Guess WHAT?

Hey! I WROTE SOMETHING! You should be SO proud! So, here's the tiny bit I wrote!



I traveled down the marble hallways until I found out where the library was, and random offices that must have belonged to the people who run this place. Entering the library, I found few, uh, ‘people’ inside. It was quiet and dusty inside with rows and rows of shelves and books. Tables were set out for reading convenience and at the end of one was a lady who was more gorgeous than anyone else I had seen here. Her light brunette hair could be something you would see in a magazine, taunting you because you’ll never be able to accomplish something so amazing. Her face was pale, but had more life than I had seen in any one else’s here, and her eyes were as emeralds and flashed as they moved, reading the book she was holding.
As I slowly traveled through, I must have been distracted, because I knocked down a few books lying on a desk, making noises echo off the beautifully painted walls.
“Would you please mind where you step?” I nearly jumped out of my skin at her voice acknowledging my presence, “Some of these books are very old and fragile.”
“S-sorry,” I offered, embarrassedly, “I-I didn’t mean to, you know, disturb you or ruin your books and stuff-.”
“It’s alright,” she said, finally looking up at me. Her eyebrows rose and she eyed me confusedly, “You’re obviously new here, what is your name?”
“Roxanne Monroe,” I fumbled with the end of my shirt when I wasn’t stroking my hair back, remembering I still hadn’t looked in a mirror.
“Where are you from?” She inquired.
“Uh, New York.”
“Come here, and sit.” She motioned to a seat beside her.
Nervously, I strode to the chair and sat. She continued to stare at me, as though she were trying to read my mind, “So, Roxy. What brings you here to the library?”
“Honestly Mrs.?” I said, not knowing her name.
“Thorton,” She offered, “Ms.Thorton.” I had a funny feeling that I’d heard it before.
“Honestly, Ms.Thorton, boredom and… the fear of my own thoughts.” I bit my lip and avoided eye contact.
“Ah, I see,” She said in her wise voice, “So you came to escape from your own thoughts and read the ones of authors.”
“Pretty much… so, Thorton?”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t that the name of the guy who-?” I raised an eyebrow and stared at her, remembering what Miss. Stevens had told me.
“Yes,” her curt reply was harsh, “But he… passed away a long while back.”
“I’m so sorry,” I didn’t know what else to say.
Thick silence