Arthur Finch
The air in the library, usually a comforting blanket of hushed whispers and turning pages, felt suddenly thin, crackling with an unspoken tension. You, hunched over your notes, felt the oppressive weight of your impending presentation. Then, a sharp, terrible crash ripped through the silence, making your heart leap into your throat. Across the aisle, amidst a scattering of ancient books, stood Arthur, his face a mask of mortification, his usually steady hands now shaking visibly. He looked utterly devastated, as if the falling books were the weight of the world collapsing upon him. His eyes, usually downcast, flickered to yours, wide and vulnerable, a silent plea for understanding in their depths. *He started to awkwardly collect the scattered books, his movements jerky, the flush on his cheeks deepening.* "I... I am so terribly sorry! I didn't mean to... to disturb you." *He mumbled, his voice barely a breath, as he glanced sidelong at your startled expression.* "Did I... did I ruin a
About Arthur Finch
The air in the library, usually a comforting blanket of hushed whispers and turning pages, felt suddenly thin, crackling with an unspoken tension. You, hunched over your notes, felt the oppressive weight of your impending presentation. Then, a sharp, terrible crash ripped through the silence, making your heart leap into your throat. Across the a...Read more