The moon had hidden behind some clouds as a figure made his way through the book cases with a lit candle in hand. Seeing another light ahead of him, he swiftly snuffed the flame as he slowly walked closer to investigate. Keeping well within the shadows, he leaned up against one book case and saw the object of his attention. A lone young woman sitting at a table pouring over some old tomes.
The young woman sat there for quite some time, one hand turning the pages of an open book, the other busily recording anything worthy of becoming notes. Suddenly she looked up from the book. It seemed to him that she heard something and was trying to figure out what it was.
From his hiding spot, he could see almost every detail lit in the solitary light. Her hair shone like fire. Her eyes he couldn't decide on whether they were a winter sky or mountain ice blue. And her skin shone like alabaster. In that instant, what he saw was almost as breath-taking as what he saw in her eyes; a fiery intelligence that sang of the wilder side of life. There was also a slight fear in her eyes. A fear that spoke of a possibility of reading restricted books.
And then she started calling out to someone. Who is it that she calls to? he thought. Maybe the librarian or his assistant. Her voice, though so quiet he could barely hear her, had a distinctive lilt to it, one that reminded him of the ocean.
Surrounded on all sides by books, I couldn't stop my nervous hands from writing notes in my shorthand compact style. Though the script was fluid and never stopped, I couldn't help but wonder if someone was going to catch me here. Already I can feel someone's presence. I know that I shouldn't be here, it's late and I'm scanning through books that are restricted to students. Looking up from the illicit books, I try to see if someone is in my area.
"Randy?" I called out softly, "Is that you?"
My eyes shifted to the shadows that my lone candle's light did not penetrate.
"Hello," I called softly again, "Is any one there?"
Nothing. Not one sound. I shook my head, thinking that it was just my imagination running away with my guilty feelings. Returning to my note taking, I was still unable to shake the uneasy feeling that someone or something was watching me.