The library was slowly sinking into the river, bit and pieces carried downstream like paper in a hurricane. Nobody was going to stop this. Nobody even wanted to consider, no matter how briefly, saving so much as a scrap of carpet from there. No, they were quite content to watch nature banish it from the safe vantage points behind the electrified fencing that surrounded the premises.
A few weeks ago the chain and padlock on the front doors went missing. The next day the doors were found wide open and the surrounding ground was covered in footprints that all led out to the fence. The quiet tension held for a further five days as reporters set up streaming points in the trees, out of sight of the officers patrolling and reinforcing the perimeter.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
The fence decayed and collapsed, the officers aged and died, the road cracked and heaved as trees sprouted through it and the bones all around. If it hadn't been for the hidden streaming points set up in the trees, we might never have known what happened.
It's been quiet again since that day but the cameras are still live, still broadcasting and we are all waiting for the next stage of whatever this event is turning into. Maybe it's already spread like the trees and the towns on the mainland are gone.
I pray we'll never find out.
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