The Library

By: Kathleen Locklear
Photo Credit: Creative Commons

The girl sat quietly inside the library, looking around at the shelves upon shelves filled to the brim with books of all different colors and sizes. It was easily ten times larger than a normal library, as well as quite old fashioned. There were no computers in sight, and the building was lit only by candles and the sunlight was streaming through the windows. There were a few others browsing through the collection of books. The girl knew they would not last long.

One.

The little boy went first, engulfed by the bookshelf and transformed by the magic of the library into a tiny light purple book. He had such a short life, it was sad to see him go. Though the girl was certain that no matter how little the book was, it would bring someone enjoyment.

Two.

The boy’s mother went next, one instant she was there and the next she went through the floor, only to emerge as a large, deep red novel. She must have had a fulfilling life, it would be interesting to see what her story had to say.

Three.

The teenager who’d probably just came in to find something to help with her homework went next. She was devoured by the book she had picked up, and she became a deep green book. The book was a deep forest green, even larger than the woman’s from before. Her book was covered in small tatters, ridges in places they should not have been, and some pages torn. Her story would be a long and sad one to read. At least she could find peace in her new existence, and finally someone could see her story and experience her pain.

Four.

Finally, the last visitor, the old man. His wife had come in the week before, the little girl knew exactly where her pretty pink book was. The man was humming softly, not touching anything, simply looking around peacefully. Finally he chuckled to himself and turned to the little girl, winking at her mischievously before brushing his hand along the bookshelf and getting engulfed by the library. His book was a deep black, oddly small small for his age. The little girl blinked, getting up and putting his book alongside his wife’s. She got the feeling that his true story was only just beginning.

The girl began to put all the books in their respective places. She put the boy’s book with his mother’s, the two elder’s together with the rest of their family, and the teenager’s with the other sad stories that so far had no place, for the little girl was the Librarian. Every person had a story, and it was her job to make sure those stories would be preserved.

Forever.

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