Fiction

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Two looming towering doors, stretched as high as the eye can see, though the eye that sees is contained within the small skull of that of a human. Two of which belong to the human, that is. Wider than the arms lengths of the human, the doors seem impossible to open, beyond the sturdiest material that time and weather seem unable to leave neither trace nor evidence of existence on the doors. No handles or knobs are visible, and no way to open nor close that which stands before me. Yes, I am the human that stands before the two doors, which exclude me from the treasures and secrets of that which lies beyond these doors. A foreboding presence leaves me gasping and panting, the desire to enter and see what it was that laid enclosed overwhelmed me. And so, as I lifted a hand to touch the door, it opened.

A figure greeted me. Note, I named this being a ‘figure’ due to the strange apparel and lack of form it possessed. It wasn’t light nor smell that perceived it’s aura, but more a strange tingle that ran through my body, from head to toe, like the sensation one feels when nails scrape against a chalk board. But it bowed, nonetheless, and spoke in a way where the voice entered my mind. “Greetings,” it said, “I will be assisting you today. You may call me the Librarian.” Looking past the Librarian, I noticed row upon row of shelves, all of which were covered and overflowing with volumes that seemed to run out of space. “Follow me and I will show you all there is to see,” the Librarian adds, ushering me in, towards the center of the building.

I followed the Librarian, for it seemed wise and as soon as I stepped past the doors, they closed behind me. A resounding thud only I seemed to hear, but the Librarian made no reaction to the sound, and as if able to read my thoughts, the Librarian replied, “It is quite rare for someone so young, as you, would come to seek knowledge here. It is most common for great thinkers and the elder philosophers to come in and look for reference. If there is a specific topic you’re looking for, I will be able to help you better.” There is a moment where my mind seems to be taken off guard by the books that whispered all around me, though non coherent, but all quite strong in their desire to be taken off the shelves. “No? Well then, we can go through them all, if you like,” the Librarian offers and begins to lead me away again, this time, I follow at a slight distance. There is no need to hurry in this place, for it seemed that time didn’t exist. Nothing was solid.

“Here is where you can find references on love, all the romances and great love stories in history are published in this section,” the Librarian comments, breaking through my reverie. I turn to look up as thick volumes chatter happily and sweetly above me, their comments and desires like pink puffs of smoke, dancing above, around, through, and beneath me. Instead of the smoke being the intangible, it seemed as if I were what it was to me. It tried to grab me, to take hold of me and reel me in, but it caught nothing. “Open one, if you wish. Let me know if it fits what you’re looking for,” the Librarian suggests. And so, taking the Librarian’s advice, I reach out and take one off of the bookshelf. The weight surprised me, for it were as if picking up a child, and holding them in my arms. And when I opened the book, the smoke became a tangible rope that locked my hands to the covers. And as I looked onto the page, the words jumped out at me, becoming a voice that shook me to the core, narrating in a booming voice of a tales of tails and water’s asunder bringing lighting and thunder all around me. And as I felt the nauseating sensation of disgust, the Librarian joined me, peering into the book. “A tale of a young woman who befriends an overly hairy lion, yes, a classic in the World of the Fallen.”

I close the book, willing all my might as I do so, and when the book is closed, the rope that bound me, which had also burned me, released me and became smoke, once again, floating around, as if trying to catch me. But I replace the volume onto the shelf and notice the inscription on the binding, familiarity catches my eye and the Librarian adds, “Yes, in the World of the Fallen, ‘Beauty and the Beast’ is quite popular, is it not?” As we continue, I notice more and more titles which reminds me of my younger years, spent in front of the television, mesmerized by the figures on the screen, giving me temporary delight, filling my head with dreams and setting me up for the crushing blow of reality in the years to come. But as I passed that section, the Librarian stops again. The books that lay before me are old and ragged, their covers old and unused by the looks of it. “This is the Biography of the Living, one of the rarest collections and still going, as you can see, new volumes arrive every day, and the section is rarely quite.” Thud.

I look up and watch as thousands of books fall from an overhead something. Being too high and out of my line of vision, all I see are books that fall from above, towards me. And as I reach up to cover my head, they stop before reaching me. And in an instant, the shelves rearrange themselves, many moving to make room as other volumes with new titles enter the collection. For the new issues of older volumes, they seem to simply slide into where the old volumes sat, pushing the older volumes back, though to where, I knew not. “It’s a simple system and works quite well. But always is being updated, thus, we shall move on,” the Librarian adds, continuing down another path. And I followed, amazed by the unending shower of books.

A small light catches my eye and I stop. Turning towards the light, I follow it, unsure of what may befall me once I reached its source. But when I reached it, I noticed it was meant to light up a small switch that remained “off”. And, impulsively, I flipped the switch and lights from above, showered sight before me and the world took color and form, though not in the way I saw things outside of this building. And as I looked up, I noticed a sign. Before I could finish reading it, the Librarian, from behind, read and explained it to me. “Wall of Religion, yes that is a popular topic. Ranging from all different ideas, thinkings, rituals, ceremonies, cultures, and so forth. Yes, this is the most visited section of this library.”

Ah, I see. I was in a library. My eyes traveled along the shelves, noting the strange carvings on some books, unable to differentiate the meanings and differences between the books that sat before me. The Librarian, begins to move, and so I follow. “We have collected all of the religions pertaining to the World of the Fallen. From Wicca to Buddhism, Animism to Muslim, we have it all. Here, the volumes are complete and constantly being updated, for all on the outside of these walls, still are restricted to time, and time has a way of thwarting and warping past traditions.” And, as the books had fallen in the Biography aisle, once in a while, a book would fall and be filed away under the category in which it belonged. And this happened time and time again.

I felt a chuckle as I watched books fluttering into the sections marked, “Catholicism”, “Muslim”, and “Buddhism”, but found my focus locked on a section where no books fell, in fact, looked quite out of place. Compared to the books that fluttered to the other sections, this one was old and, seemingly, untouched. The letters on the binding were gold, and as I neared, I knew what it read before reading it. “Ah yes,” the Librarian comments, noting my attention, “the Bible. That one is one of the least popular books in this library.”

“Why?” I ask, unable to stop the word that bubbled to the surface of my mind.

The Librarian hesitates for a moment before replying, “Because it never changes.” The Librarian motions to the fluttering books and rows of bookshelves, continuing, “Despite it being the foundation by which all the other books were created, as soon as one thing is subtracted, added, or changed, it becomes something else. But the Bible, that is the only book in this library that never needs to be updated, for it never changes.”

My eyes focus on the single book in the library that is the least popular and I find myself yearning to pull it from the shelf and hold it close to my chest. The only book that offers warmth and comfort, and stability.

“I’m sorry, but the library must close now,” the Librarian states and leads me to the door.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” I ask, my thoughts swimming as a new excitement pulses through me.

“Possibly,” the Librarian replies, “though I haven’t discovered what you were looking for.”

I stop at the door, looking out to see nothing, but turning back to see everything. “I want to come back tomorrow,” I state, my eyes becoming clearer, despite the fading of the overhead light from within the building.

The Librarian replies, “Why do you find the need to travel so far to seek that which is always with you? Perhaps it is why humans spend most of their lives wasted on what doesn’t matter when what really matters has been with them, calling to them, the entire time?”

“What? What’s always with me?” I ask, now, unable to see anything but the Librarian, which stands before me, and I, a mere silhouette in the doorway.

The Librarian replies, “All the answers you seek are at your fingertips, and you insist on taking the long way to figure things out. You may be in the image of the Supervisor, but you’re a long way off from the way He thinks.”

“Who?” I ask, unable to step forward, for my feet seem locked to their place. The doorway around me appears to back up, passing me, as I, incapable of moving, try to stop it.

Alas, my efforts are futile and I watch as the doors are, once again, in front of me, slowly swinging shut. “Open your eyes and take hold of the dreams He gave you. Don’t waste another moment, child. Maranatha!” the Librarian adds as the doors shut, closing me out. Blocking me from the wonders and treasures that lay within, on the other side of the door. But I am powerless to open the door, and so, I relent, remaining standing where I had been standing. The Librarian’s reply, the last words I hear, echo in my mind.

‘My eyes are open, but nothing lies at my fingertips,’ I think to myself. But as I reach into my backpack, which had been on my back the entire time, I am surprised though, not, to pull out my compact Bible. The very object of my fascination moments earlier that offered me everything I sought had been with me the entire time. And yet, I was thankful to see the library and speak with the Librarian, but decided to not visit again any time soon, for I had all I needed with me. And forever, it will be.

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