The charred aftermath of the burnings hung like dead air, still and impossible to ignore on each individual in the town. All was in disarray, which would have usually created a sensory overload for his small mind. This time, however, it was as though the chaos was more predictable than the fluff of life before this apocalyptic nightmare. 

Realist or pessimist? Hard to tell sometimes.

The contained workings of this small town drew Louie in, and without doubt, he knew fate had turned these sour events just for him. It was punishment for his feeble attempts to live normally. Kicking a flyer off his shoe, he checked his watch for no reason at all. There was no reason for anything anymore, really. 

He walked toward the library, sweating, absorbing the scents of the smoky remains and the liquor-sharp tang, that stunk like a thousand bars from hell. Braxton Chambers, perhaps the only one who could move on with life after such an event, sat weeping on the steps to the library. 

Louie walked to the boy, sat next to him, and asked, "What did the alien say to the librarian?" 

"Take me to your reader."

He didn't laugh.