“How are you farin’, little Briam?”

The librarian pinches my cheek. Ugh. She’s always like this! I jump back to escape the old hag’s grasp.

“Did you do well on your exams?”

“The results aren’t out yet,” I tell her as I scratch my cheek. “I just did my best.”

“I wish my grandson had gotten into this school,” she heaves a sigh as she extends her hand toward me. “He’s always playin’ somewhere outside. My son cannot look after him properly. If it weren’t for work, I’d make sure to impart some discipline to Mark.”

Why is every old person always complaining? That’s just too depressing.

“Here,” I hand her my nameplate. “I’m not here to borrow a book,” I say.

“I know.” She looks at me with a meaningful smile. “All men are the same.”

My face involuntarily reddens.

“Get out of my sight, kid. I’m disappointed in you.” The librarian waves her hand dismissively. “Just look at how beaten she has gotten.” She tsked. “I’m sure they’ll fire Sarah. That woman has some severe problems with her temper. To think she’d get mad over a little kid. The kid can’t even walk properly now. Tsk tsk.”

Damned hag.

I delve into the extensive library.

The walls bathed in sunlight streaming through the sash windows are lined with tall wooden bookshelves packed with a collection of all sizes and diversity that ranges from classic literature and history texts to scientific journals and encyclopedias. It seems the rain has stopped for good.

Wooden tables with reading lamps and chairs are arranged in neat rows. A few sturdy typewriters sit on a dedicated desk nearby. I’ve tried them a few times, but they’re just too hard to use. Maybe when I grow up.

There's a wooden card catalog with typed cards listing the library’s inventory in the corner.

A large world map hangs on one wall. Another wall features framed portraits of famous historical figures and authors. Father has told me that if I study properly, my face will also be hung on the wall someday.

It’s very silent. The only sounds are the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whispers of students scattered throughout the library while either engrossed in their books or diligently scribbling notes.

Another middle-aged librarian woman with glasses perched on her nose tiptoes among the shelves. She’s supposed to be the hag’s assistant, if I remember correctly, that is.

I head toward the science section.

The rows of shelves stretch endlessly with the endlessly accumulated wisdom of generations. There are so many books, yet each carries the soul of a genius. We owe our own present to our ancestors.

I continue to venture. The library becomes more secluded as fewer students occupy the study areas.

Tucked away in a far corner is a small and isolated study area in the very back. It’s the quietest part of the library.

I can barely see the face of a girl sitting alone at one of the wooden tables. Mona is dwarfed by the sheer volume of impressively tall and well-worn books piled around her. I approach her.

“Yahaha…”

Huh? Is she laughing? No, she is crying. Mona is crying and laughing. Is this bad? She’s always crying, so I guess it’s good that she’s also laughing?

Her face is pale, and her expression is weary, and yet there’s a determined look in her eyes as she pores over the open book in front of her, and her fingers trace the lines of text as she speaks to herself. She takes notes with her other hand.

I’ve been at English and Math tutoring for three hours, with an hour of break in between. Then I did sports for two hours. That makes it six. Jesus Christ.

The desk is cluttered with books and notes, pencils, and scraps of paper filled with scribbled equations and annotations. It’s clear she’s been here for hours, studying non-stop.

Ugh. Awkward. What do I say? She’s always the one starting the conversations, but she’s now so concentrated she won’t even notice me, will she?

“Ha…ha…ha…”

Her breaths become erratic.

Her hands tremble.

Her hands fly to her face.

What is she doing..?

Her nails dig into her skin. She scratches violently as blood begins to flow from the fresh wounds she has inflicted upon herself.

“What are you doing!? Stop!”

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Mona continues to scrape at her face. More blood trickles down her cheeks to overlay with her tears.

I grab her wrists to stop her.

“Please! Stop!”

Mona’s struggles weaken.

She stops fighting against me. Her hands fall limply to her sides.

“Briam?” she tilts her head toward me.

“Have you gone crazy!?”

Just what was that? She has always been emotionless. Even when she cries, she’s always silent. But today is somewhat different. It’s as if she’s become a different person. Why is she so hysteric?

“Did something happen?” so I ask her.

She lowers her face. “Do you know of my dream?”

What is this out of nowhere?

“Of course,” I say as I nod my head. “To cure your mother’s blindness.”

“Yes,” she bites her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. “But no more.”

Huh? She’s always been working the hardest for her dream of helping her mother. Did they have an argument over something?

“Why? No, we first need to get you some help—”

“Here,” she slides a sheet of paper across the table to me. “Solve this.”

“But you—”

“Solve it!”

I look at the book. There is a complex logarithmic problem on the paper. Isn’t this calculus? They only teach this in high school. We’ve only started the middle school. How far has she gotten? Will she calm herself down if I solve it?

This reminds me of our first conversation. I glance at the problem and then look back at Mona’s reddened eyes. She always approaches me whenever she encounters a problem.

At first, I was fairly annoyed by this. But unlike my father, Mona always praises me when I find the correct answer. Sometimes, I even feel like a teacher.

Hmm, this is an easy one.

I begin by explaining the first step to Mona.

“The arguments of the logarithms must be equal for the equality to hold since the bases of the logarithms are the same. See?” I slowly write it for her to follow.

“You then turn the equation into a standard quadratic form,” I write the quadratic formula for Mona, “and then calculate the discriminant.”

“Substitute the values into the quadratic formula,” my eyes narrow, “and we should get two potential solutions.”

“Remind you, the arguments of the logarithms must be positive as they must be defined.” I show her. “Again, only the root that results in a positive argument should be considered.”

I put the final solution down on paper. “You should wrap things up. Your parents will get upset when they see your face—”

“You are a genius.”

I smile at her. “Thank you—”

“Then, why, can you not understand, my pain?” She blankly stares at my face.

This is weird. Mona is always cheerful after I solve her problems.

“How does it feel?”

It’s weird. She’s really weird today.

“How does it feel being superior?”

Mona tears the paper apart.

“My blind fucking mother? Why would I cure her? Why would I curse the one who brought me into this world?”

Mona bursts into a fit of hysterical, tearful, infectious, painful laughter.

“Yahahahahsahahaahahahah!”

“AHAHAHAHAhahah~!”

Cough Cough

She coughs a mouthful of blood.

“YAhahahah!”

“Ereehghgheheheh…”

Why does she cough blood? No, what does she mean by me feeling superior?

“Even as a joke, it’s not funny.”

She hugs herself as tears fiddle with her clothes.

“God? Does he exist?”

She brushes her tears.

“If so, then the world he’s made is a bit cruel, don’t you think so?”

Does she doubt the god’s existence? But among the people I know, Mona is the person who knows the ins and outs of the scripture the most.

“Why are there such prodigious people such as yourself? Why are there such happy and innocent people with parents who support them no matter what? Why are there people in positions they don’t deserve? Your god doesn’t give a flying fuck about it’s children.”

She approaches me as she grabs my hair.

“So tell me, why would I serve such a disgusting being? If I die, I will walk to Hell with a smile on my face.”

Mona pulls my hair.

It’s painful. It’s so so painful.

“So I did my best to avoid death. If I study enough, I can discover the secrets of longevity and learn more about the world. I tried and tried and tried. Despite my stupidity, despite having the worst parents ever, despite being surrounded by shitheads, I tried! But what’s the meaning of living anyway!?”

Mona's laughter gradually subsides into quiet sobs. She turns away from me to focus on a distant point in the library.

“Today, I woke up. Yet I felt nothing. Why did I wake up? Why did I come to school? Purposeless. Today. Tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. It’s all meaningless. The school is a prison. Why do I study? For what? Why do I cry? For what?”

She closes her eyes.

“Do you know? I have the superpower to feel others’ emotions. They are so easy to understand. Do you know? In truth, I lied. I wanted to attain longevity to save my aging parents from dying. Even if I hate them, I love them. They’re the only people I have. Do you know? In actuality, I hate you, too, Briam. I envy you. I envy your smarts, your loving father, your doting mother, and how everyone treats you so well. And you don’t even have to act for that, like I do.”

Mona places her hand over her chest.

“But now I feel nothing. I don’t care anymore. All I see are skeletons. I no longer want to live. My logic was flawed. So what do I do? How do I continue to live with no sense of purpose? How do I continue enduring this pain?”

She coughs another mouthful of blood and raises her hands high in a pleading manner.

“Oh god, how I wish I could have met you.”

I run away, crying. Tears blur my vision.

I don’t understand. Tears cloud my mind.

Was it only me thinking we were friends?