In last june I arrived at the library ten minutes early. There was no reason for me being there early. I had misjudged the amount of time it would take me to pull of I12 and get a cup of coffee from the McDonalds in Gonzales, and pulled up just as my coffee was getting cool enough to take my first sip without causing white flashes of pain that stayed on my tongue like your shadows on the wall under artificial lighting.
Arriving before Salina, I opened up the doors and flipped on all the lights. I turned on our computers, secretly praying that the one fault one had been ripped and cleaned since I had taken my vacation. Sometimes things move slow down here, from the local government, to the tech guy at the local library.
It was after I turned on the lights in the computer room that I first heard the silent squealing sound coming from the Non Fiction row: the 741's...graphic novels. The hair on my arms stretched towards my sweater, creating tiny pathways for electric current.
"Who," I half shouted out, just as the lights went off with a loud CRACK!

It was summer, so the sun was out well before the 7:15 that I found myself in. But it was the dark gray June clouds that held back the light from the windows lining the upper part of the wall, just behind the shelves of paper backs and romance novels. The only trace of light now came from the lightening storm, miles away, but close enough to spare traces of white hot purple glows surrounding the walls.
CRACK!

Again! The lights were already off! What was causing the sound! Walking quickly towards the door, I felt a heavy grasp onto my leg, stumbling!
"Ayye," but before the sound could come out of my mouth the lights came on brightly!