The Librarian

                Margret, a middle aged woman, who may have eaten a few too many pies in her days and has the flabby body to prove it, works at the local library. She looks as if she hasn’t changed her hair or style of dress in over 20 years. Hair kept short, curled tight in an older woman kind of afro. She is often seen dressed in khaki pants, or tweed skirts, flowery blouses and glasses hanging from her neck by a gold chain. She is a sweet woman, for the most part, and enjoys her life as a librarian.

                For over 15 years Margret has run this small collection of books, her customer base is very small since they built that 5 story, artistic library nightmare down town, but what she lost in customers, she gained in Hipsters. At least that’s what she was told these glorified hippies were called, these tall lanky types, dressed as if they were blind and didn’t know what they had slipped over their bodies that morning. She found a certain delight in telling them they did not carry books by one author or another, that they were just a small library and never invested much in odd books. It was a small lie, bit she would chuckle as they walked away, frowning into their extra foam lattes.

                Margret loved her books, they were like her children, as she never had children, and only one cat at home to keep her company (her husband had died years before of heart disease), she fell in love with the old musky scent of the eldest books they carried, and enjoyed the soft crackling of brand new books as she gently worked the spine to be used. It was a good life, a content life for Margret.

                This day was an exciting day, Margret and her coworker were expecting a small group of 8 to 10 year olds on a field trip, the school was close by and they liked to use this library as opposed to the newer one, it was so much easier to relax and keep track of the children. Margret spent the day explaining how library cards worked, how exciting books can be, how to use the index cards. The kids were happily looking up books that might interest them, Margret stood back, ready to answer any questions they might present. At the end of the visit the kids thanked her and they were hurriedly ushered out and to the ice-cream shop next door where each child received a free scoop of ice-cream.

                She bid her coworker farewell, letting the young woman leave while she went about cleaning up and putting books away. A lovely young girl, perhaps 20, walked up to Margret, she looked troubled, “I’m looking for a book, well…obviously…” the girl chuckles a bit nervously, twirling her black hair about her finger “It’s a book on magic, well, it isn’t called magic really, someone told me to come here and ask for it. It’s called, I can’t remember the exact title, but it’s something like The World of Glamor. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

                Now, Margret knew exactly what the young woman was talking about, she of course knew every book in this place, but she was not about to give up such an interesting book to such a young child! She frowns a bit as if thinking and shakes her head slowly, “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a book with a title like that. Have you tried the New Age section? It might be-“

                The girl huffs, cutting off Margret’s next words. She glares at Margret and steps in closer. “I know you have it! You can’t keep it, it doesn’t even belong here! If you don’t produce it by closing, I promise, you’ll be sorry.” With that, the girl stomps off and leaves the library.

                Margret stands there, feeling violated, and frightened. The book was strange, yes, but did it warrant such a reaction? Couldn’t the girl find other copies? Margret rushes into the small office and unlocks her drawer, she pulls out the old book and sits down on the squeaky office chair, she opens up the book and with a gasp drops it suddenly, it had been glowing, the letters were glowing! After a moment of the shock wearing off, she picks the book up again and opens it, the glowing was fading slowly, the book knew the girl had been there. She frowns a bit and reads the words, though she couldn’t tell you what they said, because she forgets, every time she reads it she forgets the words the moment her mind can form them, but she always feels so good, so peaceful after reading.

                An hour has gone by and Margret realizes she had been sitting there staring at the book, she closes it and stands, moves to the counter where she checks out books and locks the book in a drawer. She goes about her closing routine, locking the doors and shutting down the computers. In no time at all she finds that she’s ready to go home, and when she gathers up her belongings she is faced by two people, the girl from earlier, and a very tall man, both are dark haired and impossibly beautiful. Margret is stunned; she drops her things and stares the couple. The man gives Margret a charming smile and walks towards her, backing her up towards the checkout desk. “The book, my love, of you will.”

                Margret simply stares at the man, she feels warm and fuzzy, she feels loved and envied by everyone in the world, to have such a gorgeous man talking to her, and all she wants is to find favor with him, to be a rug under his shoes would be better than her life before he spoke. She moves around the desk and opens the locked drawer, then slips the book out. “I was just keeping it here, for safety…” Her words trail away as his warm hand covers hers. She nearly melts when he smiles and opens the book, the letters glowing brightly, gold, red and purple, so perfectly lovely.

                The man speaks a few words in an odd language and Margret slumps down, glassy-eyed and brain dead. The man and the girl walk out, happy to have their family heirloom back in their possession, he praises his little sister on finding their beloved book.

                Margret is gone, her body remains, but her mind, even her soul is gone, into the books and stories she so loves, her body remains, and yet, her very essence lives each tale she ever held dear. This is Margret’s heaven.