Somewhere

Chapter One

In between the corner of Cincinnati Ave. and Brooklyn Street sat an old library. The vintage type where each window, each brick, each stair step told a different story. One of love and hate, good and bad, ugly and beautiful and everything in-between. Each crevice held a memory that would haunt or celebrate the beginning of new tidings. It's attraction capturing the eyes if the dreamcatchers, the inspired writers and the architects with its alluring secrets hidden within books. This old library was the beginning of happiness or sadness, and it was all decided by you.
In this old library sat a lonely girl, with a book and some spice tea to accompany her sorrow. This lonely girl had only been shown to sadness and solitude. Her hands clutching the old fabric of her sweaters, etching her worries into her skin with crescent impressions. Her eyes blank with hidden beauty that twinkled every so often with bittersweet smiles. Melancholia was her name, or her nickname given by the library, for every story must have a title; even one as small as hers. A few aisles down was a boy, his dreams bigger than the skyscrapers hiding the library in its shadow. His eyes only saw wonder and hope. His hands were always busy with ideas driven by ambition, which were carved into a small, leather book. His dreams of impacting all that would listen and leaving his personal blemish on the world. His name was Utopian. Then lastly but not least, was a girl, not driven by sadness or hope, but empty with depression as her friend, a cloak she took when rain fell down and weighed upon her shoulders. She viewed the world in neither black or white nor in grey, but in red. Her vision tainted by the wrongful doings of others. Mistreated by the gained and the lost. She was an expanse of smoky despair, Its permeation hanging over her like an umbrella. It's somber scent only detected by those of the same origin. Her name was Misery. Maybe she was just the lost cause in the story. The underdog everyone saw themselves as. Something everyone affiliated with themselves. Maybe they all were and all they needed was a new beginning in the shape of sunflower eyes, carnation voice and baby breath skin. Maybe all they needed was what the world provided best, the glue that keeps everything together. A concoction of both good and evil. Where all imperfections were the incomparable, the fabricated ideal trend that was acceptance. In this little old library.