Page 59 of Vameer

My feet, my legs, they just… stop. And turn.

I read the spines of the books in front of me. But none of them are familiar. None of them spark any sort of emotion in me.

My knees bend.

My arm lifts.

And without looking, my fingers hook the top of a book spine and pull.

A large leatherbound book drags off the shelf.

That pressure in my chest swells as I read the title.

Neoclassical Battle Paintings

A chill skitters over my skin. And for the first time all day, I’m tempted to put my cardigan on.

In my pajamas, with all the lights off except the little lamp on my nightstand, I climb into bed.

I hugged the heavy art book the whole bus ride home.

I stared at the closed cover while I ate leftover pizza for dinner.

And I played music loudly while I got ready for bed, pretending my mind wasn’t fraying at the seams.

But now, I can’t postpone this any longer.

Crossing my legs, I set the book on my lap.

“It’s just a book.” I stare at the simple cover, pretending wars haven’t been fought over books.

I open it.

Nothing happens. No surge of wind blows through my apartment. No sudden music with heavy drumbeats. So I turn the page. And the next.

I read the first paragraph of the introduction, skim the second, then page through the lengthy start until I reach the first photograph.

The high-resolution images of paintings are detailed, glossy, and exactly what the title says. Battles.

Page after page. So much violence.

Piles of bodies. Some in motion, fighting. Some still with death.

The images are harsh and beautiful. And filled with so many people it’s hard to discern how many individuals are even in a single painting.

My hand moves methodically, turning the page. Slowly repeating.

Another page.

Another…

My hand stills.

This page is another image depicting battle.

It looks Roman.

The date under the painting shows it was made just over two hundred years ago.