The Tower of Tattle

Can I ask you a question?

Do you have any secrets? The kind you'd never spill? Too intimate, too embarrassing... Too scary. Too many reasons to never, ever tell.

Give it some proper thought. Close your eyes for a moment and think about the one thing in the world you'd least like to share. No one's there to watch you. There's no one reading your mind. Tease the secret out of your heart and let it get caught up in your throat like you're about to cough up a bit of blood. Swallow it down again.

Now you've got a sore throat. Me too. I've got interminable laryngitis from all the secrets I keep locked up inside.

Sadly, it may all be for naught. Out there in the mystical wild, there's a tower that records every secret ever had. Whether they were far too easily told, or perfectly kept, they're archived there in that tower, that library of secrets.

It's called The Tower of Tattle. I came up with that one, for what it's worth. I had a lot of time to name it, because I was stuck there for a very long time. And I hated it there.

Down instead of up, it spirals ceaselessly into the ground. It's double spired, both spires looping into each other back and forth, back and forth, just like an infinity symbol. The shelves that keep those secrets ― yours, mine, and everyone's ― line its walls all the way down.

And the secrets are loud. They never, ever shut up. I was sick of it.

But I never even tried to escape. I'd given up before the story even started. I was too apathetic, too actually pathetic, to even get through the prologue. It didn't matter if it could be done, because I was utterly convinced it couldn't be done by me. I was happy to be miserable forever.

One day, though... One day I opened my eyes. And I saw golden ones staring back.

---

---

I'm staring at the ceiling again.

The books are whispering so loudly. Or maybe it's not loud at all. Maybe it's just unbearable because they never stop, they've never stopped, and they never will stop. Holding a small paperback for a long time is easy. But what if you had to carry it forever? Now, it's awful torture.

"...for his promotion, he..."

"...when you said that..."

"... somehow, got an entire glass bottle stuck..."

Today's one of those days where I actually want to cry. But I'm too tired to. I was squeezing my eyes shut too long and I don't think those overworked tear ducts have it in them to pump any liquid.

For a little bit, this place was fun. Secrets? Absolute page turners. I hate to say it, but drinking up other people's mistakes, misgivings, and misdemeanors is thrilling.

"Little 'ole me
got the child's discount
but I'm actually 20...
and the self-esteem hit
wasn't worth the five bucks

― Liz Townsend"

"What a dumb brat," I'd laugh. She even sounds like a child, I'd snicker.

Well, I'm not laughing anymore. In fact, right about now the mental headache's getting stronger than the physical one. Just gonna plug up my ears, scrunch up my eyes and...

Wait forever, I guess.

"My, my. Is it fine sleeping there?"

What?

My eyes flash open, expecting to see torchlight, but I'm greeted by another kind of warm amber. Those irises... I'm struck. I can't do much more than gape dumbly.

"Shiori~n." She smiles at me, raises her index and middle finger at me. Not sure what that's supposed to be, but she's dazed and I'm dazzling. Wait. Switch those around. I ― ack! Windpipe!

"Shi...! Shiori...?" I cough out, grimacing.

Before I know it, she's grabbed my hand and pulled me up. She's all around me dusting me off. I flinch at her touch before easing in.

"That's right. Shiori Novella. Graces, it's all over your blouse you frickin' tomboy," she grins. "Though I guess there's no where else to lie down around here, huh?"

Somehow it feels like I've been waiting for her forever.

"Um, yeah..." I glance at her and turn away fast. I genuinely don't know what I'm feeling right now. But I'm definitely not channeling it very well. When I look at her, it's like I m―

"Not very articulate for someone who spends all their time in a library, huh?" she says, framing her face with the hand she just held up, posing with what's ostensibly meant to be an enigmatic smile.

...that is super annoying. Ugh. Look, I can't think of anything to say, because what I really want to say? Is nuts. I... really m―

“I mean, really! You must be so glad to have someone to talk to. I can’t help but ask why you were sleeping so funny. I’ve seen all sorts of sleeping postures, but human playing dead possum is a first,” she giggles.

I don’t know what I was just thinking but I’m not thinking it anymore. If I’m gaping at her it’s for a completely different reason.

"Oh, do forgive me," now one of her hands is an actual unironic finger gun. "I have been known to be too honest at times."

"Oh? Have you?" I snap.

"Yes, sometimes someone such as I can be difficult to understand and ― "

"Is this usually how you greet people?"

"Hm? Eh?"

She flinches. I guess I'm glaring. I don't know what face I'm making actually. But we're in a staring contest anyway. She's stuck in her dumb pose, faltering grin and all, and I can almost see the panicked question marks popping around her head.

Around us, the books keep swishing and scraping along, like cicadas punctuating an awkward confession on a lonely summer night.

"Too eloquent for me, right? I look too dumb for you, right? Well, that suits me just fine," I say. Like a kid who got left too long at daycare, all that warmth and relief in my chest starts bubbling up into something venomous. The books are gossiping louder than ever and my head hurts.

"Ahaha... I have been known to be inscrutable with my jests occasionally. Uh? You're not going to ask what I'm doing here? Hey, where are you going?"

I've been alone here for a very long time.

So, you might be wondering what's got me acting like the sourest kid in the patch. Frankly? I'm just as clueless as you. But her theatrical behavior's activating all kinds of chemical reactions in my head and I can't handle it. Before I know it, I'm already sauntering away like I'm too good for her company.

Her boots plod along the wool carpet.

"Wait, hold up! Are you mad?" The chittering books get louder and louder and louder.

"Why would I be?" I quicken my pace. Where the heck is all this heat flooding my face coming from?

"Well you see, I'm usually the one waiting mysteriously in the library, so I can provide some experienced... sage, rather, advice. See, this is the part where you tilt your head leisurely, and glint your eye and say something like 'I suppose even butterflies are drawn to nectar ―'"

"Hey." I stop.

"Hm?"

"I'm sure you're a great person. But I don't want you to follow me." I very consciously don't turn around. I don't want to see her face. But I hear her plodding stop, and my heart strains for a moment.

But I keep going. And...

Oh graces. Something's wrong with me. I want her to follow me. Wait, am I really this kind of person?

My head's screaming at me to stop, but my feet are scheming against me and keep moving. Stop! You! Dummy! Why are you so mad?! What are you even saying?! Good graces, I AM that kind of person?!

"Are you essentially treating me like... a pest?" I hear her voice, much softer than before.

"Who knows, Miss Blunt? Am I being too tactful?" Come on. Don't just stand there! Follow me! Why are you frozen in place from a little surliness?!

"... that's a little mean, but I guess you're making a poi - ah wait! No!"

The Tower of Tattle shifts spatially where the infinity loops. That is to say, at the center, where the two paths cross into one. I'm not being metaphorical here. I mean literally, this library is shaped like an infinity symbol. It goes on forever. And when you cross the loop...

"Bye now," I take a small smiling glance backwards and cross the center.

The archives shift almost imperceptibly, like a director making the perfect match cut. And when I turn around she's gone. We may as well be in different worlds now.

No matter how many times you cross the loop, you never reach the same place twice. The chances of us ever finding each other again are literally zero.

Literally. Zero.

I will never see her again, for the rest of eternity.

Great work. I completely alienated a nice person in less time than it takes to microwave popcorn. And now I'm alone again. Forever. I slump back to lie down again and cover my face. What the hell's wrong with me?

---

Well, Terrence. Show me what you’ve got.

"Clarice...
Forgive me
I buried the bathtub
and replaced it.
You never noticed
But the guilt still rends me"

― Terrence Flumen

Eh… I’ve read better. I expected a bit more from this gutter.

This is a new low for me. I think I'm this close to crying tears of shame as I turn another page of Porcelain Privacy. A woman's voice murmurs, quiet and sultry.

"Sometimes I like
using the sink
as a bowl.
For cereal."

― Darlene Delilah

"Why Darlene? Why would you do that?" I'm murmuring too. I haven't felt awful enough to binge-snoop in ages. Maybe I thought an overdose of schadenfreude would move this cold, anhedonic heart. But I think I just amplified the self-pity instead. I guess that's nice. At least I feel sad.

The worst part about this place is I can't even remember how I got here. When I came to, when I became conscious of being conscious ― it felt like I'd already been here forever, zombielike and senseless, except instead of munching brains I was devouring secrets.

Yeah, you heard me right. Not even conscious and I was already snooping.

'I'm Not Actually A Chiropractor'

'I Bought This Last Minute'

'I Forgot And Pretended My Present Was Massage Coupons'

'Places I Did That Shameful Thing'

They're all in cleverly named anthologies, these secrets. No specific author. Just greatest hits, grouped all nicely. And like any good secret, they're always trying to get in someone's ear, always trying to escape their paper flesh. Constant. Ambient. Whispering.

I scooch backwards to the shelf and hug my knees in.

Swish. Scrape. Swish.

Then I give a few strong elbows to the books right behind me, so at least this little curl of shelf'll shut up. Alright, back to... Wait. Did I already finish it?

Oh no.

I warily eye Porcelain Privacy Volume II: Portentia, realizing I'm at a crossroads of character. Please no. Why am I doing this, I sniffle to myself. No... Stop reaching for it!

"Mmhmm, Porcelain Privacy. That one's, um... quite literary. It's so incredibly? It's quite a journey?" Shiori nods, but then closes her eyes and tilts her head a bit as she tries to curate her words.

"Oh, bite me," I hiss. "Wait. Yo- fuh...wuh... How did you fi ― Ack! EEK!" Books avalanche me from the shelf I bumped. Thunk. Thunk thunk thunk. I cradle my head and hide my face in the library's lush green carpet as I get blanketed.

"Wow, I was sure you'd be a mid alto. But that squeal was high soprano, huh?"

I think I hate her.

"Followed...? Here...?"

"Um, well spoken! Good job! I was mistaken earlier when I called you inarticulate," she gently picks the books off, one by one. "I thought your babbling a bit daft, um, however... However! I now see it's captivating. And laconic."

"How did you get here?" I mumble into carpet.

"Well, it wasn't easy. You would think that being alone in such a place would make you a little more grateful for my company, but nooooo! You made me do the run around through the Librarynth of Lies! Every book has the wrong cover. Every door has exit signs, including the exits ― and the frickin' bathrooms!" Her voice revs up like a motor at the end.

"Oh? Did that give you trouble?" Muffle muffle.

"No! Why would it?" she snaps. The poor blob on her shoulder is being used like a stress ball. "The point is, I had to go gallivanting through the entire Library of Babel to get here. If you take the service elevator from the North East East wing... Ahh, hold on. This isn't what I wanted to say."

She reaches her hand out to me again. With some noticeable trepidation, this time waiting for me to reach back.

"Um, I'm sorry about earlier," she says, again quite softly.

I hate myself for adding any clouds to those sunlit eyes.

What's there to be sorry about? She didn't do anything wrong. But what happens when a sweeping force of authenticity meets an immovably insincere object? We happily get swept along, and act like they're imposing.

"...that's alright," I say hollowly, shamelessly taking her hand.

"Now," She puts her hand on her hips, creasing the hem of her extravagant jacket. "Now, alright! I'm sure you want to get out of here."

“Yeah. Definitely. There’s nothing else I want more.” Actually, that’s a lie. What I want the most is actually to go with you even though I just met you. I think.

"So? Adventure with me?” she asks, the slightest shakiness in her voice. “I can see you're not crazy about me, but I'm sort of your only option here."

The little bits of self-deprecation she's throwing in on my account are slicing me up. This time, I'm not gonna look away. I can do that much.

"I'm fine with that ― going with you I mean. I don't mind it."

"...alright, then." The strain leaves her smile finally. '"Then, the two of us should begin our descent."

I should really introduce myself. Tell her that it feels like I've known her forever.

"Shiori, I uh. I'm ― ugh!"

But the books are so loud. So vicious. Can she not hear them?

"...that dumbass had no idea...""...hate her, hate her, hate her...""...wanted to murder them..."

I just wince and force myself to hear them as white noise. They're just crickets. They're just grasshoppers. They're just the sounds of my teeth grinding together.

"Are you alright?" She looks at me, then all around the arc, then back at me again.

"I'm fine. I just need a second. That's all."

I’m not actually fine. But I’m tired of lashing out at her just because of my aching head. Just some noise, right? Whoever got hurt by a little noise? She’s not bothered by it, so it’s definitely a me issue. Why unload on her? We’ll get out of here anyway. We’ll get out of here anyway. We’ll get out of here anyway.

"...You don't look fine," she frowns. Slowly, almost timidly, she rubs up and down from the small of my back up to my shoulder blades. If I could feel my sense of humor right now, I’d laugh at such a pretty girl hoverhanding. "Though I think I get the issue essentially. Here―"

Shiori glares all around. Then she takes in a deep breath, like she’s about to play drill sergeant.

And then she shushes them.

Soft. So soft. She raises her fingers to her lips and barely breathes out, a gentle exhale like she’s taking care not to startle the piping hot soup on her spoon. It should be too quiet to hear, even for me, but it's like she blew warm air right into my ear. I yelp, and all the books... finally stop.

"That's better," she says, clapping her hands together happily. Then she glares all around. "Rude, little creatures, are they not? They really should shut up when they're in the library."

They actually… stopped. Oh.

Huh.

So, this is what quiet is like.

I'm just here, not moving an inch, and she's shooting me this 'what's up now?' look. But I can't help it. There's this wave of relief washing over me, and I just need to stop a moment. The noises are gone. The headache's gone... Maybe everything that's so messed up about me was just―

"By the way, that was a really cute noise you made."

"Shut up."

Nevermind. Seems like at least some of it was my actual personality.