A Mental Minute

In the echoing silence of the downtown library, I stood between aisles of books, arranging the spines that told tales far less bizarre than what I was about to encounter. As the clock above the entrance ticked towards closing time, a man burst through the double doors, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

He approached the counter, glancing over his shoulder with every other step. The library was quiet, save for the soft thuds of his hurried footsteps. I set down my stack of books and greeted him, but he seemed not to notice, caught up in his own frenzied thoughts.

“I need to tell someone,” he panted, leaning close enough for me to smell the cold sweat that had broken out across his forehead. “I'm Donald Trump's choice for VP. It's all set. But I can't do this alone. They’re after me.”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. His eyes were wide, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m going to take care of the governor and people like her,” he added, his voice dropping even lower. “They can’t hide. I hear them plotting against me.”

He glanced around nervously. “They’re listening now,” he murmured, tapping his phone's locked screen where no eyes or ears could realistically be.

With an awkward pause hanging between us, he finally asked for books on government conspiracies and left as abruptly as he had arrived. His footsteps echoed off into the darkening aisles, leaving a chill in their wake.

The next morning, my coworker Lucy and I discussed the strange encounter. “He seemed really disturbed,” I said, recounting the details. Lucy nodded, her eyes wide with concern.

It was then that the man returned, his eyes wilder, his demeanor more agitated. I watched from a distance as he approached Lucy.

“He’s looking for you,” Lucy texted me hurriedly from her phone. “He claims his wife is dead and now you’re next because you know too much.”

My heart raced as I ducked out of sight, slipping through a staff door just as the man’s gaze swept over the area where I had been standing seconds before.

Once hidden, I called the police, explaining the situation in hushed tones. They arrived swiftly, escorting the man out as he shouted about betrayals and unseen forces. It wasn’t until after he was gone that Lucy called me.

“Are you safe?” she asked immediately.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I replied, my voice trembling. “But what did he say?”

Lucy paused, the gravity in her voice palpable even through the phone. “He kept saying you were the key. He thinks you’re part of some plot against him. It’s all delusion, but he’s fixated on you.”

Shaken, I thanked her and ended the call, my thoughts racing. The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge and peace, now felt claustrophobic and unsafe. The news that this paranoid man believed I was his enemy, entangled somehow in his delusional conspiracy, changed everything in less than a minute.

Fearing for my safety and unable to shake the unease that clung to me like a second skin, I decided to take leave from the library. The next weeks were spent in anxiety, jumping at phone calls and shadows at my window, until news came that the man had been admitted to a psychiatric facility, receiving the help he clearly needed.

Though relieved, the impact of that one minute, the strange, terrifying encounter in the library, lingered. I could never return to the quiet solitude of the aisles without remembering the fear and the very real threat that had looked me in the eye, all born from a disturbed mind’s fleeting interaction.