair but I heard the poem of choice, 'The Raven'. 

"Once upon a midnight dreary," 

Slowly, the warm lamps began to distinguish of their flame, only the candles offering light. 

My head whips to the ceiling as my eyes scan the building. 

The sound of oohs and ahhs pull me back- it must be part of the performance, many enjoyed going the extra mile and manipulating the elements of drama. 

I look to the man in the wheelchair, head lifted and permanently tattooed frown on full display as he listens, completely unfazed by the dramatics.  

"While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."

A ripple of knocks vibrated through the walls, under the floor. 

I grasp the rail as books tumble from their shelves, heightening the chaos of the knocking sounds, a tumultuous symphony. 

"Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more." 

Boomed the voice of the performer, echoing throughout the library. 

Again, laughs and awe inspired praises entwine together but are overpowered by the raucous.

"Darkness there and nothing more." 

Black. 

Lights out. 

Nothing but murmurs, whispers- intrigue. 

Worry cradled me, the claws of fear daring to slash me.

"Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 'Tis the wind and nothing more!" 

The windows fling open. 

Cold, bitter tendrils of wind slice through the warmth of the room. 

Howling and whistling, a haunting lullaby. 

Desperately, I scramble to the staircase but not before-

"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,"

A blinding, bright, spotlight shines on me- I halt. 

"In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore"

All at once, all eyes on me. 

Eager faces, engaged smiles.