Horror

I'm looking for a red Jack.
A red Jack in a forest of 52 cards. Could be anywhere.
Coooooome on red Jack. I need that to go on the black Queen so I can move that black ten off of that pile and uncover some more cards. Running out of options fast, that Jack is going to be my only salvation.
Maybe I should go back to reading... No, I should finish this first.

A reference librarian comes in with two friends, one starts looking through the shelves for a book. A few keyboards clack quietly in the distance. The librarian bids the duo farewell, saying,

"I'm going to be really brave now and take the stairs."

Her hair is grey, her face drooping and wrinkled. Her careless little sentence smacks me in the face.
My god.
To be so old as to find stairs threatening. To be so used to a withered body as to make jokes about it in passing.
She ascends carefully, step by step, holding onto the hand railing, almost uncertain of her footing.
My heartbeat quickens. The awful, terrifying realization that I'll probably be in the same position in a scant few decades tugs at the corners of my eyes. Something reaches its cold, clawed fingers into my stomach and squeezes.

Pity mixed with remorse and dread, wish there was a word for that. I go back to my computer screen, wondering how many untold days of my life I've squandered playing Solitaire.

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Silence Part 2 is forthcoming.