The Last Reader

The rain had been falling

for hours, a gray

curtain sealing the

library inside its own

hush. She was the only

one left, a lamp lit at

her corner desk. The

librarian had gone home,

leaving the door propped

open for her alone.

She closed her book and

set it down. The cover

was cool and smooth. She

listened to the water

gurgle in the gutters, a

sound like a thousand

small rivers.

She stood, and her chair

scraped the floor, the

first loud noise in an

hour. She walked to the

window and put her palm

flat against the glass.

The cold seeped through

her skin, and she

smiled, just slightly,

at nothing at all.

The rain would last longer than her, and that was fine.