The quietness of the library was almost palpable. November sat in the corner, at a desk surrounded by three towering bookcases. Within her still hands lay A Clockwork Orange, her green eyes hungerly attacked each line of text, throwing herself into the jargon and world of Alex. She winced when Alex committed his crimes of ultraviolence. She envied him, for the control and desire he was somehow able to contain, and unleash. She almost threw up when he was restrained and rehabilitated, and yet, her eyes never dared to falter. As she read on, she replaced Alex with herself. She imagined being completely immobile, forced to view unspeakable horrors with unblinking eyes. Her hands started to shake, her eyes up to the challenge of progressing through the trembling print. As the torture scene continued to play out, Nova's inner battle of curiosity versus her physical motor control worsened. She tried to read another line, but dropped the book on the desk through her quivering hands. Its soft, paperback exterior caused a complementary soft ripple of sound, growing a dull echo and killing it within a single moment.
November's breaths become harsh, her scarred arms twitching under her thin hoodie protection. The fear of being bound, being taken and tortured, her life in someone else's control, it shook her to the core. She wrapped her arms around her torso, and tried to steady her breaths, with little success. Her dark thoughts fueled by her fear, fueled by her imagination, crafted an inescapable realm of potential pain and limitless suffering. She had no where to run, no where to make her stand. Tears begun to make their way down the landscape of her face, attempting to purify with the rivers left in their wake. Their efforts were in vain, as Nova's release of tears declared a final statement of submission.
She got up from the desk, slowly making her way to the entrance of the library. Tears continued to stream down her face. She pulled her hood to cover more of her head, wanting to disappear from the sight of the public, from the sight of the living.
A constant buzzing seemed to erupt from all sides. November clutched her ears in surprise, her back bending slightly. She looked up to find the source of the noise. Helicopters covered the skies, their propellers whipping the air in a dominant fashion. The streets in front of her were crowded with people. Running. Yelling. Their fear was amplified by the constant noise in which the sirens and vehicles claimed credit.
November's heart started to race. She needed to run. She needed to get out. She started to hurry along the sidewalk, when the roof of a building exploded. She stopped, admiring the color and wrath of the flames. Staring at the bright blaze seemed to slow down time, as she thought she saw a figure fall from the sky. Nova blinked, and the figure was gone.
A loud, gruff voice shouted behind her, snapping her out of it. What looked like rows of soldiers lined up across the street, pushing and trampling the crowds of people. November's legs started to shake, in an instant, all her possible fears came to fruition. Her body seized, largely unresponsive to her pleas to run. She attempted to crawl off the road, as the soldiers made their way through the civilians.