The Young Man

The Young Man

By E. M. Areson

Sitting in the library I wasn’t really paying attention to the rest of the world. The book I was reading was a world all its own. How could the real world compare? I would rather be in a world of dragons, knights, wizards, and monsters than one of the cars, smog, and metal music.

The portal opened up and Jalmo fell deep into the Well of Eternity. His skin tingled and he lost all sense of equilibrium. The breath left his lungs and hair flew in his face. Where and when he was going was a mystery. He could end up a hundred years in the future or a thousand years in the past. Or worst, he could end up in another world altogether.

My heart was racing. Jalmo couldn’t die, I know no one comes back from the Well of Eternity when and where they left but he couldn’t die. Or what if he ended up in the past, he could start a time paradox. Or in the future where he wouldn’t have anyone to help him adjust.

Jalmo landed hard on his back. He set up trying to get the spinning room in focus. He was in a large room with shelves covered in more books then he’d ever seen before. He wanted to throw up but held it in. The air smelled clean. Too clean. It was unnatural, the floor was rough like a strange cross between sackcloth and heather. Odd humming noises were coming from the ceiling.

Where am I? Or maybe the question is when am I?

I looked down at the rest of the page. Blank. I turned to the next page. Blank. The book was over. Jalmo had saved Throng and the Ember Island but it didn’t say what happened to him. I sighed. Maybe there was a sequel series or a blog by the author about what happened to him. I stood and began to head to a card catalog computer to see about more of the story.

I was usually the only one at the library Thursday nights so I noticed the stranger immediately. He looked both vaguely familiar and out of place at the same time. He was in the nonfiction wandering around looking so lost it was somewhat pitiful. He touched the spines of the books with such wonder and reverence I instantly decided I liked him.

He was a young man, about my age. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. He wore a brown shirt, tan pants, and a light tan newsboy hat. He was caucasian without freckles and had a long nose. He was tall and thin. Brown hair pecked out from under his hat.

My first thought was that he looked like he hopped out of one of the books. He turned to me with a question on his face, a thin mustache just making itself visible. I looked into his eyes and saw honesty like he’d never said a word but truth. Like he couldn’t say a word but truth. Like...

“Jalmo?” My voice came out in such a whisper I wasn’t even sure I spoke.

“How do you know my name?” He asked also whispering, probably assuming it was custom which it actually was since we were in a library but I wasn’t really thinking about that.

“I was hoping I’d see you. Come on, you must be exhausted. The Well of Eternity is said to be tiring. My name’s-”

A scream of my name from behind cut me off. I got a strange shifting feeling in my stomach. I knew I should turn around. Return to the library I nearly lived in and the world I knew I belonged in but I didn’t.

“Who was that?” Jalmo looked worried.

“An old friend, just wondering where I’m at. It’ll be fine though. Come on, I’ll bet you love Chinese food.” And with that, I led him out of the library and into the insanity.

Photo By: Quinten de Graaf