Asymmetrics

Chapter 18 | This foreign feeling

I rested my head over the warm sheets piled up as a pillow. My eyes closed gently, and my breath slowly lost its tense.

My hands tugged one of the folded blankets beside me and spread it all over my body. For all I know, I'm not safe, at all. But rest remains to be an option. 

Seconds, minutes, and hours have passed, yet, no rest at all has been taken. My body has remained its stress, and so has my mind. I can't seem to forget.

But what has happened is not something to forget. Just almost everything, and yet, none of them are acceptable.

But there's something in me, that just... tells me it's alright. Like the voice, which now, seems to be nowhere to be found.

I lost a lot in this journey,in this place itself, it took a lot away from me. Like my life itself, is gone. And I can't seem to understand why I am accepting everything and anything that happens or is about to happen.

How quick I've accepted this reality I now live in, this new world that I was simply put into, this stranger of a person that I am now. Everything happens so quickly, that doubt and acceptance aren't choices, they've become events.

I've never been this transparent to change before, never been this welcoming. Yet I can not seem to understand now, what I've become, and what my world has too. Why is there something in me telling me to embrace it? As if... I am a part of it? Why is there a feeling of certainty in me that I'll eventually be alright?

My mind has been perplexed and slovenly that I couldn't think straight anymore. 

I need a break

I clutch the slack of a blanket off of my body as i lift my head and got up. I roamed my eyes around, hoping to see something of enjoyment, well, at least, in humane form. 

As I raised my head towards the ceiling I could see the exact same things I first saw here. The gigantic and enormous bookshelves, the massive amount of books to read, before it felt like captivity, but now it's starting to feel like home. The gleaming illusion of the ceiling in the sky itself just felt as if it were comfort itself.

I'm certain it wasn't home, but it's starting to feel as if it were. 

I paced barefoot towards the shelves, and grabbed a ladder. As i scanned through all the books my eyes could reach, I saw none of my interest, I mean, I'd love to read them, but they aren't what I seem to be looking for, what am I looking for?

My hands browsed for any book that's just not about their superpowers, or how to heal some stupid illness like disappearing hands or uncontrollable blinking, or myths about how these species so called "asymmetrics" were killed, its probably not a fun myth anyway. 

My eyes and hands stopped in one corner, marsyll fiction the category label said. Well, I don't know what about "marsylls" or if I'm even pronouncing the word right, although I think Trystann has explained that to me before, but I sure am interested in fiction.

I pulled out the smallest book entitled "How to screw things up." The pages were parchment brown and the cover was simply deigned with a print of scraps and a simple text illuminating its title and the author, whose name is "Joanne Sene." The book itself looks new, untouched, but what else here doesn't anyway?