Devoured

My fingers dance across the yellowed pages of the library’s archaic volumes. Despite the candle illuminating the shelves, I’m not searching for a book. Instead, I’m relentlessly investigating the halls for a door to run from the horrible reality that consumed all our lives.

My mind whirled with memories of the tragedy, an event that the government would refer to as an “unusual incident.” The cause was unknown, and my fellow bookworms were left to gawk at the glowing and swirling masses of light that formed all over the world, and unfortunately for us, many were steadily devouring wooden beams and pages of literature next to us. Some blamed the recent Eclipse, others turned to religion, and many ignored it, that is, until the shining rings began to grow.

“I bet she’s the cause of all this,” boomed a voice behind me, making me bump into the nearest red oak table.

Turning to look at his face, which was etched with hard lines and worry, I mumble, not trying to hide the annoyance in my voice, “Eddie, I’m sure a teen romance writer can rip the very fabric of the universe.”

Tightly clenching my arm, he continues, “Kat, I’m serious. Ever read her stories? They make you doubt reality. Can you explain why these holes came as soon as this lady did?”

As a Pulitzer Prize winner, right before the disaster, she presided over the tower of her glossy manuscripts like a queen of her own making, eagerly handing each signed copy to her loyal readers. They devoured her words like the ravenous wolves found within her stories. Teens were her prime market, and one that was ripe for harvesting despite the buzzing of technological distractions. Her empire was secured and sealed with excited chatter of “Abagail’s crazy plot twists” echoing throughout school halls.

I enter the lobby with Eddie lumbering behind me. A chair and table are abruptly caught in the grip of the monstrous hole. The sound of Abagail’s shoes makes a steady click on the marble floor as she approaches the spinning vortex. A sensation like the warmth of the sun can be felt emanating from the growing orb. Eddie reaches for Abagail in some desperate attempt to find solace, to gain equilibrium, or to rage at a situation which was out of his control.

Turning to face the devouring chasm, the distinguished writer whispers into the void, “I know this. I know…”

Her voice is drowned out by the crunching of wood and destroyed books. My mind races to find safety as the floor rumbles beneath my feet.

“You do know! You did this to all of us. You think you’re all mighty because your fans bow at your feet, you, crazy, reclusive…” Eddie’s hands reach for the author’s lace-adorned neck. Seemingly unaware of his mundane threat, Abagail remains paralyzed by fear, looking deep within the never-ending void.

The faces around me become distorted with fear as the swirling mass begins to rip the tiles from the concrete just ahead of our feet. People slide into me, as if they were mere dominos, in a desperate attempt to survive the swirling chaos. I slam into the hard wall behind me as a middle-aged man squeezes into me, pressing his hard chest into my neck. I elbow him hard to take a gulp of air. We are cattle who are now corralled together in fear, stripped of our pride, ego, and humanity.

“Humanity has brought about its own demise,” Abagail whispers.

Her anxiety-ridden cackle and the final crash assaults my ears. It is the end.