#5 Remembrance

Dear diary,

As I was shelving today I was off in a daydream, a habit I've started to fall into, when I ran into a non-fiction shelf stack with the trolley. The display books wobbled precariously on the edge, threatening to topple upon me. Images from my life flashed before my eyes, and then there was darkness...

I can't breathe! That was my first thought when slipped back into consciousness. Struggling for air I began to swim upwards, flailing my hands wildly, striving desperately to reach the surface. As I pushed the topmost folio book aside I saw a patch of light, and I pushed myself onwards, ignoring the claustrophobic panic welling up inside me.

I burst out of the heavy pile of books, gasping for air. A small crowd has amassed and seen my valiant struggle. Two pairs of strong arms grabbed me and pulled me up. I hugged my saviours before I recognised them as Bron and Ernesto. Both suddenly pushed me aside and quickly began to restack the shelf. Ernesto gruffly told me to help them, a strain of urgency in his voice. Still half-dazed I dropped to my knees, waited for my vision to go back to single, and helped them.

Not a moment too soon. Boudecia appeared from between two shelves, like a wraith moving between shadows. She glared at the three of us ad asked what the noise had been. Luckily the onlooking patrons had scampered at her arrival so nobody rebutted when Bron said that I'd just dropped a heavy book. Dissatisfied but unable to prove anything, Boudecia feinted back through the narrow space in the shelves.

Bron patted my head, smiled slightly and left for the front desk. I looked over t Ernesto, but his gaze was nostalgic and far away. He grabbed my arm and tugged me along to the 800's in the Reference section. In a deep voice he told me this is where she'd had the accident. Her name was Shannon, a former shelver, my predecessor in fact. It had been a busy Sunday afternoon and she was only trying to finish all the trolleys, Exhausted after the long day, she'd been balancing on a stool trying to wedge the last Shakespeare into the shelf when she ost her footing. She toppled backwards and knocked the shelf behind her, bringing several large atli down upon her like the wrath of God. She never shelved again.

Ernesto and I silently gathered a small collection of rubbish from the study carrels and shaped it into a cairn, which we placed beneath the poetry section. He said she'd always been fond of poetry. We bowed our heads, lifting them only to pretend to shelf read when Boudecia floated past.

Shannon Harper. Shelver from 2005-07. Lest we forget.