Account 03: The Library

Background information

• Name: Unknown
• Pronouns: Unknown
  
• Date: March 17, 2020
• Occupation: Unknown
  
• City of residence: Atkins, Michigan
  
• Date(s) of account: 2019
  
• Subject of account: A blind stranger at the library
  

Account
I've always loved libraries. I've always loved pacing the halls and looking for anything interesting. I've always loved how they're places you can go to relax, where nobody expects you to talk to anyone or buy anything. You can just sit down with a good book and get lost in it for hours.

So it's no surprise that I visited Atkins District Library last year, especially since I was interested in someone who worked there (though she turned out to be dating a girl named Shan anyways).

I was walking around in the nonfiction section and starting to reach for a book about the history of Atkins when I got the strange feeling that someone was watching me. I turned around to see an old man, balding and dressed in a long brown coat. Though his sunglasses and cane told me he had gone blind with age, it felt like he was staring right into me.

The old man motioned for me to follow him as he walked over to a table. I found his behavior a little strange, but it seemed rude to refuse, so I went with him and sat down.

The old man had a book in the hand that wasn't occupied with his cane. It was thick, bound in leather, and just as ancient as him. He sat his cane down on the empty chair beside him and flipped through the book with his now-open hand.

The old man asked me my name. He chuckled to himself as he waited for an answer. The laughter made me uneasy, but after a moment, I told him anyways.

The old man laughed again and asked if I had a pen on me. I asked if a pencil would be okay as I fished around for one in my pocket, but he just shook his head and took an antique-looking fountain pen from the depths of his dusty brown coat.

The old man put his fountain pen to his leatherbound book and began to write. He only wrote for a few seconds, but he seemed satisfied with that, nodding to himself and setting the book on the table. Given how short whatever he wrote must have been and the fact that he'd just asked me my name, I assumed that's what he'd written down. Curious, I glanced at the cover.

I could see the title now that the book was on the table: Grasping At Memories. It didn't have an author listed.

I asked the old man if I could read it. He nodded, so I took the book from the table and began to read.

It was written in first person, and concerned... well, I forget exactly. A girl, I think, or maybe a boy. Or maybe nobody at all.

I'm sorry. This part is hard to tell. Hard to think.

I don't think it could have included the protagonist's name at first. If it had, I would have realized sooner that it was about me.

There were details in that book I'd never told anyone in my life, but it was about me all the same. I can't explain what they were, though. After all, I've forgotten everything that was written in that book. I've forgotten my own name.

One of the only things I can remember is that I used to love libraries.

It's pointless to try and remind me who I'm supposed to be. Of who I used to be.

Don't try to remind me. I always forget.

Analysis
I can't figure out who sent me this message. The account that sent me this email was just... blank. There was nothing where the address, profile picture, or name were supposed to be. I replied asking who they were, but they replied with "Funny. That's funny."