Behind the door

[jmlevitt]

The days ran into each other long ago. It's only by the light streaming through the library windows, or lack thereof, that he even knows whether it's day or night anymore. He drifts through the library like a ghost these days, retreating to remote stacks whenever he catches so much as a glimpse of another sentient being, or ducking back into his

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now I'm tugging on this line

[in_verbatim]

When he sees the package, the first thing he wants to do is burn it. His hands are unsteady, though, unreliable, and he pictures burning the whole apartment down with only his cigarette lighter. He then thinks about leaving it outside, letting the weather wear it down into a nothingness he can control, but he's sick and alone and curious. And so, a few hours later, he picks it up.

And he reads.

It's somewhere between comforting and terrifying, reading stories by someone who understands you. Not just someone who has been in your situation, but someone who's there with you, right now, taking every blow and feeling every emotional twitch... it's almost...

It’s a ‘fuck you,’ says the voice inside of him, the one that no longer sounds lost and tired. That’s all.He gets halfway through the second story before he starts to feel sick to his stomach. He quickly pages through the rest of them, hardly comprehending the words, only seeing them, thousands upon thousands of them, all connected. He brings a trembling hand to his head, and uses