William glanced at his watch then back at the group of a dozen young boys sprawled about the carpet. It was already a Quarter-After-Three, fifteen minutes after he should've finished with the boys. He closed the book with a loud clap and waved the kids off. After a few moments of sighs and protests, the children found their partners and gathered all of their belongings.
William sat in his leather chair and watched the pairs of children file through the silent maze of books and paper. The library's musky smell made it hard for William to breathe and so he stayed slumped upon his chair for as much of his shifts as possible and after considering the time again, found he still had several hours to kill in this one. As the hubbub of sullen children dispersed throughout the place, William noticed the final droplets of summer rain, fall upon the tall north-facing window. He wasn't caught with much surprise as his ankles and wrists warned him of the humidity and wetness that morning, his arthritis building a blinding tension between each joint at the first sign of weather.
He cringed against the thought of his journey home, and just thinking made his body tighten, he began to blush as he felt a single drop of sweat slide down his crooked nose. You've brought on a sweat by thinking, William thought, and a small chuckle escaped him, he suddenly opened his eyes to see if someone was watching this pathetic play. Yet, when his eyelids lifted, he felt faint and his vision began to spin; he hadn't remembered getting to his feet.
He forced his eyes closed and waited to regain his balance - his body was suddenly exhausted. He was out of breath and his clothes were clinging to his skin with perspiration, making him cold and uncomfortable. His muscles were tense and his joints were clogged and rusted. After a few long moments, he gave up and slouched back into his chair, but suddenly his lower back caught on a wall. To his surprise, William opened his eyes again and found he stood at his front door.
Even with his eyes closed, he knew it was impossible. However, it was the smell that gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach, the once moldy, dank interior of that archaic building was gone and replaced with another familiar scent, bleach, and sweet perfume, all changing within a blink, now… here, in his hallway. Nausea kicked his sides as he slid down the wall.
Thoughts were slow at first, consisting of denial and pleas for any sane explanation. He was transfixed by his apartment door. Focusing on one thing made it easier for his thoughts to slow down, but after a few moments, his eyes peered about the corridor. He smelled the sweet perfume from his neighbor Jarvis across the hall. He heard Jarvis's son's footfalls as he fetched something from their kitchen. So, he was at home. Entrenched in this reality now, William smelt the air in search of any warning signs, burning toast or sulfur or anything. But there was nothing, only the smells that lingered in his hallway. His trembling hands caressed the wall - it felt real; or at least William thought it did, his fingertips were met by rough, cold wallpaper. He looked down and saw his watch read nine-O-five. Thoughts now swarmed through his head, sentences started and ceased before reaching any point of clarity, forming just to clutter and add to the chaos.
How had he lost consciousness for so long? He started panicking, but managed to settle the thoughts and began to recount… What was the last thing I remember? The library, reading to the children. That was Three. Six hours? What day is it? Is my mind this feeble a thing? Is this how fast the demented fall, it's unfair… I should have…
He started to cry, a silent weep in the hallway. He had to hold, or at least, be able to hold onto reality for a little bit longer. In his panic he forced his eyes shut, and in that darkness memories started to reach out, breaching into the maelstrom of his mind. William saw faces and words and smells and tastes and colors and thoughts and electricity and energy until eventually, that clutter became an unfocused smudge and then into void. He watched as some visage of his grandfather disappeared into that void which began to grow out of his spaceless existence. What was anything he saw - or didn't see? He had no concept of space or time, and everything beyond his closed eyelids no longer mattered, he was utterly consumed by his mind.
William thought he saw the end approach in a swift charge; a horseman treading through some thick fog of memory or thought or both. He wasn't surprised to see death, usually, the end comes to confused old men in this daze of semi-consciousness, but he noticed he didn't see the reapers all-too-mighty scythe; was the weapon hidden upon that horseman's person? maybe it isn't - maybe he is the scythe? maybe death didn't have that crude blade at all? but William saw him now, could smell it and it's approach smelt like crimson. But the void grew bigger and eventually, even his imaginings of death were consumed. Until he felt and saw and knew nothing. Until William and his consciousness just ceased to be.