Library Of Dust

Edward Phillips
I grew up as what I thought of as a normal kid. I had a family, friends and relatively good grades. I always knew that I was different, but not THAT different. I grew up thinking I was happy, but apparently others thought differently. When I was about twelve years old, a man came to my house and took me away. My parents hugged me and told me I was better off. I never saw them again. A few hours later I arrived at this giant building with no knowledge whatsoever about what it was. As I wandered to the door I read the sign “Asylum” I knew where I was. I recalled all the kids at school making fun of the people that where sent here, and I would join in. Now I realized that I was pointing fun at myself. As I wandered into the building I saw many people walking around and talking to themselves, this was the last place I wanted to be, I wished that I were back home. A creepy looking man showed me to my room, I had three roommates. As I walked in they began to tell me the story of the Library Of Dust where they claimed that the ashes of all the people who die here where kept. I knew that this would never happen to me because my parents would claim my body. Or so I thought. I spent the next ten years of my life in this place. I became bored out of my mind and wanted to get out more than anything. I had countless records of trying to escape, but security was as tight as it possibly could be. I tried running, climbing out windows and fighting my way out, but it was no hope. I would never be able to escape. I was stuck here…for the rest of my life. I began to understand that I was stuck here and decided to finally make friends. This was not easy because many of these people like to be alone. I finally met a man who would talk to me. But he was 85 and I was 23. And two days after I met him he passed away. His family never came for him so I wondered what they did with his body. As I began to wander around this strange building I noticed things that I have never seen before, strange objects. One day I began to walk into a room with the door labeled “Library”. When I opened the door I saw nothing but hundreds no- thousands of jars aligning the wall. This couldn’t be possible, but it was. O man! Now there was nothing I wanted more than my family to rember me. So that when I die they will come for me and take me to a proper burial, not a burning. As I looked closer, I recognized that these people where not labeled by name, but by number. These unlucky men and women had nothing, no memories, they where just left behind to be forgotten. Forever. Many years went by, I began to meet new people and make friends. But I could only imagine what life would be like out of the Asylum. We would be free to roam and breathe fresh air. How nice that would be? But just like everyone else, my day came. I was eighty-six years old and it was time to move on. I died in my sleep. I watched as no one I knew came for my body as I had hoped. I was cremated and but in a jar. I was a member of the library of dust. I now am rembered not, except by number 5,023.

The split in my can can rember when my life was split in two. The day I was sent to spend the rest of my life in an Asylum.

Written By: Brett M.

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