Macy ran to the library. She had been rudely awaken about 5 minuted ago by blaring sirens. When she had looked out the window of her apartment, she had seen that cars with the sirens were headed straight for the library. Not bothering to check the state of her burnt hair in a mirror or change out of her bright yellow pajamas, Macy barrelled down the stairs to the ground floor of her building and continued to barrel down the street. The library was as much a home to Macy as her own apartment was. She had spent so many days there reading her favorite books and reminiscing about her long-gone friends, who she now realized may never come back for her. Macy fretted over the possibility of there being more problems with the books. The fire the night before had destroyed many of them, but there had still been enough to keep the library open and running. But maybe the books weren't the problem; maybe there was something wrong with Edith, who always showed up to work much earlier than Macy.
Gasping from exertion, Macy pushed through the front doors to find a room crowded with policemen and medics. There was an overturned bookshelf with its contents strewn over the floor. Worried that they could be damaged, Macy carefully inspected one, but realized the books were about the old American West and ceased to care about their condition. Where was Edith? All these people disturbing the library, especially after what happened the night before, should have been incurring her wrath, but she was nowhere to be seen.
A policeman walked up to Macy. "Did you know the victim?" He asked.
"Victim of what?" Macy said, confused.
"The murder that happened here."
Oh, that would explain Edith's disappearance. She was obviously the murder victim.
"She was my boss," replied Macy as she walked away.
She looked around for Edith's body, but she only saw a gurney with a body bag. Macy had never really dealt with death first hand before, and therefore didn't quite know how to react. Her boss was gone; that much was clear. But should she feel sad about it? Edith wasn't family; they weren't even really friends. So Macy decided that sadness was not an appropriate response, but also couldn't think of any other emotions to feel that would be any less inappropriate; she easily ruled out happiness, relief, and fear; those emotions were associated with other things. After some thought, Macy also ruled out anger because she did not know how the murder happened or who did the murdering. She walked over to a medic. "What should I feel?" She asked.
"Just feel whatever you feel," the man said, obviously weirded out. Frustrated, Macy gave up on her quest for appropriate feelings and, without anything better to do, went to her favorite corner of the library, took out her favorite book, and read.
