The Library

I hardly remember the events that brought me here. A place so ornate almost demands an explanation as to its occupant’s intentions. There are others here, but it is as if this building was made for each person individually. What looks to be billions of books, slotted neatly into gorgeously carved bookcases, tower up to the ceiling. A massive mahogany staircase flows out from the back of the building, sweeping up to greet any newcomer that comes in through the giant doors. There is so much splendor to stare at around the building but there is hardly any time to enjoy it. I must read my book. As soon as I entered, I was escorted by the librarian to a long reading table with thousands more already sitting at it. A soft glow emanates from hidden lights. This warm light illuminates every open book placed on the polished wooden table. Now and then I look up and see others in a daze looking about. Yet, after a moment, they return to reading. Some of the books are quite thin while others are the size of large textbooks. Each one was chosen specifically for the person who is reading it. I don’t know what their books are about. I can only speak to the contents of mine. There are some oddities to this place. A few events have perplexed me greatly since my time here. For example, just a few moments ago I lifted my eyes from my book, and my gaze landed upon a woman who seemed to look quite sad with her reading. Part of me wanted to walk over and cheer her up with some kind words. She was about halfway through her book. A few tears began welling up in her eyes. I started to rise from my seat only to see the woman quickly close the top cover of her book. I sat back down. The librarian quickly appeared from the shelves and quietly escorted the woman from the reading tables. Others around the woman looked up with sadness in their eyes. Everyone seems grief-stricken when someone closes their book, especially so when they do it before reaching the last page. However, after a time everyone resumes their reading. I couldn’t put my book into a specific genre even if I tried. It reads very differently throughout the volume. I’ve been reading so long that I can hardly remember what the beginning was about. However, I vaguely remember it reading like children’s literature. Yet, now at times, I want to follow that woman’s lead and close my book early, but then I’ll never know how it ends. While there are sad and depressing moments at times overall It’s quite exciting. I do think my book is ending soon though. Even if I couldn’t see the remaining pages growing thin, I would still guess by the lilt of the story. Looking back on the beginning I hardly recognize the main character anymore. All the bumps and bruises of their story have changed them into someone altogether different from the person they were. Also, the further I get into the pages the more I realize the book’s main character is changing ever so slightly. It was clear who the story was about early on. However, now I’m not as sure. I don’t mind the change though. I almost welcome the change in subject. Oh! another person is about to close their book. A man quite near me. Unlike the woman, though he finished his. What an odd expression on his face. He seems sad to flip that last page. Eventually, he does though. For a minute he stared at the back cover. There must be one last paragraph inscribed there. As he reads tears begin to fall from his face. His eyes shift back and forth across the cover. He seems to be drinking in the last remainders of his story. A shaking hand lifts the back cover. With a soft pad, the book is now closed. He slowly raises his head. As I get a better look at his face, I see those aren’t tears of sorrow. On the contrary, he looks happier than at any point while reading. I’ve never seen anyone with so much joy on their face. He’s almost shaking with anticipation. Suddenly the librarian is there. He motions for the man. The man jumps up from his seat at the table. First, the librarian shelves the man’s book then he whispers something to him. Now he looks positively gleeful. They both walk away toward the back of the building. Seeing how excited that man was encouraged me to get back to my reading. I can only hope the end of my book brings me as much joy as it did that man.