Misty

Georgia turns to the railing in awe. The students sharing our little alcove rise from their chairs in confusion as the books crash to the ground.

My already thundering heart nearly stops, skipping several beats, and in that time, the first screams echo all the way down to us on the second to last floor, splitting the normally silent air into pieces. I stand, my chair falling over backward, as green-hued light blasts through the upper section of the library.

“GEORGIA!” I scream, lunging for her as debris–a tangle of stone, books, and paper–cascade down the open space housing the staircase. A shockwave slams into us, knocking Georgia away...