Every Hour I Spend Writing My Thesis, Someone Is Killed

Try to leave the library & you get rerouted to another portal. This one brings you to an expanse full of columns. They extend into a cloud of static. Drone-sounds.


By this time of night maybe you don’t care about the library anymore. Maybe you want to go home. But in this world, there’s no going home. That’s just a rule I made.


I make the rules if there need to be rules.  One rule is you can never go back to where you were before you found the portal full of columns.  Another is you’re still stuck in your glassworld.


Outside, the world moves on & morphs into other phases. The space age, for one. The drone war, for another. You’re in the library, though. If you keep walking through the long shadows of the columns, you’ll start to feel like you’re in a forest. That the shadows are tree-shadows. That the sounds of the static are just creatures. After a while, you won’t know you’re being observed. That’s a rule I just made. 


Emily Lawson is a twenty-two year old writer based in Utah. She recently graduated from Hampshire College, where she studied Indian philosophy and wrote about decolonizing intellectual history. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Eunoia Review, Quick Brown Fox, and The Reader