The library at Wexford isn't an altogether horrible place to be stuck. It's not my first choice, but it's better than a Tube station. No, as far as places to be stuck for all eternity, the Wexford library isn't bad at all, especially if you like reading. Then again, if you don't like reading and you die in a library, odds are you're going to have a bad time.
Occasionally I wonder if I could walk away from here. It happens, ghost straying from where they're bound, everyone loves a change in scenery every now and again.
The thought does cross my mind, during a meeting with my Latin club one dreary Thursday evening, that I could have had Rory do it. Hell, I'd even considered it.
She pulled out that cellular phone, the last time I saw her, and from the look in her eye, I knew what it was. It was some sort of obliteration device, cleverly disguised. I could have asked her to do it. And maybe I would have, if that curly-haired Ripper kid hadn't interrupted.
I'd been terrified, though. What would have happened? I would have disappeared, obviously, but where would my remaining soul go? Would there be a remaining soul? What if I had been sent to Purgatory, or something of the like? What if there was no sound, no nothing. No books. No Smiths. No Clash.
No, even if Jerome hadn't interrupted, I'm sure I wouldn't have said anything.
I guess I'm just bound to the Wexford Library. Forever.