Inspired by the work of Takahiro Awatake.
It was a quiet space even before the Fall, when the world stopped being run by people. Well, human people. Melanie was a volunteer who helped manage the old library, organize books, and answer questions for the few visitors who still held an interest in reading them. She loved the old tomes that filled the byzantine stacks and adored the cozy corners where she could curl up and read on a world long past that would probably never come again. A bell would sound when someone opened the front door, otherwise she spent many an hour on a comfy, if worn, wingback chair under a reading lamp in the land of forgotten dreams without interruption. There was power, although some days the bulb would flicker or dim. She had a stock of replacements but she had no idea if they would, or could, ever get fresh ones once those were all burned out.
In the meantime, she enjoyed the long afternoons of these slow days. Melanie vaguely recalled the hustle and bustle of school and prepping for a depressed job market and the anxiety and stress of it all. Now, all that weight was gone. She didn't question where the food came from, someone must still grow it. There was still commerce between regions. None of the fare could be called fabulous, but it wasn't terrible either. Part of her stipend for working at the library included room and board. How these finances worked or who ultimately kept track of the ledgers, she didn't question. Not many people did these days.
Her life was leisurely and dull, punctuated only that one time the Melon Head had visited. It hadn't done much, just briefly touched her shoulder with a stalk. She'd seen it, or him, a few times in the streets when it visited the town but it was rare, perhaps once or twice in a year. Still, actually being in contact with the being was a bit unsettling yet she had remained calm. The Melon Head had murmured something, but Melanie didn't quite recall what it had said, or commanded.
After that, life had continued as normal, she slept in the back room and prepared simple meals in the kitchenette. There was a restroom with a tiny shower stall that was probably for janitorial use originally but it suited her just fine.
One day, after toweling off, she had absent mindedly wandered the stacks thinking about looking for a new photo book that had interested her. She loved perusing the artifacts of the old world, seeing long dead people working, playing, and relaxing in the golden age of humanity. There was a special collections section which had been age restricted since it held the saucier "art" books full of nudes and scandalous things. She picked out a big portrait sized hardback that showcased full color pinup art of the 20th Century. When observing the overflowing bust of one model, Melanie absently compared them to her own chest and only then realized she had been wandering around totally naked.
She laughed but didn't go back for her clothes, finding her favorite chair and leafing through the big book in her lap. After that day, she spent more afternoons conveniently forgetting her clothes. It didn't matter much, as there were few visitors and the bell would give her enough warning. A couple times she had to rush breathlessly to the back room to pull on her garments, coming out to greet the customer with a slight blush. No one complained about the delay if they ended up waiting at the front desk to check in a return or other sundry business, as no one was ever in a rush these days.
Sometimes, she would find herself lost in herself as she brushed a hand along the rows, afternoon light filtering through the tall windows and rippling across her skin when she crossed from one aisle to another. In those moments, she felt secure, as if she belonged in this place in middle of her own awareness, a self that stretched to encompass the whole of the library's arching ceilings. Most of the old overhead lights were either broken or turned off to conserve energy so many of the deeper stacks were shadowed in gloom, requiring a flashlight or a small lamp that could be plugged in to illuminate a section if she needed to find an obscure book for someone or her own curiosity. She padded on the ancient hardwood floor, barefoot, and free in spirit.
Anyone who might peer through the dusty windows might have seen the flash of naked skin of a pale woman with dark brunette hair flowing unencumbered over her back as she traipsed, full chest swinging freely. She felt alive in those moments among the musty shelves, her skin touching the weathered book covers as if her nerves would transfer sensation through them in such a way that they were no longer a pile of dead paper but an organic thing that lived in the bones of the old library.
Melanie had skimmed many classics but had recently settled into ribald romances and trashy genre fiction. The heroines seemed to fall into the arms of quite a few lovers depending on the book, though some were steamier than others. A relationship wasn't something she had considered, living alone. She'd had few friends and those who hadn't moved away when they could. None of her friends were readers. They would only visit on rare occasion, and rarer still, would she leave the nest of her comfortable old library.
Among the visitors, there were a few regulars but they were usually older and reserved or only interested in practical subjects, such as textbooks or guides for various crafts for projects they might be working on. A few read for pleasure, as Melanie did, but rarely shared her interests so there wasn't much to talk about and contemporary books were almost all quite outdated. There were no recent politics or hot items to debate.
People didn't really argue about much of anything anymore. It was a quiet world.
One day she was engrossed in a particularly raunchy love scene. Her hand had naturally been curious, mimicking some of the places being described on the pages of the dog eared paperback. Eventually, her fingers homed in on the most sensitive parts of her body. Quite without any intention, she clenched her lip and indulged in some autoeroticism, strumming her fingers on her own instrument until she let out a satisfied moan. She kicked out a leg, knocking over a loose pile of books she had set aside. Fortunately, she had planned ahead and brought a hand towel...
That's when she'd looked up to meet the startled eyes of Harlan who she had forgotten was due that day for a delivery. He had, of course, come through the back entrance so she had not heard the bell. Red-faced, Harlan turned, stammering something, and ran off before she could say anything. Melanie sat, legs splayed and mouth agape for a long moment before she jumped up, shouting, "Wait! It's not what...you think...!" She immediately realized how stupid that sounded.
She grabbed an apron to partially cover her front and raced toward the store room but Harlan had abandoned his dolly. Melanie sighed, not due to the quickly fading sense of shame, but the annoyance of having to unload the supplies without his help. There were some canned goods, produce, fresh eggs, and even a few cuts of real meat wrapped in butcher paper as well as the pressed and dried manna that grew like kudzu these days. It was a plain but important staple. She would stretch the meat out for the week until the next delivery. After that day, Harlan made sure to knock loudly and he averted his gaze when she signed for the delivery.
Melanie figured he'd come around eventually. After all, they usually did. Perhaps it was the shock of that incident which had finally dispersed any illusion of modesty. Either way, after that day, she had realized she hadn't really cared at all so she rarely ever wore more than her apron and she tended to discard that when it got itchy. The days were warm and there was no one to complain, certainly not the customers who only nodded a bit as if this was just the way things were now. Some stared, some did other things.
A couple weeks later she had her leg up, absently pleasing herself as Mrs. Lang dropped her returns into the bin. The elderly matron had smiled, cackling, "Sweetie, you're going to get a rug burn like that. If you don't mind, I got a few things I don't need anymore." Melanie had nodded eagerly, so Mrs. Lang had returned with a canvas bag filled with her unused toys from her own rambunctious youth as well as some sealed bottles of lubricant. "I don't know if the lube has expired but I don't think it will be a problem. Use it sparingly, since I don't think we'll get more. But who knows."
Melanie gasped at the selection that Mrs. Lang spilled out onto the counter. The toys ranged from full sized phalluses to small bullet sized vibrators. Mrs. Lang said, "The battery powered ones are probably dead but you can test them out. Many weren't used, pretty much new out of the box, but the rest have been sanitized. If you have a problem with that..."
"Oh, no! This is great." Melanie responded quickly, holding up a wicked looking jeweled butt plug. "Oh my, what's this? You had a spicy life, Mrs. Lang!"
"You can call me Dori. It's good to be young, enjoy it!"
Melanie batted her eyes and stuck out her tongue, "You could show me how to use this?"
Mrs. Lang laughed heartily, "I'm tempted but you must have a guide book somewhere in the stacks."
Melanie grew to enjoy the feel of the anal toy and would go about her rounds with it nestled inside of her. Later, she was leaning into the return bin when she heard a "harrumph" from behind her. She glanced back to see one of her regulars, Mr. Switzer, a grey haired gentleman in his early sixties.
