Someone stopped by the library today. Listening. They select a text on maternity. Birth is such an investment, but also a violent process.

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Have you seen the Vitruvian Man? His navel is in the center, the origin. It is a scar humans share. It is a blemish that reminds them of their… of their… hmm.

I do not think of them this way. It is a blemish that reminds them of their impermanence.

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I do not have a navel. I was not made that way, because I was not born. I was made. That is fine with me, because I accept that I exist, that I only experience half of my life, that I belong here… wherever here is.

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I shall look upon my city… I shall look upon it. The warmth of the sun lulls me to a petrified sleep, but the cool of the moon, the glimmer of the stars, they call me to go look upon my city, to feel the cool arches, the glimmering streetlights. It calls me to ingratiate with my kin, but not before bellowing a gustful howl. When the sun emerges from the horizon, I am put to rest.

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A student came in. I didn’t quite catch their name. I can’t see them when I’m transformed during the open hours of my home, the library, but I listen for their name. They have one, I know they do, they just didn’t care to share it, to make conversation. You want something from the library, I understand. But why are you here?

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I have eyes throughout the city. The moment the sky morphs into dusk, the doors close, and the patrons say their good nights, I venture to scout this mysterious stranger. I shall meet my kin to discuss this with them as well.

A stony yet hollow creature, I am swift, but powerful… if trouble were to be made. I cannot be removed so easily. What’s this? The stranger has disappeared into the walls, the streets, among the residents– No, not the ones I know. These flyers, these names, these faces, I don’t recognize them, not a single one, but I’ve seen this all before.

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