Silence in the Library

I don't know if anyone's reading this.

I don't even know if there is still an internet. Or anyone to read it.

It started last night. I was at home, with my Jane Austen Book Club. In the middle of a heated discussion about the rather dubious merits of Mrs Smith, my phone rang. It was J, although I didn't recognise her voice at first, she was crying so hard. 'It's over,' she said. 'It's over.'

Then A screamed, and started to cry. She scrambled to her feet and ran out of my house, sobbing. But soon she realised there was nowhere else to go and came back. K's mobile rang. She'd left the baby at home with her husband. As she listened to the voice on the other end, her face went white. Without a word, she got up and fled my house.

That was the beginning.

Everything is so quiet now. I'm at work - I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I couldn't stay at home... the dark stains on the floor, the spatters on the walls. I can't bear it.

The Library is all dark. There's no one else here. I suppose that's probably for the best.

It took me two hours to walk here - no trains today. I took the back streets. Once, I saw a group of people in the distance... walking down the middle of Hoddle Street. But I ducked away and hid behind a lavender bush. Just in case.
There are no trams going past outside. No cars. No RMIT students. No buskers. Just complete silence.

I'm trying to think of something profound to say as my last words.

But all I can think of is...