Librarian Story
Matthew
Ryan Fischer
It was a very old library.
It was a very old librarian.
The halls were long. The books on
the shelves were very old. They had very
old tales to tell. Of men and things and
ages past. Of ideas and ideals and idols
long since forgotten.
The lights were very low. It would
be a wonder if any passing patron could read at all. The librarian had no
trouble reading here. He knew the books. He knew the text. He
knew the words. He knew the worlds not because he had them memorized but
because he enjoyed reading his books and because his eyes were just fine.
A library is a storied thing. In more ways than one. There are tales to tell inside its walls, and
on its shelves. The books, the people
and the building itself. Who is to say
which has the most interesting story?
There is a dispute in America – what is the oldest, the original? Why was this of consequence? Why must everything in America be a
contest? Things are what they are. But how do you define first? How do you
define a library? One can claim that
their building was built first. Another
can claim they had the first collection of books. And a third can say they were the first to
lend books out for free. Does the
distinction really matter? Or is the
dispute more interesting than whatever out of date texts they house? The story is that the claim matters and
matters dearly. The honor to be
had. And the power that comes with such
an honor. Who knows what that is really worth?
The library at Alexandria was a very famous library and was most likely a
very fine library. Clean. Efficient. Legendary. The world
came to study at Alexandria and Alexandria was the world. The knowledge,
the secrets, the culture, and the history of the ages.
What is that worth? The men that
studied there are long since dead. The
knowledge held has long since been lost.
Alexandria burnt. Once.
Twice. Maybe more... The
historical records aren’t very clear on the subject. History is funny
that way. When things had to be written down, there weren't a lot of
copies made. War, fire, flood, the passage of time... any number of
things could erase history as if it never happened. And then who do you
trust history to? Someone's memory?
Alexandria had a lot of history. A lot of history had been lost. But who would know for sure? All we have is the story to tell and the idea
to believe in. An idea has to be worth
something. Lock it away and no one will
ever know. Share it, preach it, teach it,
make them believe, and then the veracity of the idea no longer matters. Everyone knows it. Everyone believes it. That is when an idea has power.
This library was not a famous library.
The librarian saw no need to share its ideas with prying eyes.
This library had very few visitors.
Few knew where or how to find it and fewer still were let inside its
walls.
This was not a lending library.
This was not a teaching library.
This was not a library designed to spread knowledge or inspire future
generations.
This was a library with one purpose – to preserve. The irony in this being that no one who knew this
library could say who had built it or when it had been built.
It was a piece of history with no history of its own to claim.
This
was a one of a kind library. It housed
the secrets of history. When something
was forgotten or lost the knowledge came here. It housed the history of the universe. When a world was destroyed or a race
extinguished, their legacy was recorded and left here.
Worlds
which were long dead. Races that were
never heard of. Places that could never
be seen again.
The
librarian stacked the books, separated them and kept them in order. He restocked shelves and checked
inventory. And he read. He read so many stories. He kept track of them and had wonderful
dreams about what never was and what could be again. The librarian could have told an infinite number
of stories, but he never knew how to speak and he never knew how to write them
down. All he could do was read.
It
was a very old library and an old library is a most storied thing.
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