prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,3x7z1a,Do Flamethrowers Belong In The Library?,Kenz Ross,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3x7z1a/,/short-story/3x7z1a/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Horror']",103 likes," We lose people all the time. It’s just the nature of the job. What can you expect from a place full of nooks and crannies people intentionally go to get lost in? I usually don’t worry when I don’t see someone for a while, but when it’s been days since someone’s checked out, it’s usually a sign that I need to step in. I’m not doing this alone, thankfully. No Librarian is ever truly alone, are they? I have help from the Watchers and Listeners of the shelves. Thanks to them, it usually doesn’t take long to get the scent, if you know what I mean. However, today is one of the rare, and unfortunate, exceptions when my search has exceeded more than an hour—and an hour is pushing it. I’ve been searching and asking around for almost six hours, scouring shelves and listening for the telltale breathing. The Watchers have their quadrants, so it’s much like playing hot and cold. “Bad news.” One says, and my brain shivers in my skull, both from its existence and its statement.  “They crossed the tape.” Says the Watcher, and I groan. “Are you sure?” My stomach still drops at the thought, even though I’ve been doing this a very long time (long enough that I remember every book on every shelf better than my own child’s face), but knowing a poor soul lost themselves beyond the tape… I grieve for them.   The Watcher doesn’t speak, but generates an affirmative sensation. That means I have to backtrack to my desk for supplies. I thank them, asking that they send word ahead of my arrival. It’s been a while since I’ve had to go past the tape, which means it’s been a while since I entered the broom closet. The helmet is dusty (it looks almost like it’s from one of those old-fashioned scuba diving suits. It’s not nearly so heavy, though.) There’s a bright lamp affixed to the front just above the visor, but it’s as much of a hindrance as a help. While, most of the time, those beyond the tape know not to bother me, some still get bored enough to try—and the lamp acts like a beacon. I don’t blame them, it’s what prisoners do. Find the weakest among them and test their mettle. I’ve got a sack full of non-perishables, tinctures, aspirin, and a compass (not like the kind you’re used to, but would take too long to explain—and time is of the essence, so I’ll let your imagination handle it from here.)  I sling the sack across my body, and fasten my waist with a utility belt that would make a trust fund bat character with abandonment issues jealous. It’s got floss, lighters, matches, and a few more tools that don’t exist outside of The Library.  The last thing I grab is the flamethrower. This is where I should be very transparent with you. I’m not actually the Librarian. I’m the Librarian’s Assistant. I know, isn’t that just your luck, right? Not to worry, I’m very good at using this thing, and it does the job nicely—whatever job I may deem necessary at any particular moment. But the Head Librarian doesn’t really need much of anything to ward off what lingers here. I don’t know exactly where he is at the moment, nor do I want to know. If this were a real pickle I would summon him, but while a rare occasion, it’s not unusual in the scope of a thousand years. After all, no one comes here without the intention (whether it’s conscious or subconscious) to get lost. It’s the nature of this place. But you know that, don’t you?  It’s why you’re here, after all. It doesn’t take me long to find the tape, which is fortuitous. Sometimes it moves around, but the Watchers and Listeners kept a beat on it this time so as to direct me. Yes, it is really dark. Yes, it’s literal tape. Hazard tape, but that’s almost like a beacon to the adventurous, isn’t it? I think The Library knows that. It’s greedy, but it’s also quite discerning in taste. In some circles that means that I should extend congratulations to you… in others, I offer my sincerest sympathy. I hear my name and ignore it as I crawl through the crisscross of reflective strips. The tape moves not at random, by the way. It genuinely serves as a warning. Whether it’s gatekeeping sections currently under construction, in repair, or missing. I try not to, but I think that last one has something to do with where the Head Librarian went. Don’t worry about it, my name is not important.  So ineffectual that I’ve forgotten. I hear my name again as I begrudgingly turn on the lamp. Not a lot of help, just enough light to ensure I don’t trip over anything, or disturb the shelves.  Many sleep here. I send off a warning shot from the flamethrower. Showing I carry more light than just atop my appetizing head. The flash of flames sends things… slithering. But most of those this close to the tape have never been very convicted by nature, so I’m not concerned.  There are more Listeners and less Watchers past the tape, for obvious reasons. Thankfully, they say I don’t have to go too far. I look down at the telling clicking sound to see rocks rolling. Some as big as my foot, and some as small as the tip of my thumb. The smaller ones move more easily, but all are rolling as if pulled toward a central point. I don’t even need the compass, but I glance down at it one more time before stuffing it back into the sack. While I don’t have to go too far, things are… relative here. Ten steps may be ten thousand. And so even after only a few moments of exploring, I feel acute pressure jamming into my temples. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and my vision blurs. My fingers tingle by the time I’m able to shake the aspirin into my mouth. I chew it, ignoring the sound of my name—my true name. The one only I can hear. You’ll hear your own as well, if you stay here long enough. My vision clears, which just means the dark looks sharper, and I sweep another warning arc from the flame thrower for good measure.  I do this as much because I love the sound as for protection. I also appreciate the warmth. It gets cold here. But in a strange way, which shouldn’t surprise you at this point.  It’s cold like how the first signs of spring show in the early morning dew that’s only just melted. I can smell and taste the sweat on my upper lip. And it’s cold. And then I hear it.  A few or a thousand steps later.  The breathing sound I’ve been listening for. The pace of the rocks quickens, and my head is turned down so the helmet light prevents me from tripping over—or impeding—their journey. A famous author once said “All things serve the beam”, and that’s as true in this world as it is in the others. Except this beam—this beacon—is attached to our lost visitor. I can only hear the rocks, mumblings, and the breathing sound now. The smell is so musty and thick. Like the air is full of sweat and dust. Like I’ve stuck my head out the window during a heavily falling rain. If I think hard enough about it, soon I’ll be drenched.  So, I don’t. While the rocks are almost the perfect tell, and the Listeners’ too corroborates the evidence, you can never be too sure. Only light can be sure. I take a match from the tiny box, snap it to life, and then blow it out. Tiny smoke tendrils curl and waft until they also follow the same flow as the rocks. Excellent, we’ve not been led astray. A few or a thousand more steps, and the rocks are gathering down an aisle where the breathing is more like wheezing—like the desperate struggle to take in. Lo and behold, we found them! Poor thing, judging by the state of her, she got lost early. She’s likely been here for most of the day. The book covers her face—consuming her head like a kid on a particularly large popsicle. The pages flutter gently against her too-white jaw.  The papery quality of her skin, and the wanting muscle mass, show how little time was on our side—not a moment to waste. I grab the book by the edges of both back and front covers, it’s got most of her head inside at this point, just her earlobes, hair, and edge of her jaw peak out from beneath the pages I now grip firmly. The wheezing turns into a moan that turns into a sob. “Now, now.” I say, and test the hold the book has on its victim. It’s snug, too snug to yank like a leech. I need to treat it like a tick, making sure to get the head out. None of these are intended as puns, but it just happens after being surrounded by books and pros for so long. I draw one of the tiny viles strapped in my utility belt and pull the cork out. It smells like nothing to me, but I see the reaction immediately. Our half-consumed explorer moves a bit, her fingers mostly, and I hear a second, tinier moan beneath that of the book’s. I pour a small amount of the substance into the palm of my hand, and I smooth it gently down the spine of the book. It wails again, and so does the girl, both full of sorrow and reluctance.  I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, so I turn at the hip, cock the flamethrower, and send off a very intentionally long tail of flames. When the feeling subsides, I shrug the weapon back over my shoulder. I use the backs of two knuckles to knock gently on the book cover, “It’s time to come back now. My apologies.” I say, and I mean it. The book and the girl moan again, more hollowly, and I can feel the seal—the bond—splitting like a seam. I grip the book again, because these two are stubborn, and have to pry them apart. The color and mass return beneath her skin, and though her eyes are open, they can’t see anything. She’ll be like that for a while, it’s normal. She’ll recover. I pour the remaining contents of the bottle down the part of her frazzled blond hair. Tears fill the empty eyes and drip down her face. Her mouth presses into a thin white line and grimaces so intensely that the flesh folds in multiple layers at the corners of her mouth. Great pain. Even after a thousand years I still can’t help but feel sorry, so I pull her burning head under my chin, and rub circles into her back.  “I’m sorry, dear. I know you’ve been told otherwise, but this place is a prison, and that isn’t your story. Yours is still being written, and the one which made you pretty promises is lying and jealous.  “One day you, if the world is cruel, may yet have a place here. But it’s not today. So let’s go have a cup of tea.” I tell her, as I’ve told many like her. I’ve gotten better at it over the years. I used to have to fight with them. Often I’d give up and just keep them safe until the Head Librarian got back to talk them down.  She finally lets out a weak, wheezing breath. I take advantage of the broken seam of her lips and pour a tincture down her throat. I don’t even have to look anymore, I can just feel the specific melodies that make each tincture different. It helps that the one I need usually sings a bit louder as a courtesy, and it’ll purr like a cat when I’ve touched my fingers to it. She chokes a bit, but her eyes start to clear. Good enough for now.  The back of my neck has another sudden influx of goosebumps. We’ve overstayed our welcome. It’s time to go.  I put the book back on the shelf. I don’t scold it, just allow its ache and frustration flow through me. I apologize, but there’s no comfort I can give. My words and compassion are meaningless. I’ve noted the volume and will tell the Head Librarian, they might be able to soothe it back to sleep. I tap the metal bauble around my neck, and we’re back at my desk. I drape the girl onto a nearby loveseat that’s seen better days, starting the kettle before heading to the broom closet to stash the emergency kit. She’ll be fine. People like her (and you) always are. This place was made to help the wanderers and recklessly imaginative. Those who can’t wrap their heads around the world the way it is, and can see the truth of magic between heartbeats and heartbreaks.  And people like me, and the Head Librarian (when they so choose to grace us with their presence), keep the place orderly and open for you… and we’re here to help guide you back on track if you lose inspiration for your own story. It’s the nature of the job—The Library itself.  What else can you expect from a place full of nooks and crannies that people choose to get lost in? ","August 17, 2023 00:37","[[{'_Spilled Ink_': ""Man I wish there was a whole universe with this magical Library at the center. I'd love to read more about what exactly the Head Librarian and his assistants' jobs entail! Truly great work!"", 'time': '19:52 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OH! It's funny you mention that... because I've been PLANNING something. XD\n\nThank you so much for reading this story and taking time to leave your kind thoughts. I'm so glad you enjoyed it! <3"", 'time': '20:39 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '5'}, {'Erin Van Kal': ""Really?? Best of luck with whatever it is you are planning!! It's gonna be great :))"", 'time': '00:13 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'll need it XD!\n\nPS (this is NO pressure whatsoever), but I posted a link to a newsletter signup in my Reedsy bio for anyone who might want to follow along with this universe. It's still very under construction, but it's there for anyone who wants to learn more about the library ^_^)"", 'time': '13:07 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OH! It's funny you mention that... because I've been PLANNING something. XD\n\nThank you so much for reading this story and taking time to leave your kind thoughts. I'm so glad you enjoyed it! <3"", 'time': '20:39 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '5'}, [{'Erin Van Kal': ""Really?? Best of luck with whatever it is you are planning!! It's gonna be great :))"", 'time': '00:13 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'll need it XD!\n\nPS (this is NO pressure whatsoever), but I posted a link to a newsletter signup in my Reedsy bio for anyone who might want to follow along with this universe. It's still very under construction, but it's there for anyone who wants to learn more about the library ^_^)"", 'time': '13:07 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Erin Van Kal': ""Really?? Best of luck with whatever it is you are planning!! It's gonna be great :))"", 'time': '00:13 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'll need it XD!\n\nPS (this is NO pressure whatsoever), but I posted a link to a newsletter signup in my Reedsy bio for anyone who might want to follow along with this universe. It's still very under construction, but it's there for anyone who wants to learn more about the library ^_^)"", 'time': '13:07 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'll need it XD!\n\nPS (this is NO pressure whatsoever), but I posted a link to a newsletter signup in my Reedsy bio for anyone who might want to follow along with this universe. It's still very under construction, but it's there for anyone who wants to learn more about the library ^_^)"", 'time': '13:07 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kay Smith': 'I am so glad I read the story! This is fantastic writing!! \n""All things serve the beam,"" 🐢\nA well deserved win! \nCongratulations!', 'time': '18:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""YAY! I'm so glad you caught it!!!!!❤️🐢\nThank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so grateful you took time to leave me a kind comment. I'm so honored and appreciative of your time. :.)"", 'time': '13:09 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""YAY! I'm so glad you caught it!!!!!❤️🐢\nThank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so grateful you took time to leave me a kind comment. I'm so honored and appreciative of your time. :.)"", 'time': '13:09 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Suma Jayachandar': ""' I can feel the seal—the bond—splitting like a seam. I grip the book again, because these two are stubborn, and have to pry them apart.' - I'm sure every ardent reader can relate to some part of it. \nTo serve up a fantasy that feels so real is no mean task.\n Brilliant work. Congratulations!"", 'time': '15:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad the story was enjoyable! I'm so humbled and grateful that you read my story and took time to leave me a nice comment. Thank you so much!"", 'time': '17:22 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad the story was enjoyable! I'm so humbled and grateful that you read my story and took time to leave me a nice comment. Thank you so much!"", 'time': '17:22 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Wow!! Really well done!', 'time': '08:06 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and appreciate you leaving a kind word. It's so encouraging and humbling :,)"", 'time': '13:09 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and appreciate you leaving a kind word. It's so encouraging and humbling :,)"", 'time': '13:09 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Benja Catton': 'Wow! This was as engrossing and transporting as Piranesi - just much shorter. Impressive and so fun!', 'time': '23:40 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh my gosh what a complement! You're so kind and I am so happy that you enjoyed my story. Thank you so much for reading, and for leaving such kind words :,)"", 'time': '13:10 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh my gosh what a complement! You're so kind and I am so happy that you enjoyed my story. Thank you so much for reading, and for leaving such kind words :,)"", 'time': '13:10 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kristi Gott': 'I love this sooo much. What incredible writing and an incredible story by a gifted author. Wow. I am in awe. Enjoyed this soo much. So funny, witty and clever. Amazing!!!!', 'time': '22:59 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Gosh you're making me tear up, haha! As someone who was TERRIFIED to ever share my work with anyone, I'm so honored, humbled, and happy that you enjoyed the story and my writing. Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving such kind words. :,)"", 'time': '23:05 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Gosh you're making me tear up, haha! As someone who was TERRIFIED to ever share my work with anyone, I'm so honored, humbled, and happy that you enjoyed the story and my writing. Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving such kind words. :,)"", 'time': '23:05 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Shiller': 'Nice work! I am so devoted to realistic fiction I have not explored the world of fantasy. Love the descriptions, the rocks, the girl buried in the book...Congrats!', 'time': '16:50 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG thank you so much for reading my story and I'm so glad you spent time in the library and found things to enjoy ^_^. Also thank you for taking time to leave such kind words, it is so appreciated. :,)"", 'time': '23:03 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG thank you so much for reading my story and I'm so glad you spent time in the library and found things to enjoy ^_^. Also thank you for taking time to leave such kind words, it is so appreciated. :,)"", 'time': '23:03 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'J. S. Bailey': 'Nice work and congrats on the win. \n\nI feel there was an overuse of italics, especially at the beginning-before we had even gotten to know the characters voice, which I found to be jarring.\n\nIncredibly interesting setting and tone.', 'time': '20:29 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much for reading my story and for sharing your encouragement and thoughts! I greatly appreciate your time and feedback!!! :D', 'time': '20:36 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much for reading my story and for sharing your encouragement and thoughts! I greatly appreciate your time and feedback!!! :D', 'time': '20:36 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Fantastic. Only problem is I overcooked my cauliflower reading it 🤨 Think I got a bit lost!', 'time': '17:03 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and greatly appreciate you taking time to leave a kind word! :,) \n\n(TBH, the cauliflower might be the Watchers... they like it a bit overdone, sorry about that!) >_>"", 'time': '18:13 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Jessie Laverton': '🤣☺️', 'time': '19:32 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'CRISTIAN FLORES JIMENEZ': 'L bro', 'time': '16:43 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and greatly appreciate you taking time to leave a kind word! :,) \n\n(TBH, the cauliflower might be the Watchers... they like it a bit overdone, sorry about that!) >_>"", 'time': '18:13 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': '🤣☺️', 'time': '19:32 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'CRISTIAN FLORES JIMENEZ': 'L bro', 'time': '16:43 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': '🤣☺️', 'time': '19:32 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'CRISTIAN FLORES JIMENEZ': 'L bro', 'time': '16:43 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'CRISTIAN FLORES JIMENEZ': 'L bro', 'time': '16:43 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Donna Moren': 'I love this! I teach a high school creative writing course, and I would love to use this as an exemplar of the genres you have here. Let me know if that would be acceptable! Dmoren@hamiltoncentral.org', 'time': '14:33 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh my gosh, I'm so honored. It would be wonderful if my writing could be used in such a helpful way—especially for young writers :,D\n\nThank you so much for your kind words, reading my story, and using your skills to teach. You're a hero! <3\n\nI will email you!"", 'time': '14:37 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh my gosh, I'm so honored. It would be wonderful if my writing could be used in such a helpful way—especially for young writers :,D\n\nThank you so much for your kind words, reading my story, and using your skills to teach. You're a hero! <3\n\nI will email you!"", 'time': '14:37 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Erin Van Kal': 'Oh My Goshhhhh!!! This is so good!!! I really really love your idea, I would 100% read this if it were made into a full novel! WOWWWW you are so good at writing!!! :)\nI love how you turned the simple setting of a library into a whimsical and mysterious place made to represent life and everyone\'s individual story and how sometimes we can become so absorbed in the search for meaning within our own lives that we become lost. It reminds me of the pixar movie soul, in which the ""lost souls"" represent the ways people become consumed by their own m...', 'time': '03:29 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG I'm so glad that you enjoyed it. Your kind words are so inspiring and humbling. It means so much that my story was something you could connect with. Thank you so much for reading, and taking time to leave such incredibly kind words. It means so much! :,)"", 'time': '14:44 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Erin Van Kal': '^^', 'time': '00:09 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG I'm so glad that you enjoyed it. Your kind words are so inspiring and humbling. It means so much that my story was something you could connect with. Thank you so much for reading, and taking time to leave such incredibly kind words. It means so much! :,)"", 'time': '14:44 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Erin Van Kal': '^^', 'time': '00:09 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Erin Van Kal': '^^', 'time': '00:09 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Alex Storm': 'i really loved the story, can i use your story on my youtube channel and add more deep, like images and ambient sounds?', 'time': '21:31 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Kenz,\nWelcome to Reedsey. This was an outstanding win!! It answered the prompt beautifully while executing the perfect life questions. I also adored the way you felt this narrator’s journey. We’ve all been the assistant in the world where everyone needs the head honcho. It was absolutely gorgeously written. Nice work!!', 'time': '04:39 Sep 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': "":,) :,) :,) Thank you so much, Amanda! So very glad you enjoyed the story and resonated with the Assistant Librarian. <3 I'm so glad you enjoyed the writing and so grateful for the time you took to leave such kind and motivational words. Thank you so so so much!!!"", 'time': '14:04 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': "":,) :,) :,) Thank you so much, Amanda! So very glad you enjoyed the story and resonated with the Assistant Librarian. <3 I'm so glad you enjoyed the writing and so grateful for the time you took to leave such kind and motivational words. Thank you so so so much!!!"", 'time': '14:04 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jon Kirkham': ""A beautifully created take on 'the' library and the world that we so long to occasionally escape"", 'time': '11:12 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and the themes ^_^, and it means so much that you took the time to leave kind words. Thank you!"", 'time': '19:54 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and the themes ^_^, and it means so much that you took the time to leave kind words. Thank you!"", 'time': '19:54 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Andrea Corwin': 'Watchers and the Listeners...crossed the tape.... a great story, and perfect title!', 'time': '02:21 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so so much!!!! I\'m so glad you liked the story and the title (I actually had such a hard time deciding whether to ""go with it"" XD)\n\nThanks for stopping by to leave kind words, it means a lot and I so appreciate your time. :)', 'time': '19:55 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so so much!!!! I\'m so glad you liked the story and the title (I actually had such a hard time deciding whether to ""go with it"" XD)\n\nThanks for stopping by to leave kind words, it means a lot and I so appreciate your time. :)', 'time': '19:55 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kumuthu Mithma': 'Congratulations buddy!!', 'time': '17:02 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '20:21 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '20:21 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Steffen Lettau': 'I just read this today, and like that girl, I find myself enthralled and wanting more. You have a rare gem here, and it is truly priceless!', 'time': '18:35 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the story, and found joy here! ^_^ Thank you for taking time to leave such kind words. :.)"", 'time': '13:59 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed the story, and found joy here! ^_^ Thank you for taking time to leave such kind words. :.)"", 'time': '13:59 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY', 'time': '20:32 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Rachel Lunsford': 'Loved it! Well done!', 'time': '02:56 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much, Rachel! So glad you had a lovely time visiting The Library, and taking time to leave such kind words. It means a LOT :,)', 'time': '22:45 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much, Rachel! So glad you had a lovely time visiting The Library, and taking time to leave such kind words. It means a LOT :,)', 'time': '22:45 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY', 'time': '21:05 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Prissy Sturz': 'HOLY COW THIS IS AMAZING', 'time': '20:12 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you so much That's so nice of you to say so!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so grateful you took time to leave a nice word. Thank you, it means so much! :)"", 'time': '13:22 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you so much That's so nice of you to say so!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so grateful you took time to leave a nice word. Thank you, it means so much! :)"", 'time': '13:22 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bitsy Tandem': 'I really enjoyed your writing style! Very mysterious and yet, not too dark. I would read an entire book following this story <3', 'time': '12:57 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much! That means a lot :,) I\'m so glads you enjoyed the story, and so grateful for the time you took to leave such kind words. :)\n\nPS: If you do want to follow more about this universe, there\'s a link in my ""Author Bio"" to a newsletter sub that\'ll post updates on this world (no pressure of course, but if that\'s something you\'d be interested in, it\'s there! ^_^)', 'time': '19:49 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much! That means a lot :,) I\'m so glads you enjoyed the story, and so grateful for the time you took to leave such kind words. :)\n\nPS: If you do want to follow more about this universe, there\'s a link in my ""Author Bio"" to a newsletter sub that\'ll post updates on this world (no pressure of course, but if that\'s something you\'d be interested in, it\'s there! ^_^)', 'time': '19:49 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Riley I_DoNotMatter': 'Hi ^^', 'time': '08:57 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Riley I_DoNotMatter': 'DHDHHDHFHDHDHDHRJJEUDUDJRUUDUDJENEJOWOK', 'time': '08:57 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Annette Zimmerman': 'Loved your story. Very imaginative!', 'time': '11:12 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you for stopping by to read and leave kind words! ^_^"", 'time': '19:46 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you for stopping by to read and leave kind words! ^_^"", 'time': '19:46 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Arlin Couch': 'Wow! Amazing work, I started reading it and could not stop until I finished! I felt like a character in your story, you couldn’t pry this story out of my hands until I finished! Great work!', 'time': '02:28 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it! Thank you so much for reading and leaving such a kind comment ^_^"", 'time': '19:47 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it! Thank you so much for reading and leaving such a kind comment ^_^"", 'time': '19:47 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Хадусенко Артём': 'https://taplink.cc/tgotery', 'time': '12:01 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Paul McDermott': 'Dry, bitter-sweet British-style humoUr [hint, hint!] in this story.\nI\'ve \'allowed\' the US spellings to stand, as I realise I\'m probably in a minority of Jesuit-trained (correct) spellers on this site ... but ""viles""[ugly or evil] things are NOT the same as the ""vials"" (usually of glass) you mention ... in the same para you mention ""of the book\'s"" - ""of the"" is already a genitive, making the \' of book\'s redundant (should be plural ""books""). A few typos didn\'t spoil my enjoyment of the tale, which was well told!', 'time': '22:14 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sonia Brock': 'How to get list in a book :-)', 'time': '19:42 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Hollie T': 'WOW. This was amazing, thank you so much for sharing this. I echo the comments about reading more about this universe, I was truly LOST in your story and would love to read more about these characters!', 'time': '18:56 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'OMG thank you so much! I\'m so honored that you and others have had such a good time in the world :,) Thank you for reading and for taking time to leave such kind words. I hope to create another fun study in the future! ^_^\n\nPS: I AM actually working on an ""on-going/fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants"" project with these characters (which is actually what inspired THIS story in the first place.) The link is in my Reedsy bio if you want to join the newsletter for updates.', 'time': '13:05 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'OMG thank you so much! I\'m so honored that you and others have had such a good time in the world :,) Thank you for reading and for taking time to leave such kind words. I hope to create another fun study in the future! ^_^\n\nPS: I AM actually working on an ""on-going/fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants"" project with these characters (which is actually what inspired THIS story in the first place.) The link is in my Reedsy bio if you want to join the newsletter for updates.', 'time': '13:05 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Andrew Fruchtman': 'Nicely done. Congrats on the win.', 'time': '02:40 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so grateful you took time to read my story and leave a kind comment! It means a lot! :)"", 'time': '19:09 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so grateful you took time to read my story and leave a kind comment! It means a lot! :)"", 'time': '19:09 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Richards': 'Loved this story!! You took me on the journey! Awesome job!', 'time': '21:14 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Yay! I'm so so glad you enjoyed your time at the Library! :,). Thank you for reading and thank you for taking time to leave a kind word <3"", 'time': '22:26 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Yay! I'm so so glad you enjoyed your time at the Library! :,). Thank you for reading and thank you for taking time to leave a kind word <3"", 'time': '22:26 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Zina Belhadj': 'Oh, wow. This is so so good!', 'time': '08:45 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG I'm so so so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving such a nice comment ^_^"", 'time': '14:08 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OMG I'm so so so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving such a nice comment ^_^"", 'time': '14:08 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Fine work. It holds interest, educates, and makes you laugh nonstop. Congrats.', 'time': '20:59 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad the humor came across and you enjoyed your time with the story! Thank you for reading and taking the time to leave such a nice comment ^_^"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad the humor came across and you enjoyed your time with the story! Thank you for reading and taking the time to leave such a nice comment ^_^"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome.', 'time': '18:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carole McKelvey': ""Wow, I couldn't stop reading. Great job!!!"", 'time': '20:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!! I'm so so glad you enjoyed it :,) <3"", 'time': '20:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!! I'm so so glad you enjoyed it :,) <3"", 'time': '20:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Olga Foxe': ""Ah that's good. Bringing us all in at the end - because you're right; we're all the same! xx"", 'time': '15:38 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""<3 It's a wonderful company to keep! Thank you so much for reading my story and for leaving a kind word. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '17:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""<3 It's a wonderful company to keep! Thank you so much for reading my story and for leaving a kind word. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '17:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'Great concept Mikenzi! Which one of us hasn’t tried getting lost in a book. Good to know there’s a rescue. 😊', 'time': '15:34 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much! Yep, not to worry, flamethrowers have a TON of use cases! XD. Thank you for reading my story and leaving such kind words. :,)', 'time': '17:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much! Yep, not to worry, flamethrowers have a TON of use cases! XD. Thank you for reading my story and leaving such kind words. :,)', 'time': '17:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lyle Closs': 'Excellent!', 'time': '09:07 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much for taking the time to read and share a kind word. It means a lot! :,)', 'time': '14:08 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much for taking the time to read and share a kind word. It means a lot! :,)', 'time': '14:08 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'Excellent, wild story. I couldn\'t tell if it was in first person or second person POV. Whatever it was, it makes you feel like you\'re there, in the story. \n\n(This story brought to you by the people who like to say, ""Oh her? She always has her head stuck in a book."")', 'time': '07:03 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Omg thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! :,)"", 'time': '14:07 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Omg thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! :,)"", 'time': '14:07 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Congrats on your win. Pulling your head out of a book to see the world around you - great message. Well deserved win.', 'time': '04:42 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad my story was something people could enjoy and find things that meant something to them. :,D"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad my story was something people could enjoy and find things that meant something to them. :,D"", 'time': '14:09 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': ""You're a talented writer. The prose flows perfectly, and It took me quite a while to realize this was written in 2nd pov. Congrats on being selected."", 'time': '04:24 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much, that means so much that you took the time to read my story and leave such kind words! I was so nervous the POV ""wasn\'t going to work"", but I\'m glad folks enjoyed it :,D', 'time': '14:10 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'Thank you so much, that means so much that you took the time to read my story and leave such kind words! I was so nervous the POV ""wasn\'t going to work"", but I\'m glad folks enjoyed it :,D', 'time': '14:10 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Stevenmeg Wanke': 'Loved this! Wonderful imagery.', 'time': '03:15 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and took time to leave a kind word. :,D"", 'time': '14:10 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and took time to leave a kind word. :,D"", 'time': '14:10 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kathleen Spencer': 'What an excellent story, so imaginative! I loved it. :)', 'time': '01:25 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': "":,D you're so kind. I'm so glad my story was something that brought you some enjoyment. I'm so so glad!"", 'time': '14:11 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': "":,D you're so kind. I'm so glad my story was something that brought you some enjoyment. I'm so so glad!"", 'time': '14:11 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sophia Gardenia': 'Oh my gosh. As a bookworm and someone who ""can’t wrap their heads around the world the way it is,"" this story was SO relatable. I was a bit confused at first where this was going, but then everything cleared up and it was kind of tragic to see that poor girl consumed by the book, but also depressed with the world. Simply fabulous! Congrats on this well deserved win.', 'time': '23:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!!! Yes, as I was writing this, I ALSO wasn't sure where it was going--but the (assistant) Librarian seemed to have everything under control lol. XD\n\nI'm so glad this story resonated with you, and that you took time to leave such kind words about your experience. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '14:13 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Sophia Gardenia': ""Heh, it's so great when the characters know exactly where they're going, and all you have to do is keep up."", 'time': '19:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!!! Yes, as I was writing this, I ALSO wasn't sure where it was going--but the (assistant) Librarian seemed to have everything under control lol. XD\n\nI'm so glad this story resonated with you, and that you took time to leave such kind words about your experience. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '14:13 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sophia Gardenia': ""Heh, it's so great when the characters know exactly where they're going, and all you have to do is keep up."", 'time': '19:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sophia Gardenia': ""Heh, it's so great when the characters know exactly where they're going, and all you have to do is keep up."", 'time': '19:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Mikenzi, Congratulations! I love libraries, I’ve always thought there was so much more going on there. Each book tells its own story and can take us anywhere we want to go. A wonderful take on the prompt.', 'time': '23:27 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!! Thank you for reading my story and thank you for leaving such kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :,)"", 'time': '14:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you!!! Thank you for reading my story and thank you for leaving such kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :,)"", 'time': '14:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carla Ward': 'Delightful, intriguing story. My only quibble is the spelling which should be ""vial"" rather than ""vile,\' but the story is so original and draws in the reader so well it is a small point.', 'time': '21:46 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR POINTING THAT OUT! I can't believe in all of my proofing I didn't recognize that! -_- I'm so glad you were still able to enjoy it, though! ^_^"", 'time': '14:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR POINTING THAT OUT! I can't believe in all of my proofing I didn't recognize that! -_- I'm so glad you were still able to enjoy it, though! ^_^"", 'time': '14:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': ""This had a nice pace, and a touch of suspense that was just compelling enough. It was enjoyable to read too, which I'm glad I did."", 'time': '20:51 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! Thank you for reading and for leaving such kind words :,)"", 'time': '14:15 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! Thank you for reading and for leaving such kind words :,)"", 'time': '14:15 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'S Fevre': 'Really original. I loved the use of italics and intimate way of talking to the reader. Very atmospheric. Great job!', 'time': '19:27 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and the atmosphere came across! Thank you for reading and for taking time to leave a kind word. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '14:16 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and the atmosphere came across! Thank you for reading and for taking time to leave a kind word. It means so much :,)"", 'time': '14:16 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Haven't been to the library since COVID closed it down\n Reedsy has been fulfilling my need to read. Now I am almost afraid 😳 to go back. Great premise!\nCongrats on well deserved win!"", 'time': '18:40 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Hahaha! Don't worry, your librarians (and assistant librarians) have everything under control... probably >_>\n\nSeriously, thank you so so much for reading my story and for leaving such kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :,)"", 'time': '14:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'A pleasure!', 'time': '14:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Hahaha! Don't worry, your librarians (and assistant librarians) have everything under control... probably >_>\n\nSeriously, thank you so so much for reading my story and for leaving such kind words. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. :,)"", 'time': '14:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'A pleasure!', 'time': '14:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'A pleasure!', 'time': '14:40 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin B': 'This former librarian is applauding.\n\nGreat job.', 'time': '16:49 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': 'OMG I AM SO HONORED! :,D Thank you for reading and leaving such a kind comment (and thank you for all you did to keep readers (and the library..). happy. ^_^', 'time': '14:18 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': 'OMG I AM SO HONORED! :,D Thank you for reading and leaving such a kind comment (and thank you for all you did to keep readers (and the library..). happy. ^_^', 'time': '14:18 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'William Vickers': 'Very cool and original. Congrats :)', 'time': '16:16 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and deeply appreciate the time you took to leave such kind words. It means so much to me. :,)"", 'time': '14:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so much!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and deeply appreciate the time you took to leave such kind words. It means so much to me. :,)"", 'time': '14:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""Librarians and flamethrowers, what's not to love! \n\n'Those who can’t wrap their heads around the world the way it is, and can see the truth of magic between heartbeats and heartbreaks.' \na great analogy for the Reedsy community ;) \nCongrats!"", 'time': '16:16 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""I'm so so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so honored and grateful that you took time to leave such a kind word and found parts of my story that really resonated. I'm so humbled by all of this ;,)"", 'time': '14:20 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""I'm so so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so honored and grateful that you took time to leave such a kind word and found parts of my story that really resonated. I'm so humbled by all of this ;,)"", 'time': '14:20 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Olivia Lake': 'Absolutely gorgeous world building. You give just enough detail, and dole it out throughout the text, to keep the reader grounded and engaged. Very precise and effective word choices here, too. (""The flash of flames sends things… slithering."" - I shuddered.) Congratulations!', 'time': '15:59 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""AHHHH! Thank you so much, I'm so glad it came across well, and you enjoyed it! Thank you for taking time to leave such a kind word about my story—thank you, thank you, thank you! :,)"", 'time': '14:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""AHHHH! Thank you so much, I'm so glad it came across well, and you enjoyed it! Thank you for taking time to leave such a kind word about my story—thank you, thank you, thank you! :,)"", 'time': '14:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'John Del Rio': 'Super Duper. Thoroughly intriguing and enjoyable read. I look forward to reading more of your offerings. Thank you for this.', 'time': '15:54 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh gosh, thank you so much! :,) I'm very excited to share more work and hope it won't disappoint! ^_^"", 'time': '14:22 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Oh gosh, thank you so much! :,) I'm very excited to share more work and hope it won't disappoint! ^_^"", 'time': '14:22 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tahnee Gangi Reddy': 'Brilliant story - absolutely loved it. Congratulations', 'time': '15:49 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so so so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! :,) It means so much that my story could bring joy and fun. Thank you for your kind words and for reading my story :,)"", 'time': '14:23 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kenz Ross': ""Thank you so so so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it! :,) It means so much that my story could bring joy and fun. Thank you for your kind words and for reading my story :,)"", 'time': '14:23 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kamora Brown': 'bad', 'time': '13:44 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '0'}, [{'Erin Van Kal': 'Kamora, you have no taste...', 'time': '03:41 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Erin Van Kal': 'Kamora, you have no taste...', 'time': '03:41 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,j0yu3u,The Miracle of the Damaged Jesus,Delbert Griffith,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/j0yu3u/,/short-story/j0yu3u/,Fiction,0,"['Funny', 'Drama', 'Crime']",45 likes," Marilyn and Beatrice arrived at work early, as usual. Beatrice opened the door and held it open for Marilyn, as usual. The ladies took off their coats and put on their sweaters, as usual. They started re-stocking the books that had been checked in the evening before, as usual.The body of the head librarian lay in the Historical Fiction aisle, her lifeless eyes and bluish tint signifying that she was well and truly dead.Marilyn wiped her glasses, the grim expression on her face softened somewhat by the absence of eyewear. When she spoke, the grimness on her face seeped into her tone.“I reckon ol’ Becky won’t be doin’ any work today.”Beatrice sniffed and shook her head.“As usual.”                                                       **************“Honestly, Bea, I was just lookin’ for where I left the mop last night when I spotted her.”The two women were sipping coffee from their respective Thermos bottles and sitting behind the library check-out counter. Becky Stuberville being dead wasn’t the worst news in the world, in their opinion, but a murdered Becky Stuberville was a different story. And she had been murdered. Strangled, judging by the bruises around her neck.“Guess we oughta call Sherrif Daniels,” Beatrice said, sighing.Marilyn graced this remark with a frown.“I reckon not. We’ll be prime suspects. Everyone knows how much we hate her.”“Hated,” Beatrice said.“I still hate her. She done put us in a bad way, Bea, bein’ all dead here in the library.”“Her killer did that.”“Yes,” Marilyn said thoughtfully. Becky was liked in the community because she got married to the head football coach, and because she remained married to the head football coach. As far as any other redeeming qualities she might possess, Marilyn and Beatrice would be hard pressed to name any. She had at least one enemy, one serious enough to put paid to her breathing any more of God’s air.“I still think we oughta call the sheriff.”Marilyn shot Beatrice a withering look.“Absolutely not. We’ll wind up in jail, face a kangaroo court, and find ourselves in prison with a bunch of women who are actual murderers.”Beatrice nodded. What Marilyn said seemed probable.“I hear those prison women don’t use deodorant.”“Yes, Bea. That would be the worst thing about prison. B.O.”“And some of them are in relationships with each other,” Beatrice whispered.“Why are you whispering? Afraid Becky’s gonna hear you?”Beatrice blushed and shook her head.“Anyway,” Marilyn continued, “don’t you see the irony of it all? Everyone thinks we’re lesbians, so they’d think we’d belong in such a place.”“But – but we ain’t.”Marilyn stared at Beatrice.“Thanks for the update, Bea.”“No need to get all snitty. Just because there’s a dead body in the Historical Fiction aisle doesn’t mean that you have to get your panties in a twist.”“Agreed. And – sorry. But a dead body seems like a panty-twisting event.”Beatrice smiled.“Maybe, but it’s the most exciting thing to happen in Soda Springs since Amy Morgan came to church drunk and fell over on the Jesus statue.”Marilyn shook her head, her grimace tightening.“That poor statue. It still ain’t right. I think Preacher Dan left out some pieces when he glued it back together. It wobbles somethin’ terrible.”“Well, let’s get movin’. We got things to do before we open the library.”Marilyn stared at her friend, puzzled.“Like what?”Beatrice started moving to the body, talking over her shoulder.“Gotta get poor ol’ Becky someplace safe.”Marilyn’s legs stopped obeying instructions from the brain. It occurred to her that a) Beatrice was right, b) a killer was on the loose, and c) they were in deep shit.Marilyn took a healthy gulp of coffee and willed her legs to move. It was going to be a long day, and dead bodies didn’t just hide themselves.                                                        **************The winter evening arrived quickly and with snow flurries. Beatrice and Marilyn drew in their breath at the shock of cold air that confronted them when leaving the library. Each woman busied herself buttoning up against the frigid night.“I’m none too happy about leavin’ her in the barn out back. You know them high school kids canoodle in there from time to time,” Marilyn said, her grimace returning for an encore performance.“Not on a night like this. I reckon their hormones are frozen.”“We gotta move her. The poor girl’s probably frozen solid by now.”Beatrice gave her friend a steady stare.“I don’t think she minds much at this point.”“And I don’t relish haulin’ her skinny ass up a tree.”“It’s a good place to hide a dead body, Mar. I mean, who’s gonna look for an anorexic coach’s wife up a tree?”Marilyn had to admit that it was a good idea, but getting a dead body up a tree seemed fraught with difficulties.“I don’t know why we can’t leave her out there in the oil fields. Them sumbitches deserve to have a dead body found, what with all the frackin’ they’re doin. I expect an earthquake any day now.”“They’d probably toss her down a well. They just don’t give a shit, Mar.”“Still. A tree? Seems like we’re makin’ our lives difficult.”“Don’t worry. We have rope and a pickup truck. Easy peasy.”Marilyn didn’t think that “easy peasy” would be happening. Sure, rope and horsepower sounded good, but they had never hauled a dead body up a tree before. It seemed like some practice was required to do it well.The still-living women got the dead woman into the back of the truck and sped off. Beatrice had a tree picked out already: a massive live oak that stood five miles outside town. Marilyn nodded in appreciation of the tree that her friend had chosen. It was indeed massive, and full as well, even for winter.“Tie this rope around her chest and under her arms, Mar. I’ll get the other end over a branch and tied to the bumper.”Marilyn started tying up the dead woman.“Should we undress her?” Marilyn stopped her rope work to enquire.“Heavens no. A dead librarian is bad enough, but a nekkid dead librarian is an affront to God,” Beatrice said, as if she had studied up on this particular subject.“Hmph. Well, I hope we didn’t leave no NBA on them clothes.”“DNA, Mar.”“Whatever you say, Bea. Let’s just git this done. I’m cold and in need of my supper.”Beatrice leaned out of the truck window and laughed at her friend.“I reckon we could both do without a supper ever once in a while. My pants are gittin’ tight.”“Less of the diet talk, Bea. We ain’t here to discuss cuttin’ down on carbs or shit like that.”“You done yet? My toes are numb,” Beatrice yelled.“Ok. Let ‘er rip!”Beatrice gave the truck too much gas, the result being that Becky Stuberville raced through the air, up the tree, over the branch, and landing with a heavy thud on the ground.“Dammit, Bea! You smashed her nose!”“Yeah,” Beatrice said, eyeing the damage dispassionately. “I think we need a higher branch.”“I think we need to find a different place to hide her.”After a quick consultation, the women decided to hide her in an altogether different place. A place, they agreed, that was perfect.                                                    **************The body was finally hidden. Their night’s work done, the women went home and sat heavily on the sofa. A bottle of wine sounded like a good idea, so Beatrice retrieved it and sat two glasses out.The women drank in silence for fifteen minutes, until a thought occurred to Beatrice.“You reckon Coach Stuberville did it?”Marilyn shook her head decisively.“No. The man has a no-balls policy in coaching, so I figure he’s the same way in life. You remember that playoff game last year?”“’Course I do. The dumbass went for a field goal at the two-yard line instead of a touchdown. Got blocked and the other team ran it back for a touchdown and won the game.”“That’s what I mean. So I don’t reckon he has the fortitude to kill his wife.”“Well, who then? You got a good sense of this stuff, Mar.”“I got nothin’. I’d say us, except we know we didn’t do it.”“Well, I’m pretty drunk and I figure there’ll be a hullabaloo tomorrah. I need my beauty sleep.”“Go to bed, old woman. I’ll finish off the bottle first,” Marilyn said, then burped.“You’ll snore all night if you do.”“Don’t care. I reckon I got a right to snore after hiding a dead woman.”Beatrice yawned and nodded.“Church is tomorrah.”“Yeah. That’s what scares me. Jesus may be damaged, but He still sees us.”                                              **************Preacher Dan was in fine form this morning. Hellfire and brimstone sounded hotter than ever, and the congregation approved. They relished the thought of whores and homos and vegans going to hell and burning forever. It was basically the same sermon every week, with different groups being castigated. Last week, he railed on the sins of voting Democrat and the evils of driving electric vehicles.“Can he say ‘homos’? That’s a little inappropriate,” Beatrice whispered.“He used to say ‘queers.’ Then them high school kids got on ‘im about it.”“Dumbass.”The church was well built, sturdy, solid – all in the name of God. The wind whipped through the countryside, but the church stood firm, oblivious to the vagaries of a rare east Texas cold snap. But the church, robust as it was, would feel the effects of the drilling outside of town.Just as Preacher Dan was wrapping up his sermon, the ground shook. It didn’t shake a lot, but it was discernible. A low, rumbling sound came from beneath the building. Then it happened.The plaster statue of Jesus, already a little unsteady, toppled over slowly, as if it were undecided on whether or not to let gravity have its way with it. It decided in favor of Newton’s discovery.With a resounding crash, Jesus fell, splintering into several pieces and throwing up dust in the vicinity. A woman screamed, but not because Jesus was broken. She screamed because the body of Becky Stuberville was seated behind where Jesus had been. Her stiff manner and mottled, bluish tint said it all. Also, she was tied to a chair so she wouldn’t fall over.The congregation was silent, stunned by what they saw. Preacher Dan stared at the dead body in horror, which baffled Marilyn and Beatrice.“Damn. The man acts like he ain’t ever seen a stiff in his life. He done buried a dozen people in this town,” Marilyn whispered.“I don’t think Jesus can be fixed this time. His head just exploded,” Beatrice said. She stared in fascination at the shards of the Savior scattered across the floor.“Oh, dear Lord! I didn’t mean to kill her! Please, please forgive me, Lord!” Preacher Dan fell to his knees as he uttered these fateful words.The congregation erupted into shouts, exclamations, confusion, and anger. Coach Stuberville pulled out his gun, aiming it at the preacher, and had to be restrained by other gun-toting men. The sheriff handcuffed Preacher Dan and hurried him off to his office to get a confession while the confession-getting was good.Everyone spilled outside and gathered into groups, discussing the turn of events. Various theories abounded. One group thought that Preacher Dan was a CIA operative and was sent to take out Communist sympathizers. Another group was sure that he was a serial killer preying on coach’s wives. Yet another group thought that Becky Stuberville must have been a whore, a homo, or a vegan, and God sent preacher Dan to administer some Godly justice. All agreed, though, that Jesus falling over to reveal Becky Stuberville had done in his nerves.It turned out to be a mundane motive. Preacher Dan had been having an affair with the coach’s wife, and she was ending the relationship. Preacher Dan, incensed, went a little too far with his actions and throttled her. The upshot of this was that Preacher Dan was sent to prison and Coach Stuberville was inundated with baked goods and offers of marriage.Marilyn was made head librarian, which suited her and Beatrice just fine. Besides, no one else wanted the job, so giving it to an alleged lesbian was the best that the town could do.                                                          **************Summer in east Texas arrived as it always did: early and forceful. Humidity and heat ruled the region, with breezes hard to come by and shade trees sought out eagerly by denizens that insisted on being outdoors. Marilyn and Beatrice, ensconced in the cool of the library, reminisced about the events of last winter.“I reckon it was a miracle, Bea. Ol’ Jesus fallin’ over like He did and makin’ preacher Dan confess.”Beatrice sipped her tea and shook her head.“All that frackin’ did it. Just a coincidence.”“Maybe, but that was the first time we had a tremor. It don’t feel like a coincidence.”“Agree to disagree?”“Really, Bea? You know how I hate that sayin’.”“Anyway, I like the new Jesus. Bertie Cooper is a magician with that chainsaw. He looks lovely.”“A little rugged, I think, but I reckon Jesus was rugged. And they bolted Him to the floor. He ain’t gonna fall over anymore.”“Nope. Jesus is here to stay.”The two women nodded to each other – or maybe themselves – and continued to sip tea and nibble on their lettuce wraps. A recent health kick resulted in both women losing a good twenty pounds each. They both felt better, but the talk around town of them being lesbians increased with each pound lost.“You ever wanted to get married again?” Beatrice asked Marilyn without looking at her.“No. I reckon bein’ married to one dumbass in a lifetime is enough.”“Same here. Well, at least they went out in a blaze of glory.”Marilyn snorted.“They got drunk, fell out their boat, and got ate by gators. I wouldn’t call that a blaze of glory.”“I think they liked each other’s company better’n ours,” Beatrice said.“I reckon they did us a favor, Bea. I probably woulda kilt my man eventually. Then I’d be in prison with other murderers.”“Smelly murderers.”Both women laughed, trying not to think that a fat, juicy hamburger would round off their lunch quite nicely.“You think ol’ coach Stuberville gonna be happy with his new wife?”“Dunno, Mar. Marryin’ Preacher Dan’s ex-wife seems a step down. I reckon he was fine with Becky. Lordy, though! The teacher marryin’ the preacher’s wife. Those two are a caution!”“I reckon so. They’re the talk of the town.”“Well, Becky’s in the ground now. I expect she’s happier there than in a barn or a tree.”“Or behind an unsteady Jesus,” Bea said, eyes twinkling.“I still think it was a miracle.”“Don’t be so sure, Mar.”“Well I am. As far as I’m concerned, a damaged Jesus can still git the job done.”Beatrice wasn’t in the mood to argue with Marilyn because Marilyn might be right. The Man had a habit of coming through when the chips were down. Bea abandoned this line of thought because it made her think of potato chips.Life, she mused, can be hell for dieters. ","August 16, 2023 19:11","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Where else would you look for killers but in the library or church?', 'time': '01:56 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""True, true. That's why I avoid both places. LOL\n\nCheers, Mary."", 'time': '09:35 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Susan Catucci': 'hahaha! (sorry to eavesdrop - but this is great stuff)', 'time': '23:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""True, true. That's why I avoid both places. LOL\n\nCheers, Mary."", 'time': '09:35 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'hahaha! (sorry to eavesdrop - but this is great stuff)', 'time': '23:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'hahaha! (sorry to eavesdrop - but this is great stuff)', 'time': '23:24 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Del, such a great story you crafted here. \n\nI enjoyed the women and their adventure of moving the body all around town and resting at a spot behind Jesus in Church. Only then for the fracking/miracle from Jesus? to assist with delivering her body to the congregation which freaked out the guilty preacher. So much that he confessed. \nLoved the minor plot of the women dieting. Also the digs at prejudices that you addressed in this one. \nJust a really well-crafted work. LF6\n\n\n“Not on a night like this. I recon their hormones are frozen.” - rec...', 'time': '21:30 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, my friend. I appreciate the kind words, and I especially appreciate the typo catches. You\'d think a Texan could spell ""reckon."" LOL\n\nI liked that you caught the fracking/miracle dichotomy, showing the religious/secular explanations for what transpired. I wanted to highlight how differently people perceive events. Good job seeing that, Lily.\n\nAgain, thank you, LF6. I always appreciate how you always read and comment on my little tales. A true friend indeed.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:23 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': 'I see so many things in that story of yours I could type for an hour straight. I wonder what others will see? \nI got a vibe of ""Spies LIke Us"" when the women were trying to hoist the dead librarian up into the tree. It made me chuckle. Such a well-crafted piece. LF6', 'time': '01:46 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, my Canadian friend. It's always fulfilling when you see so much in my tales. Makes me feel as if all the effort was worth it.\n\nCheers, LF6!"", 'time': '09:33 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, my friend. I appreciate the kind words, and I especially appreciate the typo catches. You\'d think a Texan could spell ""reckon."" LOL\n\nI liked that you caught the fracking/miracle dichotomy, showing the religious/secular explanations for what transpired. I wanted to highlight how differently people perceive events. Good job seeing that, Lily.\n\nAgain, thank you, LF6. I always appreciate how you always read and comment on my little tales. A true friend indeed.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:23 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'I see so many things in that story of yours I could type for an hour straight. I wonder what others will see? \nI got a vibe of ""Spies LIke Us"" when the women were trying to hoist the dead librarian up into the tree. It made me chuckle. Such a well-crafted piece. LF6', 'time': '01:46 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, my Canadian friend. It's always fulfilling when you see so much in my tales. Makes me feel as if all the effort was worth it.\n\nCheers, LF6!"", 'time': '09:33 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'I see so many things in that story of yours I could type for an hour straight. I wonder what others will see? \nI got a vibe of ""Spies LIke Us"" when the women were trying to hoist the dead librarian up into the tree. It made me chuckle. Such a well-crafted piece. LF6', 'time': '01:46 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, my Canadian friend. It's always fulfilling when you see so much in my tales. Makes me feel as if all the effort was worth it.\n\nCheers, LF6!"", 'time': '09:33 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks again, my Canadian friend. It's always fulfilling when you see so much in my tales. Makes me feel as if all the effort was worth it.\n\nCheers, LF6!"", 'time': '09:33 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Hi Delbert \nThis tale is hilarious and even though I’ve never been to Texas, feels true. You depict “small town” mentality with all the gossip so well (something I have experienced) and church life. When I was growing up, let’s just say I visited a lot of churches. \nYou also make it topical by slipping in fracking, albeit in a funny way. \nOn a deeper note, these women have a wonderful friendship which hits the mark nicely. \nDieting? That’s not going to last! At least, not for too long, I hope. Let them just enjoy their food. 🥘 🥘', 'time': '18:32 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Helen, thanks so much for the kind words, and for reading my little tale. \n\nI agree: let them enjoy their food. I'm glad you picked up on the women's great relationship. That was my favorite part.\n\nThank you again, my friend, for your commentary. I really appreciate it.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '22:27 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Helen, thanks so much for the kind words, and for reading my little tale. \n\nI agree: let them enjoy their food. I'm glad you picked up on the women's great relationship. That was my favorite part.\n\nThank you again, my friend, for your commentary. I really appreciate it.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '22:27 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Delbert,\nOn a personal note, my dear mother, the one who taught me to read, is named Rebecca-but she goes by Becky. She was named for the Tom Sawyer character. It’s always nice to see a familiar name. \n\nMy notes on your story are of course praise filled. I loved the dialogue and the friendship dynamic was wonderfully crafted. I especially loved the line where your character says, “But…but we’re not.” Perhaps, these souls were simply made of the same stuff so a close friendship and bond was always meant to be. Nice work on this one!', 'time': '00:07 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks again, Amanda, for the praise and the analysis. It\'s always welcome from you, my friend!\n\nI had a friend in school named Becky. A nice, simple, sweet girl who was studious and kind and had laughing eyes. I thought of her and how she might have ended up after all these years, so I included her in my little tale. Odd, yes?\n\nI considered making Jesus lean left before He fell, thereby making a political statement, but I felt it might be too much. In any event, we still have a ""fracking"" miracle. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. You are s...', 'time': '00:16 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks again, Amanda, for the praise and the analysis. It\'s always welcome from you, my friend!\n\nI had a friend in school named Becky. A nice, simple, sweet girl who was studious and kind and had laughing eyes. I thought of her and how she might have ended up after all these years, so I included her in my little tale. Odd, yes?\n\nI considered making Jesus lean left before He fell, thereby making a political statement, but I felt it might be too much. In any event, we still have a ""fracking"" miracle. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. You are s...', 'time': '00:16 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': 'A very amusing story. Those two women are totally bonkers. Fancy creating the situation that led to the confession by the murderer. Loved the way the title made perfect sense in the end. Well done.', 'time': '08:03 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Kaitlyn, for the kind words and the observations.\n\nOnly in small-town Texas. Jesus and fracking are both very big deals. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '08:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Kaitlyn, for the kind words and the observations.\n\nOnly in small-town Texas. Jesus and fracking are both very big deals. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '08:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Campbell': ""Delbert,\n\nThe fear of being labelled lesbians, the fear of church sermons demonising their accusatory life choice practices, and the fear of going to jail, made for great humour.\n\nA couple of buffoons driven by fear. If they aren't Baptist, then I'd swear they were Catholics.\n\nVery funny scenario with the body flying over the tree branch. That was very vivid in my head and caused a laugh to blurt out.\n\nSmall towns encourage small minds to make big statements of hypocritic opinions.\nIn the end, it came down to an act of divine intervention by..."", 'time': '07:04 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the kind words, and especially for the sharp insights you provided. All in all, you got what I was trying to say.\n\nYeah, it was a ""frackin\'"" miracle, yes? Whether the culprit was unveiled due to Jesus or fracking is the critical issue. In small towns, it\'s always Jesus. In small towns where fracking occurs, it\'s always fracking. So, which one was it?\n\nOnly in small-town Texas would you get such a ridiculous scenario and think that it could actually happen. They\'re definitely Baptists. They\'re labeled as lesbia...', 'time': '07:57 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Wow, thanks so much, Chris, for the kind words, and especially for the sharp insights you provided. All in all, you got what I was trying to say.\n\nYeah, it was a ""frackin\'"" miracle, yes? Whether the culprit was unveiled due to Jesus or fracking is the critical issue. In small towns, it\'s always Jesus. In small towns where fracking occurs, it\'s always fracking. So, which one was it?\n\nOnly in small-town Texas would you get such a ridiculous scenario and think that it could actually happen. They\'re definitely Baptists. They\'re labeled as lesbia...', 'time': '07:57 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hey Delbert!\n\nThings may be starting as usual, but I’ve a sneaky suspicion they’re not going to stay ‘as usual!’ Ooop! The body of the head librarian, there we go.\n\nI loved how Beatrice corrected Marilyn on her grammar. \n\nThe dialogue is witty and fun. Er, is “nekkid” in dialogue appropriate, but does it matter? Wow, my mind is blown.\n\nThese women seem overly concerned with pants, clothes, and pants. What is with the town’s obsession with sexual orientation?!\n\nI’m not a fan of Preacher Dan :)\n\nYes, stuffing a body into Plaster Jesus sounds ...', 'time': '23:34 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Well, Russell, in the end, we have a ""frackin\'"" miracle. LOL\n\nThe whole debate about miracles versus coincidence kind of spurred this tale. If I would have had Jesus leaning left before he toppled, maybe I could have made a political statement as well, yes?\n\nI\'m glad you liked the little tale of two world-weary librarians, my friend. Only in small-town Texas do you get stories like this - and believe they may be true! LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:48 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Well, Russell, in the end, we have a ""frackin\'"" miracle. LOL\n\nThe whole debate about miracles versus coincidence kind of spurred this tale. If I would have had Jesus leaning left before he toppled, maybe I could have made a political statement as well, yes?\n\nI\'m glad you liked the little tale of two world-weary librarians, my friend. Only in small-town Texas do you get stories like this - and believe they may be true! LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:48 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'Hilarious 😆!', 'time': '22:33 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Karen. I'm pleased that you found it humorous.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:45 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Karen. I'm pleased that you found it humorous.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:45 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Who knew that two librarians finding a dead body could be so funny? Well written, Delbert! I really loved this story. These two are like Thelma and Louise. Two southern peas in a pod, as my Meemaw would say!', 'time': '20:31 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Anna, for the kind words, and for reading my twisted little tale of a couple of world-weary librarians. Thelma and Louise indeed! I'm thinking I should have also had Jesus leaning left, just to make a political satire out of it as well. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '21:41 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, Anna, for the kind words, and for reading my twisted little tale of a couple of world-weary librarians. Thelma and Louise indeed! I'm thinking I should have also had Jesus leaning left, just to make a political satire out of it as well. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '21:41 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""'Weekend at Bernies' meets 'Thelma and Louise', 'On any given Sunday', with Swamp People. Good clean murderous Texas fun."", 'time': '02:05 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Ken, for the kind words - and the pastiches! Yeah, I was definitely thinking of ""Weekend at Bernie\'s"" when I wrote this. And, as in all small Texas towns, there MUST be shenanigans aplenty, right? LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:23 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Ken, for the kind words - and the pastiches! Yeah, I was definitely thinking of ""Weekend at Bernie\'s"" when I wrote this. And, as in all small Texas towns, there MUST be shenanigans aplenty, right? LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:23 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very funny story and the dialogue and turns of phrase of your two leads are great. Such a hold they dug for themselves yet bumbled their way to solving the crime. Thinking of Patsy and Eddie from Absolutely Fabulous..... reckon this is exactly how they would handle the situation too!', 'time': '22:31 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Oh, man! Ab-Fab! What an amazing series that was, my friend. I\'m honored that my characters could even be mentioned in the same vein. You\'re a true gentleman, Derrick.\n\nThey are bumblers, but well-meaning ones, and they started the whole chain of events that led to eventual demise of the culprit. Jesus had a hand in it too, Yes? A ""frackin\'"" miracle, so to speak. LOL\n\nThanks again for the kind words, my friend. I appreciate your review.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:31 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Oh, man! Ab-Fab! What an amazing series that was, my friend. I\'m honored that my characters could even be mentioned in the same vein. You\'re a true gentleman, Derrick.\n\nThey are bumblers, but well-meaning ones, and they started the whole chain of events that led to eventual demise of the culprit. Jesus had a hand in it too, Yes? A ""frackin\'"" miracle, so to speak. LOL\n\nThanks again for the kind words, my friend. I appreciate your review.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '23:31 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Deidra Whitt Lovegren': 'Are you sure you didn\'t cut this out of the obituary section of some small-town Texas newspaper? \nBest line: ""All that frackin’ did it.""\nLaugh out loud funny, you are the Garrison Keillor of the Lone Star State. \nPreachers, librarians (no need to apply in Houston), and football coaches are the top three professions. Jesus, the only god. Hamburgers, the only meal. \nLoved it. \nLoved it.\nLoved it.', 'time': '15:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the praise, Deidra. You're a true writing friend and about the wittiest, snarkiest person I know. I love both of those traits, for they speak to a sharp mind, a sharp tongue, and an unquenchable spirit. \n\nYeah, those Houston fuckheads that decided to do away with libraries in lieu of kid prison are complete dolts. I love being Texan, but Texas often frustrates me.\n\nI must quibble over one small point. The only meal is not the hamburger but the barbecue. Other than that, you understand Texas better than most Texans, my..."", 'time': '16:22 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the praise, Deidra. You're a true writing friend and about the wittiest, snarkiest person I know. I love both of those traits, for they speak to a sharp mind, a sharp tongue, and an unquenchable spirit. \n\nYeah, those Houston fuckheads that decided to do away with libraries in lieu of kid prison are complete dolts. I love being Texan, but Texas often frustrates me.\n\nI must quibble over one small point. The only meal is not the hamburger but the barbecue. Other than that, you understand Texas better than most Texans, my..."", 'time': '16:22 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'Love it. Witty as always with such quirky characters. I laughed out loud at the image of Becky being hauled up and over the tree.\nI love the way you have personified the inanimate statue, making it a character in the story. I loved the image of it making a decision to fall or not fall.\n“The plaster statue of Jesus, already a little unsteady, toppled over slowly, as if it were undecided on whether or not to let gravity have its way with it. It decided in favor of Newton’s discovery.”', 'time': '13:26 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michelle for the praise. It means a lot, coming from such a good writer like you. Anyone can write a story, but to write one that a good writer enjoys is noteworthy.\n\nAh, the damaged Jesus. I should have had Him leaning left and get in a political shot, yes? LOL A ""frackin\' miracle,"" so to speak.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. I always appreciate your comments and insights.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:36 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Michelle for the praise. It means a lot, coming from such a good writer like you. Anyone can write a story, but to write one that a good writer enjoys is noteworthy.\n\nAh, the damaged Jesus. I should have had Him leaning left and get in a political shot, yes? LOL A ""frackin\' miracle,"" so to speak.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. I always appreciate your comments and insights.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:36 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Patricia C': 'I loved how you used dialog in this story! It made it feel like I was watching it instead of reading it!', 'time': '17:59 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you very much, Patricia. That's kind of how I write it - I see it, like it's a movie. Crazy, yes?\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:25 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thank you very much, Patricia. That's kind of how I write it - I see it, like it's a movie. Crazy, yes?\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:25 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Peggy Lee': '""She had at least one enemy, one serious enough to put paid to her breathing any more of God’s air."" \n This sentence baffles me like pretty poetry. \n\n"" The sheriff handcuffed Preacher Dan and hurried him off to his office to get a confession while the confession-getting was good.""\nI love the irony here about a Priest who is the one confessing their sins.\n\nDespite its dark subject matter, ""The Miracle of the Damaged Jesus"" puts a twinkle to its readers eyes. lol I feel so giddy after reading this silly humble murder story from East Texas. ""A...', 'time': '05:13 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the praise, Peggy. I truly appreciate the kind words and the commentary.\n\nI'm so pleased that you liked my little tale. It was a fun write, and the two librarians were fun to watch as they navigated the murky waters of hiding a body. I imagine it would be a difficult task, and one that I'm not sure I could (or want to) accomplish.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. I am honored that you liked my story.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:23 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the praise, Peggy. I truly appreciate the kind words and the commentary.\n\nI'm so pleased that you liked my little tale. It was a fun write, and the two librarians were fun to watch as they navigated the murky waters of hiding a body. I imagine it would be a difficult task, and one that I'm not sure I could (or want to) accomplish.\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend. I am honored that you liked my story.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '09:23 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Great story, great characters! Jesus showed them the way! Everyone loves a frackin’ miracle in a story. Warms you right up, just like the coffee Mar and Bea sipped as they nonchalantly thought of what to do with the body. 😂\nI like their pragmatic approach to a problem. It made the story!', 'time': '22:43 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Nina, for the kind words, and for reading my little tale of murder and a sort of mayhem. It\'s truly appreciated.\n\nBTW, you are the first to catch the ""fracking miracle"" pun. I was also going to have the damaged Jesus leaning left, but I felt like it would be too political for such a tale. Looking back, I regret that I didn\'t do that. Alas, we always see what might have been too late.\n\nI read your bio, and I must say that it\'s as entertaining as any of the tales I\'ve ever written. I nominate it for best bio, and it is my fond ...', 'time': '09:19 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'I would like to take this opportunity to share that in the last trivia game I played, I owned the board in the Literary Puns category. I’m thinking I have a very specific skill set there. 😂 \n\nYou can always lean your Jesus left in your original version of the story! When you lean that far left in Mar and Bea’s town, well, then there’s nothing left. Poor Jesus. I think the cheating pastor would bestow his blessing on that marriage of politics and religion in your tale. \n\nI think I’m going to run with your idea of Best Bio award! I’ll make a c...', 'time': '10:04 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'A very specific skill set. LOLOL You and Liam Neeson. Nice!\n\nYes, I think I\'ll do that - go back to the original and get Jesus to lean left. It feels right, and maybe I can use the tale in another competition. I\'m an inveterate tinkerer of my submitted tales. ""Lipstick on a pig"" sort of thing.\n\nI say you should award yourself, my friend, but don\'t sell yourself short. Load up that pizza! And don\'t settle for a t-shirt; treat yourself to an embroidered polo shirt. You\'ll be the talk of the newsroom. Or school. Or among the soccer parents. Tak...', 'time': '10:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'It “feels right” to “lean left” 😂 Go for it! \n\nEmbroidered polo! Do I dare?!? I do! I can even wear it to the end of season soccer banquet! The parents always think it’s to give the kids their trophies. Aren’t they pleasantly surprised when it’s actually a banquet in MY honor as I award myself Coach of the Year! And since I work for the paper, my picture holding my oversized trophy will be front page news. 🏆 😌', 'time': '10:51 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Nina, for the kind words, and for reading my little tale of murder and a sort of mayhem. It\'s truly appreciated.\n\nBTW, you are the first to catch the ""fracking miracle"" pun. I was also going to have the damaged Jesus leaning left, but I felt like it would be too political for such a tale. Looking back, I regret that I didn\'t do that. Alas, we always see what might have been too late.\n\nI read your bio, and I must say that it\'s as entertaining as any of the tales I\'ve ever written. I nominate it for best bio, and it is my fond ...', 'time': '09:19 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'I would like to take this opportunity to share that in the last trivia game I played, I owned the board in the Literary Puns category. I’m thinking I have a very specific skill set there. 😂 \n\nYou can always lean your Jesus left in your original version of the story! When you lean that far left in Mar and Bea’s town, well, then there’s nothing left. Poor Jesus. I think the cheating pastor would bestow his blessing on that marriage of politics and religion in your tale. \n\nI think I’m going to run with your idea of Best Bio award! I’ll make a c...', 'time': '10:04 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'A very specific skill set. LOLOL You and Liam Neeson. Nice!\n\nYes, I think I\'ll do that - go back to the original and get Jesus to lean left. It feels right, and maybe I can use the tale in another competition. I\'m an inveterate tinkerer of my submitted tales. ""Lipstick on a pig"" sort of thing.\n\nI say you should award yourself, my friend, but don\'t sell yourself short. Load up that pizza! And don\'t settle for a t-shirt; treat yourself to an embroidered polo shirt. You\'ll be the talk of the newsroom. Or school. Or among the soccer parents. Tak...', 'time': '10:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'It “feels right” to “lean left” 😂 Go for it! \n\nEmbroidered polo! Do I dare?!? I do! I can even wear it to the end of season soccer banquet! The parents always think it’s to give the kids their trophies. Aren’t they pleasantly surprised when it’s actually a banquet in MY honor as I award myself Coach of the Year! And since I work for the paper, my picture holding my oversized trophy will be front page news. 🏆 😌', 'time': '10:51 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'I would like to take this opportunity to share that in the last trivia game I played, I owned the board in the Literary Puns category. I’m thinking I have a very specific skill set there. 😂 \n\nYou can always lean your Jesus left in your original version of the story! When you lean that far left in Mar and Bea’s town, well, then there’s nothing left. Poor Jesus. I think the cheating pastor would bestow his blessing on that marriage of politics and religion in your tale. \n\nI think I’m going to run with your idea of Best Bio award! I’ll make a c...', 'time': '10:04 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'A very specific skill set. LOLOL You and Liam Neeson. Nice!\n\nYes, I think I\'ll do that - go back to the original and get Jesus to lean left. It feels right, and maybe I can use the tale in another competition. I\'m an inveterate tinkerer of my submitted tales. ""Lipstick on a pig"" sort of thing.\n\nI say you should award yourself, my friend, but don\'t sell yourself short. Load up that pizza! And don\'t settle for a t-shirt; treat yourself to an embroidered polo shirt. You\'ll be the talk of the newsroom. Or school. Or among the soccer parents. Tak...', 'time': '10:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Nina Herbst': 'It “feels right” to “lean left” 😂 Go for it! \n\nEmbroidered polo! Do I dare?!? I do! I can even wear it to the end of season soccer banquet! The parents always think it’s to give the kids their trophies. Aren’t they pleasantly surprised when it’s actually a banquet in MY honor as I award myself Coach of the Year! And since I work for the paper, my picture holding my oversized trophy will be front page news. 🏆 😌', 'time': '10:51 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'A very specific skill set. LOLOL You and Liam Neeson. Nice!\n\nYes, I think I\'ll do that - go back to the original and get Jesus to lean left. It feels right, and maybe I can use the tale in another competition. I\'m an inveterate tinkerer of my submitted tales. ""Lipstick on a pig"" sort of thing.\n\nI say you should award yourself, my friend, but don\'t sell yourself short. Load up that pizza! And don\'t settle for a t-shirt; treat yourself to an embroidered polo shirt. You\'ll be the talk of the newsroom. Or school. Or among the soccer parents. Tak...', 'time': '10:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Nina Herbst': 'It “feels right” to “lean left” 😂 Go for it! \n\nEmbroidered polo! Do I dare?!? I do! I can even wear it to the end of season soccer banquet! The parents always think it’s to give the kids their trophies. Aren’t they pleasantly surprised when it’s actually a banquet in MY honor as I award myself Coach of the Year! And since I work for the paper, my picture holding my oversized trophy will be front page news. 🏆 😌', 'time': '10:51 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Nina Herbst': 'It “feels right” to “lean left” 😂 Go for it! \n\nEmbroidered polo! Do I dare?!? I do! I can even wear it to the end of season soccer banquet! The parents always think it’s to give the kids their trophies. Aren’t they pleasantly surprised when it’s actually a banquet in MY honor as I award myself Coach of the Year! And since I work for the paper, my picture holding my oversized trophy will be front page news. 🏆 😌', 'time': '10:51 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL The narrative is the truth these days. Well, I feel blessed, conversing with Coach of the Year and Bio of the Year winner. \n\nYour wit is boundless. Probably a good thing for a writer. \n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:26 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sarah Saleem': 'Dark and funny!', 'time': '14:54 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate the kind words, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:03 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate the kind words, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '15:03 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'That was a riot - for me personally. The preacher up there saying all those things, Jesus bursts open, and he turns out to be the murder - brilliant!', 'time': '23:59 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you so much, Ty for enjoying my little tale and for commenting on it. I appreciate it, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:27 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thank you so much, Ty for enjoying my little tale and for commenting on it. I appreciate it, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '09:27 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""You already know how much I revere this hugely entertaining romp that has all the features of a classic, Del. You really covered all the bases with this one. \n\nWho doesn't love a daffy dame; here, we get two endearing examples of one absurdity blending with another and we get to enjoy watching the absurdity multiply until, in a stunning climax, the dames bring it all together, or actually things wrap up well in spite of their goofs and gaffs, and then, somehow, (imagine if these ladies had guardian angels; 1. they must be exhausted; 2. t..."", 'time': '23:23 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Susan, you are very kind with your praise, and I really appreciate that you take the time to read and comment on my little tales. Thanks to you, the story was whipped into shape. A million blessings on you for helping me out, my friend.\n\nWhen I considered how to write this tale, I went through a lot of options for characters. Male, female, a pair of males, a pair of females. I knew what I wanted to happen, and the two old librarians seemed like a good fit. ""Weekend at Bernie\'s"" had male characters, so why not the same idea with females chara...', 'time': '09:26 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Susan Catucci': 'You do the work, Del, and you do it well. :)', 'time': '12:13 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Susan, you are very kind with your praise, and I really appreciate that you take the time to read and comment on my little tales. Thanks to you, the story was whipped into shape. A million blessings on you for helping me out, my friend.\n\nWhen I considered how to write this tale, I went through a lot of options for characters. Male, female, a pair of males, a pair of females. I knew what I wanted to happen, and the two old librarians seemed like a good fit. ""Weekend at Bernie\'s"" had male characters, so why not the same idea with females chara...', 'time': '09:26 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Susan Catucci': 'You do the work, Del, and you do it well. :)', 'time': '12:13 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Susan Catucci': 'You do the work, Del, and you do it well. :)', 'time': '12:13 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'Del’s back! and a mystery too. The librarians aren’t much in the way of detectives, more of don’t look at us!\nFor all the talk of their relationship I was expecting them to connect in the end, maybe through another jesus statue miracle or oil drilling created earthquake. \n I’m glad they get to work together though, they are a matched set! \nThanks-', 'time': '19:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Marty, for the kind words and for the insights into my two world-weary librarians. The damaged Jesus/fracking incident that led to the confession of the murderer was a case of doing good through religion or through coincidence. It was a fun write, certainly. \n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:30 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, Marty, for the kind words and for the insights into my two world-weary librarians. The damaged Jesus/fracking incident that led to the confession of the murderer was a case of doing good through religion or through coincidence. It was a fun write, certainly. \n\nAgain, thank you, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '20:30 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Sophia Gardenia': 'Heh, this made me crack up 🤣 This line was pure gold: “\'I don’t think Jesus can be fixed this time. His head just exploded.""\'\n\nYou are just so great with authentic, crackling dialogue, Delbert! Marilyn and Bea spring off the page so well through their dialogue. I love how they see Becky\'s death so flatly, and how they gossip about the townspeople. And having them trying to hide the body was a hoot. Honestly, I almost thought it was them, but I\'m glad they turned out innocent.\n\nAnyways, awesome job!', 'time': '02:39 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, my friend, for the kind words, and for taking the time to read my little tale. I truly appreciate it.\n\nMarilyn and Beatrice are composite characters of people (librarians) I've worked with over the years in schools. They are indeed world weary and a little hard nosed, but deep down they are sweet ladies who want the best for people - usually. \n\nAgain, thank you, Sophia. Your praise means a lot to me because you're such a good writer.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '08:55 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, my friend, for the kind words, and for taking the time to read my little tale. I truly appreciate it.\n\nMarilyn and Beatrice are composite characters of people (librarians) I've worked with over the years in schools. They are indeed world weary and a little hard nosed, but deep down they are sweet ladies who want the best for people - usually. \n\nAgain, thank you, Sophia. Your praise means a lot to me because you're such a good writer.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '08:55 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sherry Bazley': 'Hi, Delbert. Just finished this newest story of yours, chuckling my way through it. \n The dialogue is really good. I know this, lived in San Antonio more than once and am familiar with the accent and a certain outlook on life. Very believable here, and I have to wonder if/how you could patch this story together with the one you wrote where ""Western theme"" was the prompt, where I suggested C Eastwood might play a major role. Combined with this one, you might have a novel! You workin\' on a novel??? I really like your style. And some of t...', 'time': '22:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the kind words and the encouragement, Sherry. That means a lot to me, truly.\n\nI am indeed working on a novel, but it doesn't have a western theme. It's more of a female Dexter character. I need to get back to it soon; I have procrastinated just the right amount of time for it to be acceptable. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your support and praise. \n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:49 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Wow, thanks so much for the kind words and the encouragement, Sherry. That means a lot to me, truly.\n\nI am indeed working on a novel, but it doesn't have a western theme. It's more of a female Dexter character. I need to get back to it soon; I have procrastinated just the right amount of time for it to be acceptable. LOL\n\nAgain, thank you, my friend, for your support and praise. \n\nCheers!"", 'time': '23:49 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Heh :) That\'s a funny piece, and the way the coincidences line up was lovely. A couple fun characters in our two world-weary librarians, and there was something Fargo about their capering. \n\nThe lengths we\'ll go to, even when innocent, to avoid being inconvenienced. \n\n""result being that Becky Stuberville raced through the air, up the tree, over the branch"" :) \n\n""Her stiff manner and mottled, bluish tint said it all. Also, she was tied to a chair so she wouldn’t fall over."" :) \n\nI didn\'t expect it to be the preacher, and that was a lovely sur...', 'time': '20:37 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, my friend, for the kind words and the always-insightful commentary. You always seem to understand my tales.\n\nI'm pleased that you spotted the breadcrumbs. They were to be recalled after the big reveal, so that's always nice when the culprit is a surprise. Chekov once stated - and I'm paraphrasing - that if you mention a gun hanging on the wall in a story, you better make sure it plays a part in the tale later on. \n\nAgain, thank you, Michal. Your comments mean a lot to me, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my tales...."", 'time': '21:42 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Thanks so much, my friend, for the kind words and the always-insightful commentary. You always seem to understand my tales.\n\nI'm pleased that you spotted the breadcrumbs. They were to be recalled after the big reveal, so that's always nice when the culprit is a surprise. Chekov once stated - and I'm paraphrasing - that if you mention a gun hanging on the wall in a story, you better make sure it plays a part in the tale later on. \n\nAgain, thank you, Michal. Your comments mean a lot to me, and I appreciate you taking the time to read my tales...."", 'time': '21:42 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Yet another well-crafted and entertaining tale Delbert. It is a comfort knowing us damaged folks can still git the job done when it comes down to it. :)', 'time': '16:43 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, J.D. I appreciate the kind words. And, yes, damaged people always get stuff done - sooner or later. LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '21:30 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Thanks so much, J.D. I appreciate the kind words. And, yes, damaged people always get stuff done - sooner or later. LOL\n\nCheers!', 'time': '21:30 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,s0s2z5,Field Trip Love Story,Amanda Lieser,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/s0s2z5/,/short-story/s0s2z5/,Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'American', 'Kids']",25 likes," My class is going on our very first real life, big boy field trip. Mama tucked me in real tight for sleep, but when I closed my eyes all I could see were dinosaurs around me. So I opened them. I slowly untucked my real tight blankies. I climbed out of bed, feeling suddenly cold in the dark. Mama turned on my night light and I use its green glow to find my way to my book case. Mama and Daddy used to read one story to me together before bed. I’m the librarian ‘cause I always pick the book.But now….now it’s just Mama or Daddy at night. ‘Cause now there’s Lily. I make a face just thinkin’ about her. Daddy says she’s, “Goin’ through her screamin’ phase.” That always makes Mama scold him. That makes me laugh. At least I’m still the librarian. I sit in front of my book case, look over all the pictures. Mama has me practice readin’ sometimes, but I like the pictures best. There’s the one with the raccoon who gets a kiss on her paw; I toss it aside. Then, I see the one where we say good night to the moon. But that’s not what I’m looking for so I toss it to the side. And I also see a llama in red pajamas, but I don’t want that one. I hear footsteps and freeze!They’re Daddy’s big footsteps. My heart is pounding. My pulse races. How quick can I run to the bed and tuck back in? My eyes look over my shoulder at the bed. And then back to my books. I need my Dino book for the field trip. Daddy’s footsteps fade and I continue my adventure. After seven more books fall to the floor, I find it! My Dino book has a hard cover. And it has all the dinosaurs you could ever want to see. I look through the pages, memorizing them in the dim, green glow of my night light.  Mama comes in and finds me on the floor with my Dino book. She whispers, “It’s time for your field trip, Sweetheart.” I stretch and yawn and show her my Dino book. She promises to put it in my backpack. Mama makes french toast sticks for breakfast. I want to pour my own syrup, but Mama says no. That makes me scream! But Mama won’t budge so I get time out and I have to go sit on the steps until Lily is done with her breakfast. Daddy comes downstairs. He ruffles my hair. He shoots me a smile and I smile back to make Daddy happy. Daddy gives Mama a big kiss on the lips, the kind Grandma always shoves at me before we’re allowed to open presents on Christmas Eve. My face responds, but Mama laughs, wipes off Lily’s cheeks, and tells me to come back to eat breakfast. I ask to pour the syrup. Mama looks at Daddy. Daddy looks at Mama and he grabs the syrup. He pours a BIG pour. I love when Daddy pours the syrup. Mama gives him a finger waggle. She never means it with Daddy, but she always does with me. Like when I played pretend spa and got mud all over my hands, face, hair. I got more than a finger waggle that day. Daddy smiles and he gives Mama another big kiss so I make a face. Mama laughs. I dip my sticks in the syrup, being sure to let each stick soak in the syrup just like Daddy taught me. I eat all my sticks! And Mama and Daddy are so proud. She scoops up my plate and leans across the counter so I can look into her black eyes, “Mandy’s gonna pick you up after school because Lily has to go to the doctor. Can you remind me what color her car is?”“Blue!” I say.“That’s right!” she says and wraps her cold hand around my cheeks smushing my face together. “Mama! I’m a big boy! Stop!” I struggle to evade her kisses.“My baby boy is going on his first field trip!” she beams at me, but I think maybe she’s gonna cry ‘cause she’s makin’ that face she always makes before she cries the big tears and waves us off saying that she’s happy. But how can you be happy and crying?“Mama! I am five!” I remind her. She nods and waves her hands at me which means I gotta go get dressed. I race Daddy up the stairs and he helps me put on my cargo shorts and red t-shirt with the blue T-Rex on it. It’s my favorite. And we’re gonna go see the dinosaurs today! Daddy helps me brush my teeth and Mama buckles me into my booster seat. She parks and I race to unbuckle my seatbelt before she comes around and opens the big door of the van ‘cause I’m a big boy and I can prove it! She smiles at me when she sees me standing already. Lily squirms and begins to cry in her arms. She does that a lot.Mama walks me to the classroom and gives me a big hug, but Lily feels so hot and wet and sweaty and so I don’t really like the hug. Mama’s hugs don’t feel like they used to. Seth waves me over to show me his dinosaurs so I rush off to meet him at his table before Mrs. B tells the class to get started. He has huge dinosaur toys! I can barely wrap my hand around their squishy tummies. He has a T-Rex and a Velociraptor and a Brontosaurus and a Pterodactyl and all their mouths move and you can move the T-Rex’s arms up and down and they all have super sharp teeth. I think I’ll ask Mama and Daddy for some toys like Seth’s for my birthday. Seth says we can play dinosaurs after lunch and I ask him if I can have the T-Rex, but he says no. I’m about to tell him why I deserve T-Rex, but Mrs. B claps her hands and that means we have to be quiet so I go back to Table 3. Table 3 is my table and Table 6 is Seth’s which means he is far away. He sits with Annie and Peter and Cassie. I sit with Alex and Macy and Meadow. Meadow is very annoying. Mama says that she isn’t trying to be annoying when she moves her paper onto my side of the table or when she forgets to put the cap back on the purple marker so it’s all dried out when I try to use it. But I don’t believe her. Meadow waves to me and leans in real close to my ear, “My mom is coming on the field trip with us!” She points one finger at a woman who is very tall with long hair and a green dress on. “See?” asks Meadow, “See my mom!?” I try to scoot my chair over a bit-away from her yucky breath. “Your breath stinks, Meadow. You should brush your teeth more,” I say in my best whisper voice.“Jack? Do you have something to share with the class?” asks Mrs. B. I feel my cheeks turn hot like when Mama put me in timeout this morning. I ball my hands up and feel that they’re a little wet like Lily’s. I shake my head. Mrs. B goes back to discussing the rules of the museum. She says we’re going to have buddies at the museum. I turn as fast as I can to look at Seth. But then Mrs. B says, “You must be a buddy with someone at your table.” So I turn and look at Alex, but Alex is busy chewing on his pencil. He takes it out of his mouth and a long, clear, stringy bit of spit comes with it. So I decide I do not to be partners with Alex. I look over at Macy, but she’s busy reading a book and Mrs. B tells her to, “Put it away right now.” So I decide Macy isn’t a good choice. “Wanna be my buddy?” whispers Meadow. I heave a big sigh. Meadow is smiling at me real big. So I just nod my head. We are lined up with our buddies at the door. Mrs. B reminds us to take our backpacks with our lunch boxes. We stand outside in front of the big yellow bus! I love the big yellow bus, but I never get to ride it ‘cause Mama always takes me to school. We have to take big steps onto the bus and an old man wearing a blue cap waves hello to us. Meadow makes us sit at seat number 16. She says, “It’s the seat on the wheel and my big sister, Maggie says that it’s the best seat ‘cause we get to jump whenever there’s a bump! And that makes it a good seat. ‘Cause it's like a rollercoaster.” She makes a loud noise. It’s the same one Lily makes when Daddy gives her tickles. It’s very squeaky. I pull out my Dino book. This is gonna be a long ride. It is a long ride. Meadow talks a lot. She tells me about Barbies. I don’t like Barbies. I look over at Seth across from us. He is busy showing his dinosaurs to Peter. He’s letting Peter be the T-Rex! I make a fist because I really want to be with T-Rex and Seth said we would play dinosaurs together. I rest my head against the window. But that makes it hurt so I sit up and try to close my eyes ‘cause Mama says car naps are the best kind of naps. Except just as I start to feel sleepy, Mrs. B claps her hands. We finally arrive at the museum. There are big lion statues outside the front doors and everyone gasps. I can hear someone roar like a lion! I put my book back in my bag with a frown. I didn’t even get to look at the pictures once. The parents and Mrs. B help us leave the bus. I like that there were no seatbelts the whole trip because Mama takes so long getting Lily’s on and she makes me be quiet because she says, “I have to concentrate!” Meadow makes us stand on the sidewalk by her Mom. A nice lady in a blue shirt gives us all stickers with a T-Rex on them. They are very cool. We follow her up the big steps. It’s cold when we get inside. I feel goosebumps immediately, and it smells a bit funny. It’s also very quiet, but as we enter I notice the big T-Rex skeleton!Mrs. B tells us we need to whisper like we’re in the library which makes most of the kids use their indoor voices. Except Peter. But Peter is always loud. He is holding up Seth’s T-Rex toy in the air to see if the toy looks like the skeleton. He is asking all of us to look. Mrs. B reminds him to use his library voice and Seth takes back his toy. I am busy looking at the skeleton when I feel Meadow’s hand on mine. She’s pulling me away. I realize it’s ‘cause the group is moving forward so I start to walk with her. The skeleton looks just like my book. Meadow lets go of my hand. It’s not big like Mama’s. It’s not rough like Daddy’s. I kinda miss it. A little bit.“This next area is free for exploration, kids,” says the lady in the blue shirt. She holds open a big, wooden door. When we enter we see huge dinosaurs everywhere. Some are even roaring or eating leaves of trees! I know they’re just pretend robots, though, because Daddy told me about the robots yesterday after story time. I immediately run over to Seth, who is standing in front of the T-Rex. His eyes are big like plates and his mouth is hanging open slightly. It’s a bit silly. “Wait for me, Buddy!” calls Meadow, but I pretend not to hear. We get to wander around for like, two minutes before Mrs. B claps her hands and tells us we have to go onto an activity. I whine and stomp my feet. She says we might get to come back after lunch. I ball up my fists and follow the class to the special activity room. Meadow is already sitting at a table. Her sparkly pink shoes are floating in the air. Her Mom is right beside her. “Sit with your buddies, class!” says Mrs. B so I wave goodbye to Seth and sit at Meadow’s little table. There are coloring sheets and crayons. “Alright, everyone gets a Triceratops color by number sheet,” Mrs. B says as she holds up her example, “And crayons. Now, each number on the page belongs to a special color.” Mrs. B points to the leaf on the sheet labeled with the number 1 as she says, “One is green. So pick any green you want and color it in.” “And number two is brown,” she holds up another crayon. “Black is three, blue is four, and five is yellow. There’s a reminder of what colors to use at the bottom of the sheet. When you are done with your drawing please turn it into me and I will give you a free coloring sheet,” Mrs. B promises as she grabs a stack of coloring sheets and I notice a T-Rex which looks really cool. The class has started talking and Mrs. B claps her hands, “One, two, three eyes on me!”“One, two, eyes on you!” we shout back.“Thank you. Now, we are practicing our numbers so if you get confused ask your adult for help, OK?”“Ok,” we promise.“Now, you may start,” she says with a big smile. I look down at my picture and start to color in the leaves of the plant. I use my crayon to outline the black edges just like Mama does because her art is always so pretty. Then, I color in the blue sky and start to work on the triceratops’ body and tail which are both brown. I notice that Meadow has a yellow crayon in her hand and she’s about to put it on the Triceratops’ body!“Hey, Meadow,” I say, while not letting go of my black crayon which I am using to color in the spikes on its head. “The body isn’t yellow; the sun is,” I say while leaning over and pointing so she can see.“Oh, thanks,” she says before setting the crayon down and changing to the brown one. I finish my drawing and give it to Mrs. B. She gives me a big smile and says I can pick a sheet to color all on my own. I pick the T-Rex. When I get back to the table, I notice that Meadow is almost done with her coloring. She leaves and I pick up the purple marker to color in my T-Rex. It’s a bit warm, but that’s ok. Meadow comes back and asks me what my favorite dinosaur is. I explain all the reasons why I love the T-Rex. It makes her smile. “Wanna eat lunch together?” she offers. I nod my head and hand her the purple crayon. Meadow’s mom gave her chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Mama cut my PB and J into a T-Rex shape. I also get some fish crackers and a pack of fruit snacks. “Can I have some?” asks Meadow as she points to my fruit snack pack. “Sure,” I say, “After I eat my sandwich.” I take a couple bites before adding, “And only if I get one of your cookies.” Meadow nods. We share our desserts just like we promised and she tells me blue fruit snacks are her favorite. I don’t tell her they’re mine, too. I just let her have all three. It makes me a little sad ‘cause this pack had three blue snacks and they always only have one, but it’s OK ‘cause Daddy says it’s important to let girls have their favorite flavor. That’s why he always gives Mama the red M and Ms, ‘cause they’re her favorite flavor. After lunch we have to get back on the bus. The old man smiles as he opens the door. I race to seat 16 for Meadow. When she sits down I ask her what her favorite dinosaur is. Meadow still likes to talk a lot, but this time I listen the whole ride back. We have to cross railroad tracks this time and Meadow’s sister, Maggie, was right! It was so bumpy. Meadow screams so I hold her hand. It’s nice.School is over when we get back. I’m a little sad when Meadow says she and her mom are going home. I watch her walk out the door, holding her mom’s hand. I have to wait at the door with Mrs. B. Mandy approaches and I say, “That’s my babysitter.” Mrs. B opens the door and I rush into Mandy’s arms. She gives me a big hug and we walk back to her blue car. She buckles me in. “How was the field trip?” she asks once she’s back in the car, so I tell her all about the dinosaurs and Seth’s toys. “And how’s Meadow?” Mandy’s voice always gets a bit funny and squeaky when she asks about Meadow and she’s always smiling when she says Meadow’s name. I heave a big sigh. And I tell her the whole story. Mandy just smiles more when I’m done so I close my eyes ‘cause Mama says car naps are the best kind of naps and I’m really tired after listening to Meadow all day.  ","August 11, 2023 16:36","[[{'Helen A Smith': 'Hi Amanda\n\nYou enter into the child’s perspective so well and deftly draw the reader into that unique world. \n\nYou get across the changes and challenges a five year old experiences in various ways. Mainly the way things feel different now. Subtle things such as new smells and different hugs are revealing; another sibling entering the family alters everything for a child who has been the only one before. Brings back memories and mixed emotions -having been in this position as a child myself. So well portrayed and observed.\n\nYou skilfully sho...', 'time': '08:08 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""Cute, Amanda. Very cute. I'm especially impressed at how well you made the voice of a 5-year-old boy come through. It's so authentic. Well done!\n\nA couple of words didn't seem to fit a 5-year-old's vocabulary: endeavor and approach. Endeavor is close to the beginning, and approach is close to the end.\n\nThe line about how his mother's hugs don't feel the same was very telling. It contained so much in that little sentence. The family dynamic has changed, permanently. His mother's hugs will never feel the same any longer, but I think there's a ..."", 'time': '10:29 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""As others have said, a sweet story :) Who didn't like dinosaurs as a kid? That seems like a pretty universal thing. \n\nThere's a good voice for the narrator here, particularly when he melts down near the beginning with the screaming, like it's just something to do - because for a five year old, it is. But that's mixed with reasoning from his POV too, and trying to make sense of the world. \n\nClearly there are some uncomfortable adjustments at home, with the baby sister, and dealing with change is something even little kids have to learn to han..."", 'time': '21:59 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Such a sweet story! It\'s so interesting to see how family changes are perceived through kids\' eyes. \n\n""Mama\'s hugs don\'t feel like they used to.""-- as a mama, that one got me right in the heart! \n\nThanks for sharing this story, Amanda!!', 'time': '03:52 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'So realistic when you let the little kid in you speak.', 'time': '16:34 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'RJ Holmquist': 'Such a cute story! Made me nostalgic for my own childhood favorite bedtime story about dinosaurs. I had to do a quick internet to find the old picture book! Also made me nostalgic for pancakes with too much syrup!\n\nNice work!!', 'time': '18:59 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Ben LeBlanc': 'Very accurate depiction of preschool kid. I immediately identified the character with a five-year old I met while working at a summer camp. Simple and fun story, and well written to reflect the kid\'s kid brain haha. \n\nOne of my favorite lines: ""It was very cool."" So accurate.', 'time': '17:14 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:59 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Cute story and written so well. It was like hearing it from a five year old. Really enjoyed it. Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '03:26 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Hana Lang': 'What a fun take on this prompt! I think it’s so hard to write from a child’s perspective, but this was really sweet and the ending made me smile :)', 'time': '02:37 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Amanda, that was really interesting to read. You really draw the reader into the mind of a kid going on a field trip. The way you trace the thoughts and reactions to everything that is happening are spot on! Incredible work!!', 'time': '21:56 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""I love the T-Rex too! \nI liked your characters voice, and her view of the adults in her life who don't quite make sense!"", 'time': '16:30 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'M. M.': 'Cute story but I think the 5 year thinks a lot and has a lot to say for that age. I didn\'t want to pour my own maple syrup and never would have felt frustrated or angry if I couldn\'t do that. A few minor changes but otherwise well done and definitely a challenge to write seeing the world from that young of an age. I would have elaborated more on the size appeal of Rex and the dinosaurs more than on the actual thought of ""when entering we noticed...."" but hey, that\'s just my opinion and I think you did pretty good. Not many writers do tha...', 'time': '19:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'M. M.': 'Cute story but I think the 5 year thinks a lot and has a lot to say for that age. I didn\'t want to pour my own maple syrup and never would have felt frustrated or angry if I couldn\'t do that. A few minor changes but otherwise well done and definitely a challenge to write seeing the world from that young of an age. I would have elaborated more on the size appeal of Rex and the dinosaurs more than on the actual thought of ""when entering we noticed...."" but hey, that\'s just my opinion and I think you did pretty good. Not many writers do tha...', 'time': '19:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'M. M.': 'Cute story but I think the 5 year thinks a lot and has a lot to say for that age. I didn\'t want to pour my own maple syrup and never would have felt frustrated or angry if I couldn\'t do that. A few minor changes but otherwise well done and definitely a challenge to write seeing the world from that young of an age. I would have elaborated more on the size appeal of Rex and the dinosaurs more than on the actual thought of ""when entering we noticed...."" but hey, that\'s just my opinion and I think you did pretty good. Not many writers do tha...', 'time': '19:57 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,r03we7,The Librarian,Heather Blank,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/r03we7/,/short-story/r03we7/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Fantasy', 'Science Fiction']",22 likes," “I need to print something from my phone,” the nervous person in front of me stated. I smiled. I always smile, no matter how many times a day I hear this request. “No problem,” I say, and hand them our printout of instructions for mobile printing. They take it without a word, and I say, “If you need any help, feel free to come back. The printer is right here in front of us, sometimes it can take ten minutes or so to go through, and the machine only takes coins, ones, and fives. No cards.” They nod and wander off. The person behind them saunters up.“Can you tell me where the astrology books are?” “Of course! Better yet, I can show you. It’s one of my favorite sections!” Which is true. A lot of the books get checked out and never returned, so I try to keep them as up to date as possible, ordering new copies when I notice some have been checked out for sometimes YEARS. Many people scoff at me, how could a librarian be so into astrology, of all things! It is just FUN, I say. I’m not sure why some people are so against fun. Or why they expect a librarian to be. I am certain these people must be Capricorns or Virgos.The man looks a little impatient or bored, I can’t quite tell which, so I begin walking over to where the astrology books are without making chit chat. Fortunately for him, we just received a shipment of new books that I’d ordered, and they had just been put on the shelf. We arrive at the appropriate shelves, but I see nothing. None of the books I had ordered and just placed over here the day before yesterday. Not a one. My eyes were as big as saucers, I was sure. I began to stutter, “There were just here, the other day. I placed them here myself.”“Figures this janky country ass library doesn’t have shit,” the man muttered. To which I took offense!“Now see here! Our location may not be prime real estate, but our librarians, all of us, are all exceptionally educated and we do our very best to fill this library with all of the most educational and fun information available, both new and old. I’m going to see if they’ve been checked out or just moved. Do you mind waiting here?”“Sure, I have eons of time,” he snarked. I let it pass and pleaded, “Wait right here.”Who would be so snarky about astrology books, anyway? They aren’t detrimental to anyone’s day to day life, like say, a book on how to handle your own divorce, or how to write a will. Whatever, I thought. I was most irked that I couldn’t find the brand new books that I had just ordered myself.I half ran, half walked back to my desk, looking at my list of titles that was still on my desk, typing in each one to check its status. They were all still here. All checked in.I turned around and asked each of my colleagues, but none of them had seen them. Or even realized that we had them. I sighed. “Where the fuck could they be??” I grumbled. My colleague cackled. “Such pretty talk for a librarian!” I scowled. “Fuck off, this is a big deal.” They cackled some more.I looked over at the man, who looked irritated and now even more impatient. I went over to him with my disappointing news.“I’m so sorry, sir, I do not know where an entire section of books has gone. Do you have a library card already? If so, I can put them on hold for you, and when I find them, I can give you a call or send an email to let you know they’re available. Was there a title or subject in particular you were looking for?”“I don’t have a library card. I’ll just come back or check another library,” and he stormed off.This whole scenario burned me up. WHERE could they be???An hour later, a woman who resembled Miss Almira Gulch from The Wizard of Oz, stormed right up to my desk. “I heard there are some missing astrology books,” she smirked. How on Earth could she have heard that? I’d only mentioned it to my two colleagues, neither of whom could give a rat’s ass.“May I ask how you heard? Do you know anything about them?”“Yes, they’ve been removed from the shelves. Certain… people have recently become very in need of such books and they aren’t the sort of people we want in this library.”“Well now I’m all kinds of confused, because the library serves the community and is for everyone.”“These people are not part of our community.”“How do you know, and who are you to make this sort of call?”“I’m Vixanne Vie, I am the half sister of the mayor of this town–”“However, you are not the mayor, so you have no actual authority. In all truth, these books have been stolen. I demand that you return them at once.”Vixanne laughed. “You don’t know what you’re even requesting. Once these interlopers get out of here, they’ll be returned, but not until I believe that it’s safe to do so.”I took a deep breath. This was literally the most goofy thing– stealing shelves of astrology books to shield them from “interlopers”? Either this bitch was certifiable or there’s a lot I don’t know, or she’s one of these “ban all the books” nuts, or, who knows.“Excuse me, Miss Vie, someone behind you needs some assistance,” I say, to get her out of my face. Thank the gods for people without printers.Later that evening, about an hour before close, the man who had been in earlier looking for astrology books returned. The sun was setting, and he looked a bit more relaxed and in a slightly better mood. “Hello again!” he said, practically chipper. “I was wondering if you’d had any time to give another look around for those astrology books.”I give him a sullen face. “I have looked, but a woman came in this afternoon and told me point blank that she heard they were missing and it was she who had them removed. The whole encounter was very odd.”“Oh really? Did she have black hair, green eyes, and offensively yellow teeth?” I giggled at his description. “Why yes, she did. Apparently you two know each other? She didn’t have much to say that was kind towards… someone. I’m assuming you.”“We do know each other. She isn’t who she says she is, that I can assure you.”“I don’t even know who you are. All I know is I am looking for books that are BRAND NEW that I ORDERED and they are stuck in the middle of some sort of STAR WARS between the two of you.” I smirked at my own stupid joke.“It isn’t just the two of us.”“Well that’s so special about those books? Did I inadvertently order silly astrology books that also adhere to witchcraft or devil worship, or turn kids gay? I need to know why she doesn’t want them here. Or why y’all can’t go fight at another library. Or go to a damn book store.”“We’ve checked other libraries, ma’am, and most of those are not in their circulation. You ordered those books, they aren’t in most bookstores, either, and frankly we don’t have a lot of time.”I take a seat in my chair. “Time for what?”“Do you have time for coffee once the library closes?”“I try not to drink coffee that late.”“Irrelevant– can we meet somewhere after the library closes?”I don’t know how to feel about this. I am insanely curious but this is just nuts, and we get people sometimes who aren’t “all there” and I’m not sure I want this person having access to me.“You’ll be safe, I promise. I just need to explain.”“My colleagues left for the day and we close in 45 minutes. Just tell me now.”He sighed. “Okay. I’m just going to blurt it all out, you won’t believe it, but it will all be the truth and I will still need your help if you can keep your wits about you.”I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”“This area was… is… our latest stop. However, the GPS, so to speak, in our.. vehicle, so to speak again, is not working. The uh, person, who can fix it, is at our next stop. Essentially, I need some of those books as MAPS.”“I’m totally lost. Maps to where? The Milky Way? The Big Dipper?”“Scorpius, actually. The constellation of Scorpius.”“OHHHHHHHHHHHH YOU NEED A SCORPIO TO FIX YOUR GPS! I GET IT!!!!” I didn’t get it at all. “Why does Vixanne Vie want to stop you from getting to your next destination to fix your GPS?”“So she can try to exterminate us before we get there,” he said quietly. So quietly, I believed him into the marrow of my bones. It was a quiet sadness and defeat I had never heard before. “Any idea why she wants to do that?”“It’s a long story, it’s just a millennia long DISCREPANCY between our species, and she believes if we are gone, her species will rule the universe. Very dramatic sounding, don’t you think? None of us rule the universe– we all exist to make up the universe. She and her clan do not see it that way. A much more volatile group than us.”“She said she will return them when you ‘interlopers’ are gone. She didn’t specify if that meant dead or off the planet.” I realized what I was saying as I was saying. Off the planet.“Dead, I’m quite sure, since we need the books to know where to go.”“I can re-order these books, and have them sent to my house, but it may take a couple of days for them to arrive. Do you have that kind of time?”“Yes and no… If we can avoid Vixanne for that time, yes.”“If you can avoid her, I can get you the books.”And so my spot in intergalactic history as the small town librarian who helped smuggle a species of aliens off the planet to their next destination began.  ","August 15, 2023 22:06","[[{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Fine work. I think many people know this particular prompt well. Many worked on it.', 'time': '16:37 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '18:55 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome', 'time': '18:07 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '18:55 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome', 'time': '18:07 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Welcome', 'time': '18:07 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Hailey Grizzaffi': 'Sooooo good and beautifully written!!', 'time': '15:19 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you 🙏 ❤️', 'time': '15:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you 🙏 ❤️', 'time': '15:21 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gregg Punger': 'This is a fun quirky story. \n\nMy only critique is that it feels like the opening to a longer work and not a short story. It leaves open a lot of questions like why would an advanced species that can travel through space not know the difference between astronomy and astrology? Why couldn’t the aliens just use one of the computers at the library to find directions?\n\nI’m sure all of these could be flushed out with further writing, but with this just being a short story the ending feels flat.\n\nWith that said, the story has a good tone with good ...', 'time': '22:02 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'I actually really agree with you. My initial intention was to leave people wondering, but if I were reading it, the open ended aspect would piss me off, lol. It definitely should be flushed out, because the not knowing the difference between astrology and astronomy was a joke that wasn’t emphasized enough. \nThank you for your comment! I appreciate it!', 'time': '15:24 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'I actually really agree with you. My initial intention was to leave people wondering, but if I were reading it, the open ended aspect would piss me off, lol. It definitely should be flushed out, because the not knowing the difference between astrology and astronomy was a joke that wasn’t emphasized enough. \nThank you for your comment! I appreciate it!', 'time': '15:24 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Audrey Grizzaffi': 'soooo good', 'time': '03:08 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'I appreciate you!🙏❤️', 'time': '18:03 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'I appreciate you!🙏❤️', 'time': '18:03 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jessica Tokki': 'It’s funny, cute and cannot wait to read more!', 'time': '16:07 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much! 🥰', 'time': '21:21 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much! 🥰', 'time': '21:21 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Melissa Grizzaffi': 'I love this! ❤️', 'time': '15:47 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!! 😊😊😊😊', 'time': '21:21 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!! 😊😊😊😊', 'time': '21:21 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'S. A. McNaughton': '""I’m not sure why some people are so against fun. Or why they expect a librarian to be. I am certain these people must be Capricorns or Virgos."" As a Virgo, I completely understand this sentiment and it made me laugh. \n\nThis made me curious about what would happen next! Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '19:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much! I appreciate it!! ☺️', 'time': '15:38 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much! I appreciate it!! ☺️', 'time': '15:38 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Belladona Vulpa': ""I enjoyed the story, nice adventure! \nAlthough I don't believe in astrology because it is not scientific, we humans have had far weirder superstitions than that, and it is true that superstitions have all sorts of functions. I just imagine the aliens looking up the astrology books, and being lost, but this creates some laughs and even more suspense as to their next adventure :)\nWell-written flow and engaging story!\nVery nice!"", 'time': '12:29 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much!!!! I really appreciate it! My inside joke, (not explained in the story) is the “alien” is getting astrology and astronomy mixed up. 😂🤣', 'time': '18:13 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much!!!! I really appreciate it! My inside joke, (not explained in the story) is the “alien” is getting astrology and astronomy mixed up. 😂🤣', 'time': '18:13 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I like the mc, she's spunky! And sounds like the start of a great adventure!\nJust one thing. I'm a Virgo and I love astronomy :)"", 'time': '22:57 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Hahahahaaa astronomy really should be what the aliens are looking for, but perhaps the alien sent to the library for maps got the words mixed up? LOLOLOL\n\nThanks so much!', 'time': '23:53 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""oops i meant astrology lol I'm the alien!!! (feel like it mostly!)"", 'time': '08:23 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Hahahahaaa astronomy really should be what the aliens are looking for, but perhaps the alien sent to the library for maps got the words mixed up? LOLOLOL\n\nThanks so much!', 'time': '23:53 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""oops i meant astrology lol I'm the alien!!! (feel like it mostly!)"", 'time': '08:23 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""oops i meant astrology lol I'm the alien!!! (feel like it mostly!)"", 'time': '08:23 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,7h92pj,The Bryant Library at Roslyn Harbor,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7h92pj/,/short-story/7h92pj/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Historical Fiction']",19 likes," 'Twas in that season of the year,When all things gay and sweet appear,That Colin, with the morning ray,Arose and sung his rural lay.Of Nannie's charms the shepherd sung:The hills and dales with Nannie rung:While Roslin Castle heard the swain,And echoed back his cheerful strain.--Roslyn’s Castle, 1776 (Scot’s Tunes)""We the undersigned, inhabitants of Hempstead Harbor, Queens County, Long Island, State of New York, finding a serious inconvenience in our village, particularly in our Post Office arrangements, from the similarity of names… do therefore resolve, that the above mentioned Post Office and Village shall hereafter be known by the name Roslyn...""-- September 7, 1844* * *The librarian has one goal: to find the right book and match it with the right person at just the right time. There are tales of love that inspire a lifelong romance and tales of love lost where a quick ignited flame is as quickly dashed out by fate. There are stories of courage that send a generation off to war. There are old legends that give a place a name and an anchor in history. And then there are those unexpected tales that can happen in an old library on an autumn night, which can level you and change the course of your entire life.My given name is Meghan Ann Rees, but everyone around here just calls me ‘Megs.’ I’ve lived for years in the sleepy town of Roslyn Harbor, a town frozen in time. At thirty-two years of age, I’ve reached that point where you look for those things that are missing in your life, just the way a librarian searches the stacks for a missing or misplaced book—and if you find it—you grab it up the first chance you get.And yet, at times, I believe that all of my passion will be shut in my chest for eternity and that I myself will become petrified like the totem of the old Clock Tower on Old Northern Boulevard and Main Street and people will pass by me day and night never knowing the longings of my heart and the fraught virtuosity of my troubled brain—all pent up like old knickknacks and chachkas forgotten in a dusty attic. And I will be cursed to eternal silence, screaming inside to tell my tales, but shuttered and muffled by my stony coffin. But when I am inspired to act on my impulses, I freeze like that girl for whom our town is named. Frozen, I watch as my chance passes forever. Just the other day I suffered one of these spells when Cam asked me to a sit-down dinner at Port Washington Yacht Club for the Venetian Nights Lighted Boat Parade they have every year at the end of this week.Fall in Roslyn Harbor was a time of magic. Hendrick’s Tavern was serving its famous baked New England Clam Chowder. Chrysanthemum, pansies, asters, and goldenrod were in bloom in the Old Westbury Gardens. The trees were both boastful with their varicolored pageantry of yellows, browns, greens, and reds, and at the same time bashful and retiring, shedding a blanket of crisp prickly leaves, tucking in the grasses and flowers of the fields under their covers and whispering that it is time for them to sleep soon. People were out by Roslyn Park Pond feeding the ducks until sundown. And as night crept in on this sleepy September evening, a gusty wind picked up the chill of winter to come and blew the settlers into warm and cozy places by hearths and blanketed living rooms drawn with curtains and candlelight. And the door of my library opened to reveal a tall, imposing figure coming in from the dark chill.He was a man who was easy to trust, a tall English looking man of Scottish descent with manners and substance. He was in his mid-seventies and had the look of a man who was well-worn with life, like a book whose bindings were getting loose, and which had a few pages ready to bolt. Nonetheless, his mannerisms and his carriage all told a different story, of a man brimming with energy and full of purpose. He wore a tan trench coat over a stylish Green Donegal tweed suit with a wool blend, pulled together with a red tie, and carried a silver handled knob walking cane. The pink rosacea and prominent crooked nose, bulbed at the end, underneath square rimmed reading glasses, gave him the look of a wise soul brimming with happy secrets, of which a few were about to be revealed.“I have come tae avail myself o' yer substantial talents,” he said as if issuing a proclamation.I had never heard it put quite that way, but from Professor Kaming it sounded even more flattering. It was the way you would expect him to put it. Proper and yet containing enough subtext to be a little naughty. He beamed and looked around the room with mirth, saying, “It's a braw library ye hae here in this auld toon—an' whit a name fer a toon tae—Roslyn Harbor—whit a fascinatin' name.”I gave him the smile I reserved for regulars and political types who controlled our funding and said, “How may I be of service?”He didn’t go to it immediately. “I unnerstaun' this library has some auld historical documents frae the Revolutionary War period aboot Onderdock’s Paper Mill an' George Washington’s Spy Trail an' his visit here in 1790, an' the like,” Professor Kaming said.This was an easy one for me to answer: “Oh yes. We have a sizable collection of historical documents, and a whole collection from the post-war period, diaries from the Culper Spy Ring, news stories from Washington’s visit, documents about the Paper Mill, and all of it is there in our history stacks in the back room.”“Aye, aye. I’d imagine sae. But, whit about some mair peculiar curiosities?” Mr. Kaming asked.“What did you have in mind?”“Ye wouldn't, perhaps, be familiar wi' Robert Gaston Herbert an' his murals, by any chance, wad ye?” As Mr. Kaming posed the question, he raised his eyebrows expectantly and I felt anticipation in my breast, as I began to wonder where this was going.“How could I not be? There’s an old mural, with tartan-clad Scottish soldiers departing Hempstead Harbor after the war singing the Scottish Tune ‘Roslyn’s Castle’ as they left—and there was a girl of seventeen looking on from the very spot where this library sits and overlooks the Harbor. The legend is that she had fallen in love with an Officer in the 71st Highland Regiment of Foot. But her hopes of love were dashed when the war ended. That is the legend that gave this town its name.” As I concluded, I raised my palms to the ceiling and rotated my forearms outward in a triumphant version of the apology shrug.“Dear God! That’s exactly the mural I’m interested in. Please, please tell me ye can find it.”“Well, I don’t know, we can certainly see if we can locate a copy,” I said.“Ye see, I want tae find that lassie. Doesn't anyone know who she is?”* * *There were piles of enormous parchments on long easel tables in the old map room. As I checked the indexes and poured laboriously through sheafs of tabulations, looking for the exact mural in question, Professor Kaming continued talking.“Roslin Castle is in Midlothian, sooth o' Edinburgh, an' the toon o' Roslin was the verra spot whaur the war for Scottish independence was fought. The chapel in Roslin Castle wis built by the Knights Templar an' wis the site o' mony a tale o' the auld Grail legend. It sits juist aff the shou'ders o' the heichest point o' the land, overlookin' the sea juist a wee bit doon the road. The Midlothian trails lead uphill tae Arthur's Summit at its heid an' the Queen's Gallery at its feet.”His voice filled the small chamber with a musical quality from the rhythm of his speech, and, in my mind, while he spoke, I imagined this girl, barely a woman, who had fallen in love with an enemy soldier, frozen on the hill by the bay, looking out across the waters to Connecticut as the love of her life departed for his homeland. I can see her there, stiff and solemn, waving into infinity as the boys and girls of the village sang that haunting song with glee and cheered their victory over these invaders that had requisitioned their homes for seven summers. Farmers with hoes and rakes and rifles would be up on the hill with high emotion. All the while her heart was wrought in two as she fought to catch one last glimpse of the ships mast, fading into the horizon.Maybe she was an Irish girl like me, with a name like Rosalind. Maybe she too was a firebrand, with red hair and a stubborn attitude, a mercurial Cancer who was both unfailingly loyal and yet volatile and capable of high emotion. A nervous animal with a warning bite.How could she have made that journey? Did she stand still on the shores and return to her home, or did she set sail and go after him? Did she reach that town across the world, a mirror, with the same name as the town that was named for her? And what kind of coincidence could it be that she was named for the very place he was from, a name meaning “pretty rose.”Mr. Kaming continued, “Ane day in 1776, a lassie arrived on a boat tae find a Scottish Brigadier o' the 71st Highland Regiment an' cam' tae live oot the rest o' her days in Roslin. But naebody knew her maiden name or whaur she cam' frae. But I was in Fraunces Tavern on Pearl Street in Manhattan jist the ither day, no' a week or twa ago, an' there wis an auld plaque on the wa' wi' the saying: 'While Roslin Castle heard the swain, And echoed back his cheerful strain,' an' an inscription an' miniature o' the mural below it, wi' the name o' this here toon.”As he was saying this and the mystery began to come into focus, I laid my hands on the mural, with its rich colorful depiction of the very scene that had consumed our thoughts this strange autumn night. There she was—Rosalind.“I found it!” I said. But there was no response.I looked back and saw that Professor Kaming had slumped down on a drafting stool. He had his head in his hands, and he was weeping. He wept for a few moments, then pulled out a satin handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes and the lines of salty tears covering the jowls of his age worn face.“It’s her, it’s her!” he exclaimed.He pulled a locket out from the jetted pocket of his green blazer and thumbed the lip so that it opened to show facing pictures drawn in faded ink. On the left side was a man that looked like a younger version of Mr. Kaming, and on the right side was the spitting image of the girl Rosalind from the mural. I gasped and put my hands to my mouth.“Ye see, my 6th great grandmother was an American lassie who had journeyed tae the toon o' Roslyn frae Hempstead in 1776. When I heard the story, I knew I had tae find oot the truth. Efter a', I hae a Rosalind o' my very own, an' she left me some ten years ago noo, but there's a vast sea an' a lang journey hame tae the shores o' my ancestral hame that I'll be makin' sae I can see her again. Ye see, it's in my bones an' in the legend o' my family that when ane lover leaves, the ither mustun follow efter, even across the deepest o' oceans or the precipice o' time, even across the veil o' death itsel'.”And as tears started to form on my own ruddy cheeks, the old Professor got up, standing toweringly tall above me, and with the kindest of smiles he took a step toward me, and then another, and wrapped his long lanky arms all the way around me and hugged me for a minute.Then he straightened out his coat and collected himself, and thanked me, and turned and stopped a moment by the door, turning back, and said, “I suppose I'll be on ma way noo.”“Wait, wait,” I said.It was only at that moment, after this extraordinary night of mysteries and journeys through time that I recognized the story that this man needed to spur him on his journey. Just the right book for just the right person at just the right time.The Professor followed me dimly as if these revelations had depleted his soul as I brought him to the racks of Medieval Literature. Where was it now? It had to be just somewhere over here… and there it was! Thomas Malory's The Book of Sir Tristram de Lyones. Perhaps the tale on which it is based truly took place right in the Scottish town of Roslin.I handed the book to Professor Kaming and said, “take this with you for your journey.” We smiled at each other and I held on to the book for a moment as he grasped it, holding it back just long enough to underscore its importance, and then let it go.“I am much obliged, young lass, and Godspeed ye on yer journey. If I can leave ye wi' one thing frae our short time thegither, it wad be this. Whatever yer heart desires moyst, even if the verra sands o' time stand in yer way, pursue it tae yer dyin' breath wi' every bit o' courage ye can muster, an' mak' yer pursuit wi' a sang on yer lips an' a leap in yer heart.”And with that he was gone.* * *The boats in the regalia of the Venetian Nights Lighted Boat Parade formed a line along the bay, with the strung lights in cool blues, deep purples, warm oranges, translucent aquamarines, and Christmas-tree reds leaving colored trails along the cool waters of the Hempstead Bay. The stars above glistened with a million pin pricks of light. Crackling bonfires on the yards and tiki torches on the docks reverberated with clicks and smacks of flame across the bluffs. The call of a stray Whip-poor-will whistled its haunting high notes into the looping night breezes. The buzzy, raspy click of the katydids pierced the night with an “eh eh eh, katy did” emanating from the trees along the shore. The smell of herbaceous fern and the spicy, musky hint of asper mixed with the acrid and unmistakable smell of the phosphorous of the bay with its powdery ragweed and sagebrush notes. These muted aromas wafted in with the breeze and the lapping tide. The air was neither moist nor dry, but just right and bathed the skin in a feeling like the slightest hint of moisturizing cream carried in the dusk.Cam looked over at me and said, “what made you come out tonight Megs.”I smiled back at him and said, “it’s a long story.” ","August 14, 2023 08:31","[[{'Nina Herbst': 'So very much in a short story! I really loved your descriptions, and how visual this was. A touching tale, and great message to go after things in life.', 'time': '11:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks, Nina!', 'time': '12:46 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks, Nina!', 'time': '12:46 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Wow! How did you come up with that? That's an amazing story. Thanks for sharing."", 'time': '00:25 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Ty! Did a bit of research for this one. I was looking for an interesting library and thought, maybe a seaside town in Long Island would have a cool library, and in researching found this town of Roslyn Harbor and lo and behold there was a whole story about the name, and the idea kind of sprung out of that.', 'time': '04:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Ty! Did a bit of research for this one. I was looking for an interesting library and thought, maybe a seaside town in Long Island would have a cool library, and in researching found this town of Roslyn Harbor and lo and behold there was a whole story about the name, and the idea kind of sprung out of that.', 'time': '04:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Superb story, well written & intriguing.', 'time': '21:29 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Joe!', 'time': '21:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Joe!', 'time': '21:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'Jonathan, that was exceptional — I don’t feel authors use epigraphs nearly enough, and those lyrics, with the petition letter, were a great way to launch into a lyrical, lush narrative. You made the setting come alive, and you handled the romance factor deftly, neither cloying nor panting. Nicely, nicely done!!', 'time': '17:52 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin! I love epigraphs.', 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': ""I use them at the top of all the stories I've reprinted from here. I'm a mystery buff, and Ellery Queen was a master of selecting the right quote for the right theme or chapter."", 'time': '22:45 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin! I love epigraphs.', 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': ""I use them at the top of all the stories I've reprinted from here. I'm a mystery buff, and Ellery Queen was a master of selecting the right quote for the right theme or chapter."", 'time': '22:45 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': ""I use them at the top of all the stories I've reprinted from here. I'm a mystery buff, and Ellery Queen was a master of selecting the right quote for the right theme or chapter."", 'time': '22:45 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Nice picture painting.', 'time': '06:34 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!', 'time': '21:56 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,t3uq3r,A Dangerous Spot for a Library,A. R. Bledsoe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/t3uq3r/,/short-story/t3uq3r/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Kids']",14 likes," ""A library doesn't just up and walk away,"" the short, stumpy dwarf grumbled. Stubby fingers removed oval specs from his plump, gnarled nose, wiped the thick glass against his cloak, and then placed them promptly back into place. ""Dear, me,"" he muttered as he blinked through his specs. The view had not gotten any better. The surrounding ancient forest, thick with grizzly birch trees and viny oaks, had become considerably darker in the rapidly approaching night. There was no moon nor even a twinkling star to light the formidable darkness. And what was worse, there were no signs of his library–the library that had been there for hundreds of years–the library the dwarf had opened himself. ""Well..."" he said, liking the sound of his own voice as opposed to the rising voices of the night creatures. ""There's naught much else to do but to have tea."" With aged hands that were just as accustomed to repairing tattered books as brewing strong tea, he dug into his satchel. He pushed past volumes of literature called ""Wild Jackalows and Where to Find Them,"" ""The Art of Wore: A Comprehensive Guide to Fashion,"" ""Libraries and Their Ancient Keepers,"" and stacks of countless other books that shouldn't fit in a satchel the size of a cat. Still, of course, that is the magic of an ancient librarian in a mystical forest. In three swipes of a page, the old librarian had a fire started, a pot of tea brewing, tea cups placed on a side table, and his feet propped up on a velvet poof while he lounged on an ornate settee--all of which he had retrieved from his satchel. (Not the fire, of course. He started that with flint stones). No thoughts were made, nor was another word said until the librarian took his first sip of thick, black tea. Then with a deep sigh, he began to backtrack. ""I walked here,"" he said, motioning with his free hand to the spot he sat. ""And the library was there,"" he pointed to a large grizzly birch which was as wide as two mountain bears standing side by side and as tall as a small mountain. Out of the corner of a passerby's eye, it could have looked like a giant grizzly (hence its name). The bark rippled like a bear's thick skin and was grooved with large round scales that looked like tufts of bear fur. “I am no library,” a deep voice boomed and the leaves of the grizzly birch tree shuddered violently. The librarian jumped.  It should be noted here that not one drop of tea was spilled. Aged hands accustomed to holding countless cups of tea over priceless books and artifacts could never let that happen. No, not even a thundering tree could make the librarian drop his tea. “Well, obviously not,” the librarian said, squinting through his spectacles. His old eyes probed the shadows beyond the grizzly tree, but the darkness would not betray the talking, thundering, unsettling newcomer. “Come, have some tea then if you’re not a library,” the dwarf said. “I don’t drink tea. Tea is made of leaves,” the voice boomed. “AND I’M NOT A LIBRARY. LIBRARIES HOUSE DEAD TREES.” The last words sounded like thunderclaps.  Shaken in every sense of the word, the librarian placed his teacup on the side table where it rattled. When all returned to calm, (or as calm as it could be in the presence of a thundering tree) the librarian fished his specs from his thick, white beard and set them back on his gnarled nose. “Well…of course you’re not a library,” he replied with a note of understanding that only a curious librarian would use while talking to a grizzly birch in a dark, creepy forest. “You’re a tree, aren’t you? I mean, you’re the one that is talking?” The tree shuddered and then it twisted. Its dark rippling bark folded and stretched like a dish towel that was slowly being wrung. When it stopped, the bark around its middle cracked, and giant eyes the size of small glowing moons blinked open, piercing the librarian with a glare. A protrusion in the bark beneath the tree’s eyes parted and a pair of lips moved, “I had awoken from my slumber to find my cousins and my sisters had been taken! TAKEN!” A gust of wind blew from the tree’s mouth and a glob of sap flew like spittle from its lips, slopping onto the ground just before the tea kettle and fire. “Oh dear,” the dwarf murmured. “And so…I ate your library.” The dwarf stared at him, stunned to silence. Finally, he said, “I didn’t know trees eat libraries.” He pulled out a journal and a feather quill from his small, voluminous bag and began jotting down notes. “STOP WRITING ON MY SIBLINGS!”  The dwarf ceased immediately and stared at the angry birch. “I apologize, but this is very interesting indeed. Who told you that books are dead trees?”  The birch raised itself up in height. The dwarf, despite himself, placed a hand on his teacup in preparation for another bone-shaking response.  None came. Instead, thick roots snaked up from beneath his chair and wrapped around his waist. “Librarians eat us, we must eat librarians,” the grizzly birch rumbled. “It sounds fair, but first, you must prove to me that books are, in fact, dead trees,” the librarian replied. The grizzly birch ignored him, however, and lifted the dwarf up from his chair and brought him to dangle over its opened mouth. From his vantage point, the librarian saw with increasing alarm that it was a bottomless black hole.  The dwarf fumbled for something in his pocket but was forced to pause and push up his glasses, which had been sliding down the bridge of his nose on a stream of sweat. A mighty gust of wind blew from the tree’s mouth, blasting the man's ankle-length beard over his shoulder. In its wake, drops of sap spittle splattered the librarian's face, gluing his glasses to his nose.  The dwarf rummaged again for something in his cloak pocket and this time grabbed hold of his prize, retrieving a rather large book from its folds. There was nothing very special about it save for a pair of eyes that blinked on the front cover. “Gevinly, could you please confront this rogue tree for me?” the dwarf called above the roaring wind. “I fear I’m about to be eaten.” “Beginus! Beginus! Put the man down!” the book cover called. The hungry, man-eating birch tree (apparently called Beginus?) closed its mouth, swallowing the wind and all its noise. With one large eye, he peered at the book in the librarian’s hands. “Gevinly? Is that you?” Beginus replied. “Yes, yes, I am here,” the book croaked. “You are about to eat a dear friend of mine. Put him down.” Beginus eyed the librarian for a moment and then looked back at the talking book in his hand. Finally, with a sigh as strong as a gust of wind, blowing the dwarf’s beard and hair into a tangled mess, he let the old man down. “Gevinly! I thought you were dead,” Beginus said. “This librarian took you from our forest.” He shot the dwarf a nasty look that suggested the old man was not out of danger yet. “No, no. I chose to be taken,” the book replied. “I was tired of hearing you all talk about the same things for centuries. When the librarian came, I begged to be taken with him. ‘I can’t lug around a tree,’ the librarian had said. And that was our predicament for a while, but then he offered to make me a book, and here I am! It’s not bad, really, being a book. I can be taken to far-off places and meet new faces. Sometimes I get dropped or a page is torn, but my dear friend, the librarian, looks after me.” The dwarf beamed down at Gevinly for several reasons. One, he was a dear friend. Two, the angry birch had uncurled his snake-like root from around his middle. And three, well, he wasn’t going to be eaten anymore. “So, you don’t die being made into a book?” Beginus asked. “Quite, the opposite, my friend,” Gevinly replied, a smile creasing his front cover. Beginus looked at the librarian, the bark over his eyes rippling as brows furrowed in concentration, and then slowly he bowed. “I am sorry for accusing you of killing my siblings and cousins...and I’m sorry for trying to eat you.” The dwarf beamed at the bowing tree. “Oh, it’s nothing but water under the bridge.” The birch shot the librarian a look, its eyes flashing dangerously. “Bridges are dead trees,” he growled. “Not so, some are made of stone,” the dwarf amended quickly. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “But anyways, I would feel most forgiving if I could have my library back. After all, it was also Gevinly’s home.” Beginus slowly righted himself and looked for a moment at the encouraging eyes of his old friend, now a book. “Very, well,” Beginus rumbled. The ground shuddered and the giant grizzly birch swayed. Its roots pulled up from the dirt and dragged itself from the spot where the library had rested. Then the giant tree turned and with a motion and sound like an enormous “ACHOO” the library was blasted out of Beginus’ mouth. Globs of sap oozed over the dome roof and hung like snot from its spires, but other than that it looked the same as the librarian had left it. The lights had even remained on inside and were shining through its round windows. “I will spread the word,” Beginus said. “So that the other trees will not come to eat your library.” “T-that is much appreciated,” said the dwarf who was now considering any other place to open a library. THE END ","August 16, 2023 03:51","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:59 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Madeline Honig': 'Very creative idea for a story.', 'time': '15:58 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:02 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you!', 'time': '18:02 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Nice tale, my friend. The humor is spot on, as is the wry observations. Highly enjoyable, A.R. You have a real talent for humor, and for moving a story along. Nicely done, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you for your kind words. It’s truly an encouragement!', 'time': '15:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you for your kind words. It’s truly an encouragement!', 'time': '15:17 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Darius Vinesar': 'I found the humor enjoyable, nice story!', 'time': '21:46 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you! I appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '15:16 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you! I appreciate the feedback.', 'time': '15:16 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'S. A. McNaughton': 'This is a really fun idea for a story! Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '20:26 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you so much for reading!', 'time': '20:50 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A. R. Bledsoe': 'Thank you so much for reading!', 'time': '20:50 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,hmpdyh,Overdue,Murray Burns,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hmpdyh/,/short-story/hmpdyh/,Fiction,0,['Funny'],14 likes," OverdueThe small, snuggly town was named Life Magazine’s #1 Place to Live in America a stunning seven years in a row. Maple Grove defined quaint, rural, and rustic. Its streets weren’t tree-lined; its trees were street-lined. Happy smiley faces everywhere, children and adults, a Ward, June, Wally, and Beaver behind every door.Everyone knew everyone. The barber was the butcher’s uncle, the fireman was the baker’s brother, and the teacher was the student’s aunt. The children all played together in cheery harmony, the men tossed horseshoes behind old man Thompson’s barn, the women knitted colorful quilts for the fall festival, and everyone sang in the church choir. Maple Grove ran a close second to heaven itself.The last known worry to darken its doorstep was the troubling disappearance of little Sally Brown’s kitten, Winky, in ’52. The entire town sprung into action as posters with the cuddly kitten’s likeness were distributed, search groups were organized, and a prayer chain was hastily stitched together in a dramatic effort to find the wayward Winky. Remarkably, in just three frantic hours, Winky was found sleeping in tall grass in the widow Jenkins’ backyard. The joyous celebration went on for three days, and the second week in July will forever be known as “Winky Week” by Town Board Proclamation.But…beneath the placid surface, behind the carefree front, hidden away from all those happy faces, there lurked a dissatisfied soul, a restless mind, a troubled creature, cursed by a nagging event, insignificant to most but overwhelming for Herb- his fly in the ointment, the monkey wrench in the works, the pea under twenty mattresses- bearing the responsibility for a lost book. Time offered no remedy, a happy home life gave no solace, and monthly visits to his shrink in the big city hours away provided no cure. Confession is good for the soul.“Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was yesterday.”“Yes Her…I mean, my son, and what are your sins?”Groundhog Day for Herb and Father Mel. Breach of duty. Herb’s repeated baring of the soul seemed preferable to Javert’s hop into the Seine. Father Mel was a patient man, and he came to view their morning meetings with a touch of humor, treating each session as though it was the first.Herb didn’t quite comprehend a priest’s ability to absolve sin. Most penitents restrict their spilling of wrongful deeds to those committed since their last confession while Herb kept reverting to ground zero no matter how many times Father Mel forgave him. He never left the church feeling completely exonerated, and he felt the sheer volume of pardons might finally relieve him of his burden.“Well, Father, it was late in the day, near closing time. I was straightening up the checkout counter when this little boy appeared holding a copy of ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’. He was a funny-looking kid, maybe nine or ten years old with disheveled red hair. He told me he wanted to check the book out, but that he had left his library card at home. He was crying because he promised his sick little sister he would start reading it to her that night. I felt…”At this point, Herb always started to choke up.“Go ahead, my son, continue.”“I felt so bad for the little guy, and even though lending out a book without a card was strictly prohibited, I let him take it. He promised to come back the next day with his card…and…and…he never returned! He never brought his card in…and…the little bast…I mean, the little kid never brought the book back!""“I’m not sure that was a sin, you know, the way we describe it, but…”“Oh no, Father, this was a sin. I violated our policy. I knew the rules. In fact, I helped write the rules. What I did was very wrong.”“Ok…if you say so. God forgives you. For your penance, say three Hail Marys, Two Our Fathers, and one Glory Be.”“That’s what you’ve been giving me Father, and it doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe something a little stiffer this time?”“Ok, double it, but that’s my final offer.”“Thank you, Father.”Herb’s wife, Martha, understood. She didn’t like it, but she understood. In all the years that had passed, she was the only one besides the good priest who learned the secret of the overdue library book. She knew Herb was an odd duck when she married him- punctual to a fault, organized to a curse, and detailed to a disorder- so the obsession with Huckleberry Finn, although a bit bewildering was not something totally unexpected.Herb implemented many household rules that Martha saw as overcompensating for that error of omission so many years ago. Strick inventory was maintained on all the children’s clothing right down to their socks and underwear. Logs were kept at the front door chronicling the departures and arrivals of family members, and the children needed to sign for any recreational equipment to be taken off the premises.Martha showed great tolerance, compassion, kindness, and empathy, for Herb’s peculiarities, and she never wavered in her willingness to assist her husband in his battle with his relentless demons.“Herb, it was forty years ago. You have to let it go.”“Herb, the cost of the book was a very tiny percentage of the town’s budget. The book was easily replaced so no real harm was done.”“The book wasn’t that good anyway.”“The book probably brought great happiness to the little boy and his dying sister. (She had no idea of the gravity of the girl’s illness, but ‘dying’ sounded more impactful than ‘sick’.) Better that than collecting dust on a shelf.”In one desperate act, Martha resorted to an ill-conceived measure of deceit.“Look, Herb! I found your missing Adventures of Huckleberry Finn behind some boxes in the school basement!”The ploy was doomed when the keen-eyed Herb noticed the date of printing was fifteen years after the little red-headed rascal absconded with the book.Reimbursement and replacement were nonstarters. Herb lent the book out without proper documentation. The book…that book needed to be returned. It was a Herculean struggle of conscience, the stuff that writers of tragic novels swoon over- a man so principled and dedicated to duty that even the smallest transgression disrupted his very existence.Herb published notices in the Classifieds seeking the return of the book. He offered a reward. Many unscrupulous characters brought him a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, but he immediately spotted them as fakes as they lacked the iconic Maple Grove Library mark which he personally designed and affixed to every book that crossed his desk.Herb attended every book swap meet within driving distance of Maple Grove in search of the purloined publication. He joined a record fifty-two book clubs and sent flyers to every second-hand bookstore and thrift shop in the Midwest. As the years went by, Herb stopped red-headed men on the street and studied their faces hoping to recognize a feature. It was all for naught.To prevent a future mishap, Herb installed security cameras on the premise and required a photo ID for all checkouts. But the cow was out of the barn. Herb continued to perform his duties flawlessly, but a day did not go by that he didn’t wonder about the whereabouts of the missing book. Father Mel might have been in the business of forgiving him on a regular basis, but poor Herb couldn’t forgive himself.Fifty years of near spotless performance, unequaled dedication to the task, the heartfelt appreciation of an entire community, all were to be celebrated at Herb’s retirement dinner. But the haunting image of the little red-headed boy walking out of the library with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn tucked under his arm made Herb feel unworthy of the tribute.“I’m going to decline the award, Martha.”“What award?”“I’m sure they’re planning on giving me some kind of an award at my big dinner, but I’m going to refuse to accept it.”“Why? What are you talking about, Herb?”“I don’t deserve it. I failed in my duty. I broke a sacred obligation to this town when I let that little red-haired demon walk off with The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I’ve confessed to Father Mel many times, but Saturday night I will come clean with the entire community. Truth is good for the soul. It’s the only way.”Out of love for her husband, Martha kept her thoughts to herself.The dinner was the biggest event in Maple Grove in a month of Sundays. Everyone who was anybody was there. Even the nobodies showed up. There wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t know Herb and hold him in high regard. They were all brought up on Herb’s books.Father Mel gave the invocation, the children sang songs, the guests were treated to a scrumptious chicken dinner courtesy of farmer Thompson, and every woman in town happily watched the guests down their homemade desserts. Words of high praise were bestowed on Herb by a multitude of town officials, and finally, Herb was presented with a very official-looking Proclamation of Appreciation and a gold leaf bookmark. The entire crowd stood and cheered as Herb walked to the podium.“Ladies and gentlemen…friends…I need to…”“Wait!”A middle-aged man walked toward the raised dais. He was holding something in his hand.“I have something else for you!”Herb immediately noticed the red hair.“When I saw the story in the paper about this banquet, I remembered something from a long time ago. I took out a book and never returned it. I dug through some old boxes in my attic, and I found it! I thought it would be a nice gesture to return it tonight.”The curious crowd looked on as the man reached up and handed a book to the stunned honoree. Herb couldn’t believe his eyes. It was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the book he had agonized over for so many years. He held it in his hand like a precious stone as he recalled that late afternoon misstep, the sleepless nights, the terrible anguish he suffered for so many years. Martha’s eyes welled up with tears, and Father Mel made the Sign of the Cross as he had just witnessed a miracle.“Thank you…I don’t know what to say. That was so thoughtful of you after all these years.”“No problem. I’m the guilty party. I just wanted to settle things up.”The man turned to return to his seat.“Hold on, sir.”Herb reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn sheet of paper.“That gets the book back, but we still have the matter of the unpaid fines for the overdue book. According to my calculations, you have accumulated fines of $2,518.27. This isn’t over until you pay up.”Martha and Father Mel both dropped their heads. ","August 18, 2023 02:36","[[{'Leland Mesford': 'Hilarious', 'time': '00:52 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'S. A. McNaughton': 'Ha ha ha! You created some great characters. I loved the detail ""(She had no idea of the gravity of the girl’s illness, but ‘dying’ sounded more impactful than ‘sick’.)""\n\nTypo I noted: ""Strick"" should be ""Strict.""', 'time': '20:07 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Murray Burns': 'I appreciate your reading the story and your comments. And thanks for catching the boo-boo. I seem the lack the patience and/or discipline for proofreading. Writing is the fun part; proofreading is the work part. Thanks.', 'time': '23:18 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Murray Burns': 'I appreciate your reading the story and your comments. And thanks for catching the boo-boo. I seem the lack the patience and/or discipline for proofreading. Writing is the fun part; proofreading is the work part. Thanks.', 'time': '23:18 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tricia Shulist': 'Ha! Once a librarian, always a librarian! That was fun. Thanks!', 'time': '17:15 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'This was, in a word, hilarious. A message, that nothing is perfect, comes through, but so do other messages. Perception is everything. People always overcompensate. And, of course, one can never trust a red-headed kid with a sick sister. LOL\n\nThis was just a quiet, enjoyable read, my friend. The type of tale that Wodehouse might write. Wonderful stuff, Murray. Really masterful.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '10:31 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Murray, what a great story. Funny and entertaining. A little bit of a control freak. Wow!\nI caught one booboo\n“I’m going decline the award, Martha.” LF6', 'time': '05:30 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,khf012,Dandelion ,Veronica Ruiz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/khf012/,/short-story/khf012/,Fiction,0,"['Christian', 'Inspirational']",12 likes," The timing was uncertain. An elderly librarian was currently scouring the library, trying to find a certain book. “Ah, here it is.” The librarian grabbed the short book, marveling at its cover before flipping its pages. There a familiar name greeted their eyes, and a smile of recognition graced their lips.The old librarian smiled and took a seat. The library was quiet, perfect for the librarian to read the book. Adjusting their glasses, they began to read the story. “Life is the only gift that most people don’t appreciate. When things go wrong, they wish they could escape the world or be taken away from it. But there are some people who go through so many trials but still feel grateful and find joy in the world. Even those who can not see the world still appreciate being in it. Mary Berry is a young beautiful blind girl, with short blonde curls and blue eyes. Mary has stayed in an orphanage for as long as she could remember. She has a caretaker named Mrs. Faith, who kindly shares some strawberries with Mary. Mary loves the sweet and juicy flavor as she bites into the strawberry, for it reminds her of her vivid memories of her and her mother sitting together eating strawberries. One sunny afternoon during break time, Mary and Mrs. Faith both walked up a small hill, revealing a swing set, the rope being tightened around a tree branch. Mary sat on the swing and moved her legs up and down as Mrs. Faith started to push her high up in the air. The air was calm and some leaves sprinkled down from the tree above Mary. Mary felt grateful to be alive. A few minutes passed and soon Mary felt the swing go lower and lower, her feet touching the hard ground gently. “Is there something wrong, Mrs. Faith?” Mary asked.  “There is nothing wrong my dear. There is actually something that you might be pleased to hear!”  Mrs. Faith picked up Mary and led her down the hill. Mary did not understand what was going on but she stayed silent, patiently waiting for Mrs. Faith to explain further. As Mary laid her head on Mrs. Faith’s chest, she hears her heart beating and her chest moving up and down slowly as she inhales and exhales. It gave peace and comfort to Mary, as she remembered the time when she laid her head on her mothers chest. Mary then felt her feet touch the hard ground and her hand tightly held by Mrs. Faith frail hands. “Mary, you are finally going home, with your dear older brother, Phillip Berry.” The owner of the orphanage said, her voice stern but soft.  Mary looked around, waiting to hear her brother's voice.  “Where is my brother?” Mary asked politely.  “I am right here, Mary.” Her brother said, his gentle and quiet voice filled her with warmth.  “Let me see your hand, my brother.”  Phillip chuckled at the words Mary used but proceeded to lay his hand in her hand. Mary placed her brother’s hand on her cheek and caressed it for a quick second. Oh how it gave her comfort just like her mother.  “It is a pleasure to meet you my dear brother.” Mary said politely. She then let go of her hand from Mrs. Faith and held her brother’s hand fully.  “Mr. Phillip, I am glad that you and your sister are now together. You truly love your sister, from what you told me you and your sister got separated in different orphanages when your parents passed away. Then because you were old enough to work, you worked for a long time until you had enough money to buy a stable home. Now, you were given the authority to adopt your sister. This is something I will never forget.” The owner commented. Phillip smiled and adjusted his hat.  “It’s God’s love that kept me going, Mrs. Deber. I’ll be on my way now.”  Mrs. Deber waved goodbye to Philip and Mary while Mrs. Faith escorted them to the carriage. As they entered the carriage, Mrs. Faith took out a bag of strawberries from her pocket and placed it on Mary’s lap.  “Here is a bag of strawberries for you Mary. It is a farewell gift from me, I hope you visit me soon my dear.”  Mary giggled as Mrs. Faith planted a small kiss on her cheek.  “I’ll visit, Mrs. Faith. Thank you for everything!”  Mrs. Faith's eyes dropped a tear at the kind words.  “Oh Mr. Phillip, I admire your clothing! Your top hat and coat is a very touching look to you, especially with that blond hair of yours.” Mrs. Faith said.  Mr. Phillip chuckled and responded with a thank you.  “Goodbye, you two!” Mrs. Faith said.  Soon Phillip and Mary’s carriage was away from Mrs. Faith’s view. Mary sat quietly on her seat as she began to eat the strawberries that Mrs. Faith gave her. Phillip, who sat in front of Mary, watched her, admiring how much she had grown. She was a true resemblance of their mother, especially the ribbons she wore on the side of her hair. Mary wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and placed her strawberries on her lap.  “Phillip, where are we staying?” Mary asked.  .  “We are first going to visit our neighbor’s house. Since she is an elderly woman and her husband passed away, I have volunteered to help her around the house.” Phillip responded. Mary nodded at his response and decided to take a small nap. The carriage went on for a couple of miles and soon came to an abrupt stop.  “Mary, we’re here.”  Mary woke up tiredly and held Phillip’s hand down the carriage. Phillip watched the dark sky and then the bright blue house in front of them. The grass was nicely trimmed and the plants hanging outside the door were just watered. Phillip led Mary to the house and knocked on the door. “Coming, Coming.”  The door opened and there revealed a tall woman wearing a blouse and a skirt, her hair nicely tightened into a bun.  “Phillip, you are back!”  The woman gave a small hug to Phillip and then moved in front of Mary, bending her knees to look closely at her.  “You look just like your mother! You look so tired, dear. Come in, Come in! I have some food in the fridge if you feel hungry and there is a guest room at the top right.”  Phillip thanked her and led Mary into the house. Inside was warm, the air smelling of chicken and tea.  “Thank you for letting us stay in your home, Mrs. Moon.” Phillip said.  Mary sat on the kitchen table, eating some chicken and drinking pink lemonade that Mrs. Moon had prepared. “No problem dear. After all the help you have done for me after your parent’s passing has truly been a blessing. Your sister looks happy and healthy, I am glad the orphanage took good care of her. But now that she has reconciled with you again, I have some news to share with you.”  Phillip and Mrs. Moon watched Mary set her fork down and walk to Phillip, tugging his coat.  “I’m tired.”  Phillip picked up Mary and cradled her in his arms.  “May we speak of this tomorrow, Mrs. Moon? My sister has had a very long day. I will be cooking breakfast tomorrow if that is alright with you?”  “Of course dear. Get some rest, and you are free to use my kitchen whenever you like.”  The next day Phillip woke up early to cook breakfast and once everyone was awake and ate, Mrs. Moon led Mary to the porch outside to pet the chickens. The breeze was warm, letting Mary enjoy the early morning.  “Let me grab some strawberries for you dear. Your brother told me of your love for strawberries.” Mary nodded and continued to pet a chick that slept on her lap.  As Mary listened to the wind, she heard a set of footsteps in the distance and a sound of a ball. “Johnny! Don’t go near the dock!!” A woman yelled.  “I know, mama!” Mary heard the sound of the woman going back inside the house and the kid playing with a ball. Mary continued to pet the chick for a little bit and soon heard something go in the water.  “Are you serious?” The kid said. “Now my ball is going to be wet!” Mary listened as the kid ran to the dock. But then Mary heard the sound of a splash.  —--- Back in the house, Mrs. Moon was cutting up some strawberries and placing them in a bowl. “Mrs. Moon, yesterday you said you had something to say now that I have Mary with me.” Phillip said, sitting on a chair.  “Ah yes, there was news going on around this area, mostly testimonies. My dear friends told me that if you walk into the forest of wisdom, you will see an open field with a tree in the middle of it. There will be a healer. They heal for no price, the only thing you need to do is to have faith.”  Phillip felt his heart racing at her words. Though it sounded a bit odd and unbelievable, Phillip would do whatever it takes to find someone that can give sight to his sister. “Could the healer possibly give sight to my sister?”  Mrs. Moon wiped her hand with a rag and looked out the window.  “Your relationship with your sister is lovely. If you have faith then anything is possible.”  “Where is this forest that you speak of?”  Mrs. Moon pointed to the back door.  “You exit through my back door and into the backyard which will lead you to the forest. Though it would be a half a mile away. Only those who have faith will find the healer waiting for them. You are a good brother.” Phillip smiled at her kind words.  “May you show me the backyard real quick?”  Mrs. Moon nodded and both left the kitchen to the backyard.  ----  Mary placed the chick to the side and quickly stood up. Her breath became heavy. She has never ran alone, especially to the ocean. But this noise she heard, she knew someone was trying to get out of the water. Mary’s heart began racing as she realized what could be happening. Mary took a deep breath and began to make a small run and thankfully she felt herself at the entrance of the dock.  “Johnny are you there?” Mary called out.  “I AM DROWNING! HELP ME!” The kid wailed.  Mary quickly bent down to the floor and began to crawl trying to hear where Johnny was.  “Johnny, my name is Mary. I am blind and I need to know where you are so that I may help you!” “I AM AT THE END OF THE DOCK! HELP ME!” Johnny yelled.  Mary heard Johnny coughing out water and gasping for air. She continued to crawl and felt the end of the dock. “Can you see my hand?”  Mary felt Johnny grunt and felt his hand on hers.  “PLEASE HELP ME! I AM SCARED!” Johnny cried out. Mary took a deep breath and stood up, her hands shaking of the weight as she felt Johnny starting to climb out.  “Johnny are you almost out?” Mary grunted. Mary sighed in relief as she felt Johnny lay on the dock, gasping for air.  “Can you call your mo-” Mary all of a sudden felt her heart beating fast and her head beginning to hurt. This leading to imbalance, Mary fell into the cold waters. ---- Phillip and Mrs. Moon both walked back inside from the backyard.  “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Moon. If I can, I will take Mary to the forest as soon as possible. Where is she by the way?”  Mrs. Moon placed her hand on her mouth.  “She must be waiting for the strawberries! She is sitting on the porch, can you bring her in?”  Phillip nodded and made his way out the house.  “Mar-”  Phillip froze at the sight of only a baby chick on the porch.  “Mrs. Moon she is not here!” Phillip yelled.  Mrs. Moon came out quickly and gasped. In the distance they saw a kid running toward them.  “MRS. MOON!!” The kid yelled, tears falling down his face. “Why are you wet?” Mrs. Moon asked in a concerned voice, trying to calm the kid down.  “A girl helped me when I was drowning and now she is in the water!” Phillip widened his eyes and quickly removed his hat and coat.  “MARY!” Phillip yelled. ---- Mary felt her body fall in the cold waters, her mouth forgetting to close causing the water to go in her body. Her body felt weak and with a small amount of strength Mary tried swimming to the surface but she couldn’t. She was going to drown. Oh how Mary feared death, she saved that kid but she felt like she was so young to die. She did not even say goodbye to her brother, this was so sudden.  “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.” Mary heard inside of her head. As Mary felt herself passing out slowly she felt someone wrap their arms around her --- Phillip brought Mary to the surface, gasping for air. He laid her on the dock, many people surrounded them. Phillip started to do chest compression, fear inside of him.  “Oh Mary, please wake up.” Then that is what happened. Mary coughed up water, her eyes tiredly opening. Mrs. Moon, with tears in her eyes, brought a towel and wrapped it around Mary.  “Am I going to be okay?” Mary quietly said to Phillip.  “Yes, Mary.”  Mary smiled and drifted off to sleep.  One day later, Mary was better with only a few scratches on her leg. Phillip and Mary exited the backyard gate and walked into the entrance of the forest. Phillip noticed the height of the trees blocking the sunlight. The air felt colder and colder, Phillip soon lifted up Mary for the rest of the way. After what seemed like hours, Phillip decided to take a rest for the night. He then set up a blanket for Mary and stood watch for a little bit before he went to sleep. The sky turned dark, Phillip now closing his eyes for the night. As Phillip slept, Mary heard a soft humming in the distance. Mary was frightened but noticed how soft the humming was. She stood up and moved a few inches away from the resting area. Mary stood silent trying to hear the humming, it sounded familiar.  “Mary, what are you doing?”  Mary froze as she heard Phillip’s voice.  “I heard something, Phillip.” Mary responded. Phillip stood up and stood next to Mary.  “What do you hear?”  “A person humming. I think I recognize the tune they are humming.”  Phillip nodded and gripped Mary’s hand.  “Let’s go find out.”  Both Mary and Phillip walked through the trees, Phillip mostly following Mary as she was the one hearing the humming.  “Here.”  Phillip looked up and gasped in surprise. In the distance was a huge empty field with only one tree in the middle.  “What do you see, Phillip?” Mary asked.  Phillip could almost feel a strong presence by standing here. The healer was around here.  “A tree in the field. A truly beautiful tree.” Phillip commented.  Mary listened again and heard the humming again.  “The humming sounds very close!”  Phillip and Mary made their way to the field and walked through the short grass, filled with flowers. Though it was dark, Phillip could see the tree completely. Its leaves were a light green combined with what looks like bright leaves also. Oh how the beauty amazed Phillip. Mary and Phillip stood in front of the tree in silence, waiting to hear the humming again.  “Stay here, Mary. I will look around to see if someone is here.”  Mary sat down, leaning against the tree while Phillip looked around the field for the healer.  “Are you Mary?”  The sound of the voice, oh how it sounded calm and kind.  “Your presence and voice gives me warmth, who are you?” Mary asked. “I am the creator of this universe.”  Mary stood up slowly.  “May I see your hand?” Mary asked. A gentle warmth enveloped Mary’s outstretched hand, and as her fingers brushed against something intangible yet undeniably present, she felt an overwhelming rush of emotions - peace and love.  “Are you made of butterflies? Your presence reminds me of butterflies, they resemble hope and love.”  The voice chuckled.  “No, dear child. I created the butterflies as I created you. They are a reflection of My artistry and love. What can I do for you?” Mary already felt tears coming down.  “Lord, please recover my sight.”  Mary felt both of her hands being held by the creator. “Go on your way; your faith has made you well.” Mary opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was a dandelion in her hands.”  The librarian closed the book, tears falling down their face. All of a sudden the librarian heard a young girl’s voice. “Mrs. Faith?” Mrs. Faith turned her head and beamed at the sight. “Mary!” Both hugged each other tightly. “I just read your story and oh how beautiful it is.” Mary grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket wiping away Mrs. Faith's tears. “Even remembering that moment makes me cry too.” Mrs. Faith looked behind Mary and gasped in delight at the sight of Phillip. “Oh my dear! You look more handsome!” Phillip chuckled at her response. “Oh how much I’ve missed you both. Oh Mary, how amazing it is that you can see now. How is the world looking to you?” Mary grabbed her brother’s hand. “It is truly beautiful once you know that the Creator of the Universe loves you.”  The End ","August 18, 2023 05:45",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,f0hnrb,How a Unicorn Lives,Angel Thompson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f0hnrb/,/short-story/f0hnrb/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny']",9 likes," Dana pushed her cart of books along the empty aisles of the children’s section. With all its brightly colored cushions and pretty teddy bears, the space felt wasted when it was deserted like this. Dana tucked a book into its proper place on the shelf, where it would likely remain for eons to come. It would probably still be there when Dana lay stiff in a coffin, at peace from a world where children no longer did the things that she once liked to do.  Then Dana lifted another book from the cart. It was a muted yet inviting shade of blue, complete with lettering so natural that it looked as if the words were dropped and fell into their intended positions. The letters themselves said little to Dana, but the strange color and style of the book transported her to a moment that had been previously lost to memory She was small, maybe 7 or 8 years old. She was at this very library, left on her own to roam the children’s literature. As she went through the aisles, placing her tiny fingers against the wooden shelves, she found a book that was a peculiar shade of blue. She reached for it, pulling it down from its hiding place and holding it before her with arms outstretched. The title had something to do with love or life. Curious, she flipped open the pages to discover a world unlike any she’d known or would know. It was fantasy, or maybe even science fiction, with elements of humor undertaken from a humanist lens. Furthermore, the main character was a unicorn that delivered witty quips at the perfect moments, saying every line a reader would want to. Dana read it all in one sitting and subsequently felt that she would never be the same little Dana again. Now, big Dana flipped through this other blue book in her hands. This was not the same book at all. There was no magic or any clever unicorns. It was a basic book for learning the alphabet– the ones that have a word and a picture on each page. Dana could not understand the significance of teaching children about apples, bats, and cubicles when there was a whole world of real human emotion to wonder about. Determined, she left the cart where it stood and took off to the break room. Inside, she found her coworker, Peter, eating a ham sandwich in silence. The only sounds in the room were his chewing and the low hum of the air conditioning unit. “Hey Pete!” Dana began, eager and maybe a little too friendly. They usually never spoke, and Peter was now staring at Dana with a cocked eyebrow. Nevertheless, Dana held up the book for Peter to see. “Do you remember a children’s book that looks like this book? But it’s not this book.” Peter sighed. “Dana, I’m on break. And no one calls me Pete. No one has ever–” “No. I’m not asking for you to do work. I’m genuinely curious here,” she explained. “Like, I really feel this itch in my brain about this book, the real book, but I don’t remember what it was called or even what it looked like. And I feel like it made a big impact on me.” She held out the alphabet book again, desperate for Peter to have the same reaction that she had. He glanced for a moment, uninterested, before his eyes lit up with familiarity. Then he sat back in his seat, his pointer finger to his chin, contemplating. “Yeah,” he finally muttered. “I remember that book.” Dana, with bated breath, asked, “What do you remember about it?” Peter responded, “It was a book full of mystery, or maybe even horror, with elements of whimsy all wrapped up by this bitingly feminist undertone.” He paused. “And there was a talking unicorn.” Dana squealed. “Yes! That’s the one!” Shaking her head in disbelief, she asked, “Do you remember what it was called?” “No.” Peter took a bite from his sandwich, shrugging. “Okay, that’s disappointing,” Dana admitted. “But I think I’m going to find it.” This statement felt right to her. It settled beneath her skin and into her bones and felt like it was a part of her now. She would read that book again. Peter laughed. “Sure,” he said, sarcastic. “You’re going to find a book that neither of us has seen in about two decades. A children’s book that is probably missing because children are so dumb and selfish. If that book isn’t on those shelves out there, it’s probably at the bottom of a pile of forgotten things in some rando’s childhood bedroom, lost to memory.” Of course, Dana searched the shelves and found nothing. Now, she meandered through the contemporary fiction, dropping off books boasting covers with tasteful, minimalist design and monochromatic color schemes. This one here was about family trauma. This other one, an exploration of the pitfalls of a struggling creative who dabbled in being a hopeless romantic, was a book Dana had read and found quite cathartic. However, Dana could not shake her yearning for whimsy. Specifically, Dana ached to experience innocence in the form of an enlightening story, one told by a unicorn unafraid to say the things she’d forgotten she was thinking.  She paused while considering another book. This one had a title that was a pun that came across more melancholy than funny. How interesting. Dana reached into her pocket and produced her cell phone. “What to type? What to type?” she asked herself, staring at a blank search bar. Before a real thought crossed her mind, her fingers began to move across the screen. Her phone now read, ‘blue children’s book with a talking unicorn.’ Scroll, scroll, scroll. There were so many pedestrian books– books with a happy unicorn or a unicorn going on a cookie-cutter magical journey. These books lacked nuance and were not the one.  Then she saw it. That shade of blue could never shine true on a grid of pixels, but the way the letters laid across the cover was unmistakable. It reminded her of someone relaxing, soaking in the sun. And they spelled out something so familiar and yet so profound to Dana in that moment. How a Unicorn Lives. And there was that unicorn, smiling in a way that traveled up to its knowing, human-like eyes. Dana giggled then immediately covered her mouth, remembering where and who she was.  Dana found Peter at the front desk, staring at nothing. No one else was there.  “Look what I found.” Dana shoved her phone in his face. “It’s on the Internet.” Peter stared at the screen. Dana could swear she saw the faintest glimmer in his eyes, but his face revealed nothing.  “Cool,” he offered. “And it’s the strangest thing,” Dana went on. “There are copies of it going for a thousand bucks! Can you believe that? It’s like this rare cult classic that a bunch of people love. It’s unreal.” Peter did a low whistle. “Too bad we don’t have one laying around, huh? I’d sell it in a heartbeat.” Dana shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. But isn’t it awesome to feel, I don’t know, validated in loving this obscure piece of media that all these other people love? I mean, listen to this.” Dana scrolled to the comments on a listing for the book. “‘Read this as a kid, and I can say with certainty there is no other joy in life like it. I am 81 years old.’ Or this one. ‘This story changed my life. It is somehow challenging while still remaining comforting enough to read time and time again. And that unicorn–’” “Dana,” Peter interrupted. Dana stopped reading and stared into her coworker’s tired, unwavering eyes. “What?” she asked. “You know you’re back at square one, right? You can’t afford a thousand-dollar book.” He laughed. “You’re never going to read it again.” “Yeah, I know.” Dana laughed even though she didn’t want to. “Yeah. I literally can’t afford that. That’s so funny.” She laughed again. Peter gave a sympathetic smile. Dana wandered from the front desk, staring at the walls of shelves and the shelves of books, and instead of feeling wonder, she felt the overwhelming need to place books back on shelves. This was not how a unicorn should live.  ","August 17, 2023 20:56","[[{'Derrick M Domican': ""Welcome to Reedsy! Lovely first tale! :)\nI used to love roaming the ailses in my local library as a kid. \nAnd there was abook I had as a kid that I absolutely loved and for the life of me I can't remember what it was called or anything. Just that it was about some teddy bear type characters building a ship to go sailing on and one of them got his trouser leg stuck on the flagpole. lol."", 'time': '10:09 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Angel Thompson': ""Thank you for reading! \nThat book sounds weirdly familiar...but I guess I don't remember either."", 'time': '18:30 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Angel Thompson': ""Thank you for reading! \nThat book sounds weirdly familiar...but I guess I don't remember either."", 'time': '18:30 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'I wonder what nuggets of wisdom reside with that whimsical unicorn? \n\nWelcome to Reedsy Angel. :)', 'time': '20:52 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Angel Thompson': ""Thank you! I'm so excited to join the community!"", 'time': '18:04 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'You’ll be glad you came! :)', 'time': '19:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Leland Mesford': 'Yeah. A thousand bucks? Wow, such a great way to build into the euphoria.', 'time': '21:41 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Angel Thompson': ""Thank you! I'm so excited to join the community!"", 'time': '18:04 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'You’ll be glad you came! :)', 'time': '19:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'You’ll be glad you came! :)', 'time': '19:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Yeah. A thousand bucks? Wow, such a great way to build into the euphoria.', 'time': '21:41 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Aww, sad and happy. Wait, is she a real unicorn?', 'time': '21:39 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,az4wa9,Estelle’s Book Club ,Chelsey B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/az4wa9/,/short-story/az4wa9/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship']",9 likes," Estelle Anderson tore through every drawer in her desk, desperately searching for her notes. In 15 minutes, she was due to lead a book club discussion for parents of young children. They had all read a book that explained how children were designed to learn through play. This was the first meeting of the book club, and as the newest librarian at the Mercyville Public Library, she’d had to fight hard to convince her coworkers that the book club was needed. She couldn’t let it fall apart before it even had a chance to really begin.Estelle rummaged through each drawer a second time, still coming up empty. She grabbed a clump of hair from each side of her head and pulled until it hurt. Where could it be? She was sure she’d left the outline on top of her desk when she’d gone home the previous night. There was no doubt in her mind. She hadn’t taken it with her because she’d been afraid of accidentally forgetting it at home. Estelle crawled under her desk, searching between every crack and crevice where paper could have fallen. She glanced at the clock and saw that she was down to seven minutes. As she crept back out and carefully stood up, something in the trash can caught her eye. There, splattered with coffee, covered in crumbs, and stuck with a random wad of gum, were all her notes.Estelle fought the urge to cry as she blotted the papers with tissues from her desk. Who would have thrown her notes in the trash? The cleaners knew better than to touch anything on the librarian’s desks. And, why was there a coffee cup in her garbage can? She didn’t even like coffee, and definitely never drank it. Estelle didn’t have time to figure it out right now. She had about two minutes to get to the conference room and start greeting the members of her book club.Estelle straightened her skirt, smoothed out her hair, grabbed her soggy notes, and rushed down to the conference room. She was glad she’d thought to set up the room as soon as she’d arrived at work that morning, so that was one less thing to worry about. Estelle reached for the door handle and turned it as she pulled, only to find the door was locked. How odd. She was certain that she’d left the room opened, because it was only supposed to take a minute for her to retrieve her notes. She peeked in the little window and saw that the cardboard boxes, tubes, and other loose parts that she’d so thoughtfully collected (so the parents could have a chance to experience self directed play) were no where to be seen. Estelle was beginning to feel like she was either losing her mind, or someone was trying to sabotage her. She ran to the circulation desk to grab the conference room keys.“Hey, Janet. Can I have the keys to the conference room? The door was somehow locked again,” Estelle explained.“No problem,” Janet replied, handing over the key ring.Estelle ran to the conference room and unlocked it. She would decide what to do about her lack of loose parts when the time came. Speaking of time, why wasn’t anybody here yet? She’d had 15 parents RSVP to this event, and it was now six minutes past when it was supposed to start.Estelle set her papers down on the table in the conference room, but thinking better of it, took them with her. She walked to the library’s main entrance, to make sure her book club members weren’t confused, and waiting in the wrong spot.The entrance was empty, but Estelle noticed a sign on the door. She stepped through to the other side to see what it said.Book Club Meeting Canceled!Sorry for any inconvenience.Estelle raced back to the circulation desk.“Janet, who put the sign on the front door? Who canceled my book club meeting?” she demanded to know.“Gosh, I don’t know,” Janet sputtered.It was then that Estelle noticed a disposable coffee cup on Janet’s desk. It was identical to the one that Estelle had found dumped out in her trash can.“Hey, Janet, do you have a piece of gum I could chew?” Estelle asked, her suspicion growing.“Of course,” Janet said, leaning down to grab a piece from her desk drawer. As Janet pulled out a pack of gum, which happened to be the same color and flavor as the piece in Estelle’s trash can, her foot shifted, and a mountain of cardboard tubes cascaded out from under her desk.“Umm, Janet? You sure you don’t know who canceled my book club?” Estelle asked again.“We should talk,” Janet said.She placed a sign on the desk telling patrons that she’d be back in 15 min, then lead Estelle to the break room.“I did it. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I was really good friends with the librarian who was here before you, and it’s been hard to watch you make changes to the way she did things. I think part of me is jealous that you were hired for the position, instead of me, as well,” Janet mumbled, refusing to meet Estelle’s eyes.“Janet, I don’t even know what to say to you. This book club is a really important step in improving the lives of the children in our community. And my job is something I put my heart and soul into. I was chosen for the position because I was the best candidate,” Estelle began.“I’m really sorry,” Janet murmured, still refusing to meet Estelle’s eyes.“You might not know this, but I was a kindergarten teacher for 20 years before I was hired here. I walked away from a career that felt like my life’s purpose the day they removed the play kitchen and dress up corner from my classroom. The higher-ups demanded that 5 year olds have more rigorous academics in their days. I refuse to do anything other than what is in the best interest of children. Here, away from school administrators and policies, I can do what’s right. I can make a difference. Mary was a wonderful librarian, and her legacy will be long lasting. But times are changing, and the library needs to change to fit the needs of children. It’s never a good idea to continue doing something a certain way just because that’s the way it’s always been done. We have research now that tells us that children learn best through play and movement. You’re going to start seeing a lot more play and movement at the library, and you’ll probably be hearing more noise, too. Children are people and they deserve to fully exist in public,” Estelle continued.“I know you’re right,” Janet said, finally glancing in Estelle’s direction.“I would love to have a partner in all of this at the library. It would be nice to have someone on my side, instead of always feeling like I have to convince others that what I’m doing is good. You can be that person, or we can constantly butt heads. I don’t intend to let anything stop me, either way,” Estelle finished. “I would like to be that person,” Janet declared.Estelle and Janet put their differences aside and went on to create the most impactful children’s department any library has ever known. ","August 18, 2023 12:56","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': ""I'm so frustrated by Janet's behavior! She sabotaged Estelle in so many ways! \n\nIt wasn't clear to me why Janet confessed when she did. I think it would a little stronger if Janet denied her involvement for longer or if the stakes were higher, like she didn't admit it until Estelle threatened to go to the higher-ups at the library. Or maybe there would be a way of showing that Janet felt guilty and that was why she admitted it.\n\nThanks for sharing this story!"", 'time': '19:20 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Were you a teacher at some point, frustrated with the direction education has gone? It feels like you’re speaking from experience and what you had to say here is very true! \n\nMakes me even more glad I work at a school that gives as much importance to hands-on learning and being in nature, as it does to academia. :)', 'time': '03:38 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chelsey B': 'Not a teacher, but a nanny who has seen how school is harming children. I also have a friend who runs a nature immersion preschool and it’s the most magical thing I’ve ever experienced. Children treated with respect, trusted, allowed to move as much as their bodies need, allowed to take risks, encouraged to follow their own interests. There is no doubt in my mind which way of schooling benefits children more.', 'time': '13:00 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'J. D. Lair': 'Makes sense. :) my kids are not even two yet, but I’m glad they’ll have a place to go that let’s them just be kids', 'time': '14:11 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chelsey B': 'Not a teacher, but a nanny who has seen how school is harming children. I also have a friend who runs a nature immersion preschool and it’s the most magical thing I’ve ever experienced. Children treated with respect, trusted, allowed to move as much as their bodies need, allowed to take risks, encouraged to follow their own interests. There is no doubt in my mind which way of schooling benefits children more.', 'time': '13:00 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'J. D. Lair': 'Makes sense. :) my kids are not even two yet, but I’m glad they’ll have a place to go that let’s them just be kids', 'time': '14:11 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'J. D. Lair': 'Makes sense. :) my kids are not even two yet, but I’m glad they’ll have a place to go that let’s them just be kids', 'time': '14:11 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Chelsea, I like the way that you write in a straightforward manner. Your story discusses a common human problem, getting along with your peers and people reporting to you.\n\nA couple of friendly suggestions. The cadence of your story would be improved by breaking up a few of your longer paragraphs. Also, the numbers 1-10 are usually written out rather than using the numerical form.', 'time': '17:42 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chelsey B': 'Thanks for the feedback.', 'time': '17:54 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chelsey B': 'Thanks for the feedback.', 'time': '17:54 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,6g2tvk,The Book of Sins,Aaron Kohlhoff,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6g2tvk/,/short-story/6g2tvk/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Funny']",9 likes," Elizabeth Parris had only been working at the Anton LeVay Memorial Library for about 300 years and she knew there was a lot she needed to learn but still, any volume of The Book of Sins should have been easy to find. There was a whole damn floor dedicated to the series. Every day, part of her job was to pick one out and she’d never seen them out of order. This was the one area of the library that was meticulously organized. The books were always where the Library of Congress Classification system said they should be. Elizabeth looked down at the oily scrap of paper in her hand, looked up at the three-inch gap on the shelf, and bit her bottom lip. 83,429 was missing. 83,428 was there. 83,430 was there. But 83,429 was mysteriously gone. She looked all over. Above and below the shelf. She looked behind the other books just in case it got pushed to the back on accident. Mr. Holmes had passed by on his way to stock the Romance section and she asked if he’d seen it. He just shook his head and moved on. She sighed and her shoulders dipped. The stupid thing was nowhere to be found.  Mr. Morningstar was going to be pissed.  Elizabeth finally gave up. She left the aisle and started back down the spiral staircase to the lobby. The stairs were a little tricky because they were just four inches deep and so narrow that only one person could comfortably use them at a time. It was annoying but, all things considered, it totally made sense. Mr. Duvalier was on his way up with four dozen copies of the newest edition of Elevator World. It was the only magazine available for checkout. They had to awkwardly shimmy by each other and she asked if there was anything good in the issue. His eyes lit up as he told her about the newest button review.  She got to the bottom of the stairs and she could already tell Mr. Morningstar was in a mood. She could hear his voice booming across the lobby as he chastised Ms. Bathory about everything he deemed as unnecessarily pleasant.  “The tone is all wrong. I said 80 decibels and 5,000 hertz. This,” Mr. Morningstar pointed to the speaker above his head. “This is clearly 65 decibels and 3,500 hertz. Fix it.” “Yes Mr. Morningstar.” Bathory said. Mr. Morningstar picked up a dog-eared copy of Atlas Shrugged and waved it in her face. “And I’m seeing more and more books where the pages aren’t sticky enough. How many times to I need to say it. Every page needs to be sticky.” “Yes Mr. Morningstar.” “Are people still getting paper cuts?” “Yes Sir. Every time they turn a page just like you asked.” “Good. And no more endings right? The last 40 pages are ripped out of every single book?” “We kept some of the bad endings Sir.” “No. I want them all gone. There should be no resolutions of any kind.” Mr. Morningstar was such a perfectionist.  Elizabeth swallowed hard. It was time to get this over with. She approached the front desk and Mr. Morningstar’s face darkened even more when he noticed she didn’t have the book with her.  “Liz, what the heaven? Where’s today’s volume?” He asked. “It’s not there Sir. Yesterday’s volume was back and tomorrow’s sins are right where they should be. In fact, everything else was in place. All the sins from the past and all the ones coming up. It’s just today’s book that is missing.” “I don’t have time for this Liz. The Soul Exchange opens in a half hour. You know how short the collection window is.” “I’m sorry Sir, I looked everywhere.” “Did you check the security footage?” “Not yet Sir.” Mr. Morningstar sighed a dramatic sigh and started toward the security room just off the lobby. “I have to do everything around here.” He mumbled. Elizabeth and Ms. Bathory followed a few steps behind.  “What happens if we can’t find it?” Bathory whispered. “We’ll lose a whole days worth of souls.” Elizabeth replied. “If he can’t provide the serial numbers to the Exchange Masters, they push the unclaimed souls back into the ether at the end of the window. They can’t let souls pile up for more than a day.” “I wonder why they didn’t make Limbo bigger.”  “Who knows. I think that was another one of God’s dumb ideas.” Mr. Morningstar entered the security room and the women followed. He sat down at a tiny desk with Coleco Adam on top. The keyboard was filthy and, even from a distance, Elizabeth could see crumbs filling the spaces between the keys. Mr. Morningstar logged in, entered a few commands and a grainy blue-green image of the aisle with the missing tome appeared on the screen. He rewound the footage. After a few moments, a man pushing a cart appeared on the screen and Mr. Morningstar slowed the video. The man stopped, looked around, took 83,429 off the shelf, and continued down the aisle. Mr. Morningstar rewound the footage, watched it again, and then turned to the women. “Who is that guy?” He asked. “That’s David Torbjörn. He works in Fan Fiction. Not sure why he would be looking through The Book of Sins section.” Elizabeth said.  “Well, why don’t we go find out.” Mr. Morningstar said. They left the security office and started toward the stairs. Fan Fiction was on the 13th floor and was, by far, the largest section of the library. They found David Torbjörn stocking the Harry Potter section with new releases. Mr. Morningstar tapped him on the shoulder and Torbjörn’s eyes widened.  “Where is 83,429?” Mr. Morningstar asked. “We know you took it and I don’t have time for this shit.” Torbjörn looked down and mumbled something at his feet. “Speak up son.”  “I burned it Sir.”  “What?!” Mr. Morningstar exclaimed. “How?”  Torbjörn gave Mr. Morning a confused look and cocked his head to the side. “Right…” Morningstar said. “Nevermind. Why? Why would you burn it?” “Today is the day my wife was going to The Exchange Sir. I didn’t want to see her here.” “If she had a serial number, she deserves to be here.” “It was just one mistake. I know it was a big one, but that was the only thing she ever did wrong and she sought treatment right after. It was decades ago. She really was a good person.”  “One mistake, one hundred mistakes, one thousand mistakes. It doesn’t matter. If she had a serial number she is supposed to be here. We can’t start making exceptions. Can you imagine the paperwork if every One Mistaker wanted to appeal?” Mr. Morningstar rubbed the bridge of his nose.” So the book is completely gone?” “Yes Sir.” “Well…fuck.” Mr. Morningstar shook his head. “You know I can’t let this slide.”  “I know Sir.” “Right. Well, it’s off to the Pop Country level for you.”  Ms. Bathory leaned into Elizabeth. “Is that bad?” “It’s worse than you can image.” “Poor guy. It’s going to be a long eternity.” Torbjörn hung his head as he started to march down the aisle.  “Why are you here anyway?” Mr. Morningstar asked. “I used to not flush public toilets on purpose Sir. I thought it would be funny.” Torbjörn gave Mr. Morningstar a weak smile.  “Ugh..you people are the worst.” Mr. Morningstar turned to Elizabeth. “Liz, can you finish stocking these shelves. I’m going to escort David downstairs.”  “Yes Sir.” Elizabeth replied.  “We will get back to normal tomorrow.”  Mr. Morningstar led David down the aisle, past the Star Wars and Tolkien sections, and disappeared into the dark. Elizabeth turned and started stocking the shelves. ","August 13, 2023 23:23","[[{'Gregg Punger': 'Really interesting and creative take on the prompt.', 'time': '22:08 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,p04apy,THE AGE OF INNOCENCE,Charles Corkery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p04apy/,/short-story/p04apy/,Fiction,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Friendship', 'Sad']",9 likes," THE AGE OF INNOCENCEThey sat on the grass outside the village library awaiting Toby’s return; he having been sent to scope out the building. They watched as he walked back towards them, a mournful look on his face.“It’s the old battle-axe on duty. She absolutely loathes me so I daren’t ask her. What do we do now?’Miss Aznavour, the librarian, at the age of 36, hardly qualified for Toby’s description of being old. Nor was she a battle-axe. Rather, in her usual twin set and pearls, she was the epitome of a woman who had long given up hope of finding love and lived with her French mother in a cottage just a stone’s throw from her place of employment, resigned to her spinsterhood. To Miss Aznavour, the children of the village were her children and, little did they know, that she spent hours devouring book reviews and selecting suitable books for the children of Pinewater Village so that they, too, could discover the wonderful worlds that existed in literature, much as she, herself, had done as a child. When they did well in their exams or were accepted by a university, as Sebastian had been, she glowed with pride.She watched as Sebastian approached her. Intelligent, handsome Sebastian, though fast departing adolescence, still retained a touch of innocence that melted Marie Aznavour’s heart.“Hello, Sebastian. You’ve been delegated, have you?”Sebastian looked up shyly at the librarian, a puzzled look on his face, but followed her stare towards the library doors and the four faces peeping in.Swallowing, he got straight to the point.“I say, Miss Aznavour, yesterday, Toby returned a book and...”“Swallows and Amazons. I seem to recall it was one of your favourites, Sebastian. At least, I presumed so as you checked it out so many times”.Sebastian blushed red. He was of an age, with college fast approaching, when he did not care to be reminded too often of his youthful pastimes.“The thing is, Miss, we think he may have misplaced a five pound note inside the book, possibly uh, probably, that is. I wondered...”“Well, why don’t we have a look, Sebastian?”With a quick glance back at his friends, Sebastian followed the woman to the children’s section of the library where she scoured the book shelves, alphabetically labelled. Under R there was no sign of the book. Sebastian’s face expressed his glumness.“Well, it’s not here, is it? I’m quite sure that it hasn’t been checked out again -which means that Vera, my assistant, can’t have processed it yet. Let’s try the returned book trolley”.Sebastian’s face brightened, once more, as he followed her dutifully.“All ready for university, Sebastian?”“Uh, yes, Miss. Yes I am. Though it will be a wrench to leave, you know, the village”.“And your friends, too, I expect”.“Yes, of course”.“Here we are and, look, here it is. Vera can be a bit slow to process returned books. You’re lucky. If I had been on duty yesterday evening, this book may already have been checked out by another fortunate child. Now, let’s see”.With Sebastian looking on expectantly, the librarian took the book by its front cover and shook it. Out fluttered the five pound note. Sebastian grabbed at it delightedly.“What’s it for, this money, if you don’t mind me asking?”“Oh no, Miss. Not at all. You see, we all pooled our piggy bank savings and took all the coins to the bank and exchanged it for this note. We plan to go to Holtoms and order up as much food and pop as we can afford and have a farewell party”.Miss Aznavour smiled at this but was puzzled by one thing.“But why the note? Mr Holtom would have accepted money in any form, surely?”Blushing, Sebastian answered.“We just want to see the look on his face. You see, every time one of us enters his shop, he follows us around suspiciously as if we’re thieves. It’s rather annoying. We just want to see the look on his greedy face. It’s silly, I suppose...”“No. I understand perfectly, Sebastian”.And, looking at the librarian anew, Sebastian, somehow, knew that she did understand.Just an hour earlier, the five friends had been crowded into Toby’s bedroom, rummaging through his drawers, rifling through books, emptying out his wardrobe; clothes and artefacts scattered everywhere. Sebastian, the eldest, suddenly called for quiet.“Wait! This is crazy. Let’s all calm down for just a mo and think”.“Gosh, I hope you’ll all help me tidy this mess up before my mother gets home”, Toby whined, looking around at the bomb site that his bedroom had become.“You can just blooming well clean it up yourself, Tobes. You’re the cause of all this, after all”, Toby’s sister, Pete, short for Petunia, responded.Sebastian, the undoubted leader of this motley gang, called for silence. Outside, birds could be heard singing away happily as they revelled in the sunshine; all talk of possible war with Germany forgotten on this perfect English summer day.“Now listen, chaps”, he began, Pete glowing with pride at being considered one of the chaps but Alice, her cousin, who spent an inordinate amount of time preening herself in front of a mirror, not so enamoured of this collective noun, crinkled her nose in protest. Sebastian, oblivious to the fact that he was the reason for her titivating, continued.“Let’s all have a jolly good think about this. Toby, what were your exact movements yesterday after Jasper gave you the envelope?”Toby, a shy bookish boy, much given to distraction and absent-mindedness, took off his glasses and polished them on his Ladybird tee shirt, a sign that he was giving serious consideration to this question.“Well, I remember coming home...”“You s.s.said that you were going to return your library b.b.books b.b.because one of them w.w.was overdue”, blurted Jasper, his stutter evident as usual whenever he was excited.“Yes, that’s right. One of them was overdue and I didn’t want to cop another fine. Rather a good yarn, too, Have any of you read Swall...”“Never mind about the book, Toby. Did you go to the library? Yes or no?”“Well, as a matter of fact, I did. I’d forgotten all about that. Thanks, Jasp”.The others let out a unified sigh of exasperation.“You nitwit, Tobes. How could you forget that you went to the library?” Pete exclaimed; always ready to find fault with her brother.“Toby, we have spent hours searching everywhere in this house for the envelope, including the destruction of your bedroom, and you failed to tell us that you had actually visited the library after you had returned home. Can you not see how frustrating you are? You were specifically entrusted with the care of the money and...”Sebastian was halted in mid-stream as Jasper, despite his speech ailment, the most gung-ho of the five friends, clambered over Toby’s bed and darted for the door.“Jasp, where are you off to?” his sister, Alice, called after him.“T.t.to the l.l.library!”.Of course, she had understood. Marie Aznavour, though English, had arrived in Pinewater with her French mother which was reason enough to have been cast as an outsider; a label that had taken several years for her to throw off. Oh yes, Miss Aznavour knew only too well what it was like to be viewed suspiciously in Holtoms. This same Marie Aznavour who, upon the death of her mother in three years time, would volunteer her services, as a French speaking person, to SOE, be parachuted into occupied France to work with the resistance, would discover love, finally and briefly, in the arms of a resistance leader, be betrayed by his jealous wife, captured and tortured by the Gestapo and, finally, executed at Dachau concentration camp just two days before it was liberated by the Americans, smiled as she watched Sebastian rejoin his friends gleefully. She felt deep joy as the five children whooped and hugged over the recovery of the five pound note; her children.The village shop, owned by Mr and Mrs Holtom and known to one and all as Holtoms, stood adjoining the cobbler’s opposite the village green. It was the only food shop in the vicinity and Mr. Holtom was well aware of that, charging far too much for food items that, otherwise, would have entailed a ten mile journey to the nearest town; an undertaking most villagers could not easily make as they did not own a motor car. In one corner of this store, which, somehow, seemed to stock everything, stood a glass cabinet in which every conceivable sweet that a child could possibly want was displayed. Though the glass prevented a shopper from touching, nevertheless, whenever a child entered the store and, as if drawn by magnetic force, made a beeline for this treasure trove, Mr Holtom would drop whatever he was doing, no matter how important, and scrutinise the child until, finally, he, or she, would move away. He may as well have put up a sign: No window shopping allowed. To Mr Holtom only good, hard cash was important.What a shock this man received when the five burst into his emporium and, instead of clamouring around his glass display of untouchables, they, led by that Sebastian whose father owned the only motor car in Pinewater, gathered around the main counter with a grocery list of adult items. Mrs. Holtom, her eyes transfixed by the sight of that large, blue, Bank of England five pound note that Sebastian held in his hand, rushed to fill his order while her avaricious partner looked on, mouth agape.Poor timid, put upon Mrs. Holtom, dominated by her husband, would suffer a severe mental breakdown from which she would never recover when, in exactly twelve months time, she would be the recipient of a telegram informing her of the death of her only child, Flying Officer Nigel Holtom, RAF, whose single seater Supermarine Spitfire aircraft would be shot down in an aerial encounter with German aircraft that would become known as The Battle of Britain.While we are in this part of the village, let us spare a thought for the cobbler whose shop adjoined Holtoms. This man had arrived in Pinewater, from Warsaw, Poland, almost twenty five years previously and had set up shop before the Holtoms, themselves, had arrived. Yet he was still considered an outsider despite the demand for his undoubted skill at repairing shoes. Not even addressed by the moniker of “cobbler,” he was known to all and sundry as “the shoe mender”. Real name: Karel Koslowski, he worked diligently every day, smiled politely to all his customers, returned to his lonely cottage each night and pined for his Polish family. Four years from now, he would open his shop, as usual, one morning, then lock the door. Quietly, he would extract the laces from the many, many pairs of shoes that sat on shelves, their leather giving this shop its pungent, familiar odour. Then he would weave, knot and fashion a noose and hang himself from the oaken rafter; as he swung, the letter he had received that morning, informing him of the death of his mother and father in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, would flutter to the ground.The five needed two trips in the rowing boat across to One Tree Island, in order to transport themselves and their goods. The boat belonged to Sebastian’s father and was moored on the private jetty that loomed over the Thames at the bottom of the family garden. As they hauled the wooden crate of pop and the picnic basket up onto the grass, unknown to them, they were being observed through binoculars by Professor Quintin Channon, Sebastian’s father, from his study at the rear of the house. Once he saw that all five were safely ashore, he relaxed and left them to enjoy their feast. How he longed to tell his only child how much he loved him but the “stiff upper lip” instilled in him as a child simply forbade it. This highly intelligent man would go on to win honours for his work at Bletchley Park, breaking down the German’s Enigma Code that would help win the war for England, but would never recover from the loss of his beloved son who, only a few months into university life, would suddenly, in a fit of patriotic duty, enlist, only to lose his life in the Dunkirk evacuation.Their food laid out on the picnic blanket, their mouths watering, the five friends stared with pride at the feast they had gathered: pork pies, sausage rolls, scotch eggs, great slabs of Cadbury’s chocolate. In the crate sat bottles of their favourite pop: Cream Soda, Tizer and Lucozade; all warm and fizzy. Little did they know that this would be their last supper together; the age of innocence passing. They reminisced, laughed and gorged until, fully sated, they made their way back across to the jetty in the twilight.Petunia and Toby, would never hear of Sebastian’s death for they would be sent by their parents to the “safety” of relatives in the United States upon the outbreak of war but would both be among the 117 passengers of the S.S. Athenia that perished when struck by a German torpedo off the coast of Scotland.My sister, Alice, and I would mourn our two cousins and friends together, inconsolable. A year later, when the news of Sebastian’s death was revealed, the shock proved too much for poor Alice who walked into the Thames at high tide and was no more.I, of course, survived everything. I still stutter occasionally but, usually, only when I think back on those days. It was a time of joy, friendship, innocence and, dare I say it, love. For us, it was idyllic for we were blind to everything outside of our band of five. To us, we were the Swallows and Amazons, inseparable until, one fateful day, the promise made by Neville Chamberlain of peace in our time was shattered forever. ","August 14, 2023 22:31","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': 'I love the descriptions. There are these long winding sentences explaining everyone\'s fate, and I think they work really well except this one: ""This same Marie Aznavour who, upon the death of her mother in three years time, would volunteer her services, as a French speaking person, to SOE, be parachuted into occupied France to work with the resistance, would discover love, finally and briefly, in the arms of a resistance leader, be betrayed by his jealous wife, captured and tortured by the Gestapo and, finally, executed at Dachau concentrati...', 'time': '20:14 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Heather Van Rensburg': 'A poignant story highlighting the futility of war.', 'time': '08:39 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Ah, the view of hindsight.', 'time': '13:58 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,c5patv,Love's Magic,Anthony Carello,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/c5patv/,/short-story/c5patv/,Fiction,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Romance', 'Teens & Young Adult']",9 likes,"          When Erika Simons stepped into her job at the library nestled in her small town, an idea sparked in her mind like the flicker of an old, forgotten tale. As a child, her grandmother's captivating stories had woven a tapestry of girls infatuated with princes far beyond their social status. These stories, though timeless, held an air of whimsical impossibility. The notion that nothing these girls did could capture the prince's attention, until the moment they chanced upon a hidden love spell, was a recurring theme. These spells always lay concealed within the pages of ancient books, an element that Erika couldn't help but find a tad cliché. Yet, she couldn't deny the appeal that the idea had. The incantation, whispered with both desperation and hope, seemed to kindle a transformative magic. The prince, through forces arcane and dumfounding, would become enamored with the girl. He would defy his predetermined fate, forsaking the princess destined by his lineage, and escape with the humble girl. It was a tale that had transcended generations, echoing in Erika's heart as she stood among the shelves of the library, wondering if there was a hint of truth in these age-old legends.          Since Erika was early to work, she had a couple hours till the library was scheduled to open its doors. There was something that calmed her about the quiet time before her shift. Once the customers started rummaging through the shelves and began asking questions, there would be no peace for her. That was why she always made an effort to come in extra early, in an attempt to prolong the solitude her book provided her. Ever since she was capable of flipping a page, Erika was enthralled with reading. Opening a book and being drawn into the fantastical worlds crafted by the authors helped her escape her mundane chores and duties for a while. Then, a thought popped into her head.          Maybe I should give Tyler a call?          Tyler had been Erika’s best friend ever since second grade. They shared everything and she cherished his friendship. Pulling her phone out of her back pocket, she opened it and pressed the image of Tyler’s face. Brrr..Brrr………….. Brrr..Brrr………….. Brrr..Brrr………….. “Hello?” A sleepy voice answered from the other side, and Erika felt a pang of guilt for having woken Tyler up. “Hey… Did I wake you?” Erika started to nervously play with a strand of her hair and she absentmindedly tapped the edge of the desk she stood behind.  “Oh yeah… well you did wake me, but it’s fine. What’s going on?”          Now she felt like she shouldn’t have called her best friend and wanted to say it was nothing. Tyler must have realized what Erika had been thinking because he spoke up again before Erika could answer. “No seriously, it’s fine. I needed to get up anyway. Now, will you tell me what’s up? “I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to the library and help me look for a book?” The line was quiet for a moment and Erika thought she heard him yawn. “Sure, I’ll see you soon.” Tyler's response finally came, and Erika couldn't contain her excitement, letting out a small, joyful cheer. “You’re the best! Bye!” She didn’t wait for him to reply, instead she hung up and began to get the library ready. Excitement coursed through her body as she did all the necessary tasks.          Once she had finished everything, she needed to do to get the library ready, she began to search the shelves for a long-forgotten book. Erika remembered when she first started, that the library had a huge selection of old book and that had drawn her to the job. Ancient texts were so fascinating, giving a glimpse into another time. Now, however, she was looking for something specific – a love spell.           She searched row after row of books, carefully checking each one. After some time, she heard the door open and was startled by the sudden noise. Bing-bong.          Nobody should enter the library right now, we’re still closed. “Hello?” Erika called out, her voice sounding meeker than she meant to. “Hellooo, it’s Tyler… Where are you?” She could hear him walking throughout the library, in an attempt to find her. While their town was small, the library was not. “I’m in the ancient book section.” “You guys have an ancient book section?”          After a few moments, she saw him enter the correct aisle. She saw his face light up and a smile grew on his face. She had to admit, it felt good to see him too. “Hey Tyler. So, don’t laugh but I’m trying to find a love spell.” She paused for a second to gauge his reaction and once she saw that he wasn’t going to laugh at her, she continued. “I was hoping to recite it and get Brad to finally see me…” She looked down at the ground, then back up to meet Tyler’s eyes. It was hard for her to read what emotions he was feeling in that moment. Erika thought she saw sadness on his face, but it might be something more than that. Before she had time to wonder about it, he spoke up. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” “Maybe you could help me find a book with ancient spells?”          There was a moment of silence, and something felt awkward. She wasn’t sure why; Tyler already knew that she had a crush on Brad. In fact, they had long conversation about it, in which he let her go on in length about all the reasons why she liked him. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that when she brought it up this time, something was off. “Sure, I’ll help you.”          Erika was relieved by Tyler’s response and relaxed as the atmosphere began to shift back to normal. She told him what he could do to help, and they began to task. As they searched the shelves together, she realized that they were working their way toward each other. She thought nothing of it, then they bumped into each other. It was a gentle collision but when their skin touched, she felt butterflies fill her stomach. Her skin became flushed and she could hear her heart start to quicken. Erika had no idea why she felt this way, Tyler was only a friend after all – her best friend. She turned her face away and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. After all, she was trying to find a love spell for Brad, and she needed to focus. Checking her watch, she realized that the library was scheduled to be opening soon.  “Sorry, I have to go get the library ready for customers. I really appreciate your help though.” “Uhm, okay. I’ll be here.”          She quickly got up and hurried off toward her desk. Not without first looking back at the bewildered Tyler and noticing that his face was in fact flush too.           I wonder why his face is so red all of a sudden? It’s not possible that he is interested in being more than friends… As she got to her desk, she shook her head and tried to clear her mind. The thoughts and emotions running through her were too much for her. Bing-bong. When she heard the sound of the bell, she had never been so happy to see a customer. For the rest of her shift, she would help customers find what they were looking for, and occasionally go over to Tyler to check on how he was doing. The time seemed to fly by and before she knew it, it was time to close the library. So, she walked over to the door and grabbed the sign that said, “Come in, we’re open.” With a flip, the sign now read “Sorry, we’re closed.” Erika took a deep breath and walked over to Tyler, who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor. The fact that he had spent his entire Saturday at the library helping her find a love spell made her wonder: why did he do it? She reasoned that with his looks and personality that he must be able to find a date. Still, he had spent his whole day helping her. Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer for herself, she decided to ask him. Before she could say anything, however, Tyler saw her approaching and spoke. “Oh, I didn’t realize that the library was closing already.” He said and stretched before continuing. “I found several books I think we could try, but I think we should do it soon becau-” “Why did you stay all day and help me?” Erika said, interrupting Tyler. “Uhm, I don’t know. You seemed like you really wanted to find this love spell, and so I wanted to help you.” “But why though? Doesn’t it bother you that it’s for another guy?” She could see him straighten up at her words and he took a moment to gather his thoughts.  “I guess it’s because I just like seeing you happy…”          Silence filled the air, as the weight of Tyler’s words sunk into Erika. They had been friends since the second grade, always involved with each other’s life. She could still remember him as the freckled kid who would come to her house after school and play with her. That same freckle-faced kid was no longer a kid, and neither was she. As she stood in front of Tyler, she took a real look at him. Since they had grown up together, she had never really looked at him in that kind of way. Now, doing so, she wondered if she could see him as more than a friend.          He was tall and muscular for his age. His hair was auburn, and he had light skin, dotted with freckles. His facial features were symmetrical and attractive. Long messy locks of hair would move as he talk, and his ocean blue eyes were something you could get lost in. As Erika continued to look at him, he gave her a slight smile. She realized how much that semi-goofy smile could cheer her up and make her forget her worries. When she looked into his eyes and he gave her that smile, all felt right in her life.           Suddenly, without any more thought, she leaned down and gave him a kiss. It was a quick kiss, and when it was done Erika felt her face go red. Weather it was from suddenly bending over to kiss her long-time best friend, or from embarrassment, she felt faint. She stood up and turned slightly away from Tyler, lightly kicking the ground and looking down. Her mind was racing, and she wondered why he was just sitting there.          I shouldn’t have kissed him. Now he thinks I’m some weirdo. First, I ask him to help me make another guy love me. Then, I kiss him. AHHHHH!           She was so lost in her own thoughts and feelings that she didn’t notice that Tyler had gotten up and was standing beside her. He placed his hand on her, and she startled at his touch. She enjoyed his warm hand on her shoulder, so she stayed still and let him talk first. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted for that to happen.” Tyler said. Erika turned to face him and saw that his face was flushed, just like her. Just maintaining eye contact with him make her heart skip a beat, and the butterflies returned to her stomach. “Well, why didn’t you tell me you felt this way before…” “I wanted to, but you would always talk about Brad or it just never felt like the right time. Also, I didn’t want to make things weird between us, y’know.” Tyler tried to shrug his shoulders and make it seem like this wasn’t a big deal to him, but Erika knew him better than that. She knew that he genuinely had feelings for her and maybe she had known for a while. Thinking back to it, she had seen the signs that he was interested. Ultimately, the fear of ruining their friendship had always stopped her from saying anything. Now there was no hiding and no turning back. “Okay, well, I like you too…” Again, she felt her face go red as she anxiously waited for his response. His response never came. Instead, he put his hand on the small of Erika’s back, and put his other hand gently on the back of her neck. Erika didn’t try to stop him. She embraced him in return, and they kissed. It wasn’t the simple peck on the lips that Erika had given Tyler moments earlier. This was a passionate embrace, filled with years of unspoken attractive and hidden feelings.  Afterwards, Erika took a second and looked into Tyler’s eyes. She realized, in that moment, that what she had been looking for in that book was never real. There was never a love spell. That was just a fantasy that she had built for herself. What was real, however, was the feeling she got when she was with Tyler, only now could she see that. They stayed in each other arms for a long while. Until the sound of Tyler’s stomach could be heard rumbling. Erika looked up at him in surprise. “I guess I’m getting hungry.” Tyler said and gave a nervous chuckle. Erika only giggled at him, thinking it was cute. “Want to come back to my place? I’ll make you some soup.” “That would make me the happiest man in this library.”          The two of them laughed at the corny joke. They tidied up the books that were all over the floor and Erika grabbed her purse. Then, hand in hand they walked out of the library together. Erika smiled to herself as they walked to her house.          I guess what I was searching for was right in front of me after all. ","August 15, 2023 13:48","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': ""Very sweet story! I had trouble figuring out how old the characters were supposed to be. It's categorized as Teens & Young Adult and that seems to match up with the relationship between the characters, but the prompt and the amount of time she spent at the library seemed to suggest that she was an adult professional. \n\nI really liked the relationship between the characters. Thanks for sharing!"", 'time': '20:23 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Anthony Carello': 'Thanks for the feedback. I can see how you would see that. Glad you enjoyed!', 'time': '22:29 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Anthony Carello': 'Thanks for the feedback. I can see how you would see that. Glad you enjoyed!', 'time': '22:29 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anthony Carello': 'I wrote this story for my wife, who used to read romantic stories when she was younger.', 'time': '13:52 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,p80p1s,What Happened to the Library,Solveig Bjermeland,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p80p1s/,/short-story/p80p1s/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny', 'Friendship']",8 likes," It is early Tuesday morning. Gale likes to get to work early. It is 6 AM and the library doesn’t even open until 8. She likes the moments of silence in the building before anyone arrives. She finds it peaceful. Her best friend Per likes to argue that “A library should always be peaceful no matter what time of day. If it is not then Gale, you might not be doing your job right”. Per always finds Gale’s dedication to her work to be amusing but unnecessary at times. The public libraries in general are a dying system not to mention in a small town like this one in northern Minnesota. But nonetheless Gale dedicates her days to keeping this library open. She wanted to make sure that everyone could get the opportunity to open a book and breathe in that old book smell. Gale got her keys out of her pocket and let herself in the front door of the library. It was a cold winter day so she fumbled with the keys for a while before managing to open the cold metal door. She has a set routine that she follows each morning when she opens the library; Open the door, turn on the lights, walk around each section of books and make sure things are just as she left it the night before. But this morning was different. As soon as she stepped foot in the building she knew something was off. She sets down her purse and begins to do her daily rounds of the place. She wanders through each section and as she passes one of the non-fictions aisles she notices a few books have been knocked over.  “Who did this”? She said out loud to herself. She wonders if someone broke in. Only hours ago she had left the building and she knows she did a final check of the place before closing.  “Ugh! Kids these days have no respect for literature”. She assumes that some kids must have broken in and made a mess of the place. At least it was still early and she would have time to clean up before opening.  Gale reaches down to pick up the discarded books when out of nowhere she hears a creature chattering and hissing. Startled by the noises, Gale stumbles onto the ground. She stares in shock as a family of racoons jump out of the bookshelf and scurry under the door of the men’s restroom. Racoons in this town were quite common. As the days get closer and closer to the deep dark winter the racoons must find shelter in warm areas. The library was known as the public building with heating in town. Teens would gather there after school and pretend to study while actually just chatting with friends. Before all the cafes and bars popped up in town, the library was known as the popular hangout place for all people. Evidently with all the changes occurring in the neighborhood the library was no longer a hotspot for people but rather a warm place for raccoons to make their dens in the winter. Though Gale has a soft spot for animals she loves her library more than anything and would not allow it to become a hotel for animals.  Gale checks her watch. It shows thirteen minutes past 6. This gives Gale a little under 2 hours to have everything ready before the library opens. Still lying on the floor from when the racoons made her stumble, Gale takes a deep breath in and out. Now she must evict the raccoons.  For a sixty-two year old Gale thought she was in alright shape but getting off of the ground was still a challenge for her. The first step in her raccoon eviction adventure was standing up. She would normally need the support of a chair or bench to get up but there was nothing close enough to help. “I could call Per”. She thought but she had left her phone in her purse which was still on the table where she left it. Ok, it was time to come up with a plan. She would first roll over from her back to her front. From there she could make it to her hands and knees and then she would figure it out from there. To roll over she tries to build up momentum. Rocking from left to right, left to right, and finally on her third try she was able to build enough momentum to roll onto her stomach. She then puts her hands on the ground and pushes up to her knees. From there she takes a break to look around at her options: a bookshelf she could use to pull herself up but that risks the bookshelf falling over creating a domino effect with all the bookshelves around her, a rocking chair roughly a 20 foot crawl ahead of her but would not be stable enough to support pulling herself to standing, and her phone which was approximately in reach from the ground but a 40 foot crawl away. She didn’t like any of those options and was already physically tired so she knew she had to think quickly.  She looks at the books on the bottom shelf next to her. They were all large science textbooks.  “Sorry books. I thank you for your help”. She whispers at the books while frantically pulling them off the shelves. Staking one book on top of the next she builds 2 nice towers of books. She places the largest and heaviest books at the bottom and then slowly builds up from there.  Eventually she is left with two book towers about an arm length in height from the ground which she then places her hands on the books and uses them to push herself up to standing. She was impressed by her quick thinking ability and agility to stand up from the floor. Her pride was short-lived when she tripped on the books she had just stacked. She instinctively grabbed onto the bookshelves for balance. She was semi-successful in regaining her balance but in return toppled the bookshelf over creating a loud and destructive domino effect with all the other bookshelves in the area.  She stood there gasping in horror at the mess she had made. Hundreds of books to put back in place. There was no way she would be finished by 8. Gale shuffles over to the table on which she had left her purse. She reaches inside it for her cellphone. She begins to type in the numbers to phone for her best friend Per. He is always willing to help her. Not to mention he is 8 years younger than her and therefore more physically fit than she. Maybe he could help lift the fallen bookshelves. She listened to the ring of her phone and then it went to voicemail. Per was never the type of person to wake up early. It was no doubt to Gale that he was still sleeping at half past six. She left a voicemail. “Good morning Per. I hope my call finds you well”. She always started her messages as such. Despite being in the midst of absolute chaos there was always time for pleasantries. “I am here at the library and erm… there seems to be a bit of a problem. Could really use your assistance now if you’re not too busy. Thank you dear… This is Gale by the way”. She hangs up the phone and puts it back in her purse. Gale looks around at the mess around her. Fallen bookshelves, books out of place and raccoon poop scattered throughout the floor which she had only just noticed. It was time to clean up. “Where should I start”? She asked herself.  The raccoons seem to be the most pressing issue at the moment. With them there who knows what other ruckus may occur. When she last saw the raccoons there were about three or four of them that had scurried off into the men’s restroom. Raccoons can be dangerous. They have sharp claws and teeth that they can use against predators. Gale has never come in contact with a live raccoon before so she isn’t exactly sure how to go about this. Across from the men’s restroom was a gender neutral restroom. Gale goes inside and finds some supplies she could use as gear. She puts on a pair of rubber gloves that go up to the elbow, a mop bucket she uses as a helmet and a fire extinguisher to use as a weapon. She then exits the bathroom and finds all the books she can about raccoons. She reads about them for a while, learning about their likes, dislikes and other relevant qualities. After she feels like she is sufficiently prepared, she approaches the men’s restroom.  She feels the adrenaline rushing through her body. She has not felt this alive in a while. As she gets closer to the men’s room she listens to the chatter of the raccoons. What could they be talking about? Perhaps they were making a plan of their own. What kind of schemes were they discussing? Gale lets her imagination wander. Three raccoons sitting at a table with each other. One is smoking a cigar. The other two are playing cards. They discuss their days at work and their concern for finding their next home. Gale briefly feels bad for the raccoons. She knows they just need a warm place to live. Just like everyone. She shakes off any guilt she feels for the raccoons when she remembers the state her library is in. A few weeks earlier she heard talk of the city shutting down her library. Gale would never want to risk her job, at least not until she retires. An incident like this would not help. So she decided to keep this a secret. No one needed to know about the mess caused today. She just needed to clean everything up in time and then everything would be fine. Though she was afraid of the raccoons she could not call animal control. They would surely alert the city of the problem. No, she will have to deal with the problem herself.  She kicked the door to the men’s room open with force. Gale let out a loud battle cry and ran in. She saw the raccoons gathered in the corner sleeping. They were not sitting at a table playing cards as she earlier thought. She ran at them and started spraying the fire extinguisher. The raccoons quickly skittered away and Gale ran after them. She chased them towards the front exit door which she had left open. As she ran, the bucket she was using as a helmet fell down over her eyes. She couldn’t see a thing but that didn’t stop her from running full speed in the direction of the front door. Gale knew the library like the back of her hand so she didn’t have concerns about finding her way. Not to mention this all happened so quickly she didn’t have time to think anyway. But what she didn’t see was her best friend Per walking through the open front door. You could see the shock and confusion on his face when he saw an army of raccoons followed by Gale with a bucket on her head and a fire extinguisher in her hands running directly at him. The raccoons manage to sneak past him but Gale, with the bucket covering her eyes, didn’t see Per and smacked right into him, knocking them both over. Gale takes off her bucket to see Per on the floor in front of her. He looks first at Gale then at the mess of the library behind her and then back at Gale. Behind him she could see the rustling of the bushes as the raccoons went back to their homes in the cold. The two of them just stare at each other for a moment without saying a word. The absurdness of the situation sets in and simultaneously Per and Gale laugh. It started with a short chuckle then grew into a full blown uncontrollable howl of laughter. Once they were able to control their laughter they helped each other up from the ground and began putting the library back to its original state.  ","August 11, 2023 20:00",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,tzk4st,Paper cuts,Lucy Popham,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tzk4st/,/short-story/tzk4st/,Fiction,0,"['Funny', 'Fiction']",8 likes," My fingers are patterned with a few paper cuts from putting books away at work in the library, and for the first time ever I am actively looking, trying to find something my mother has gifted me. They are vibrantly, terrifyingly blue plasters. Usually, she buys hair dye for me, as a birthday gift. Now that I think about it… I don’t really know what she’s trying to tell me. I have never once dyed my hair and neither has she. However, it’s my fault for never asking for anything, so maybe… hair dye is her go-to gift for everyone. Now that I think about it, she did give Paul some blue dye. He is very bald. Not even normal bald, I mean he is practically a walking solar panel, quite beautiful really. My mother gave me a pack of plasters this year because I’m always clumsy, and for her entertainment, they’re the only ones I have access to. I would be thankful, however, she has printed her face into every single one. Lighthearted prank, sure, until you get a raise from your boss, get too excited and try to… awkwardly hug them; which they do actually begin to reciprocate… until they look down at your plasters. I tried to cover up the awkward interaction with jazz hands but quickly became heavily aware that no one in the room had watched a theatre production for some reason. I then stupidly tried to explain the history of jazz hands, until I got quickly cut off by my boss who just pointed at the door with a sigh.  My mother hasn’t let me off for that story and it seems to be the funniest story to tell at family gatherings! For her! It’s great she’s having fun though. She laughs the hardest out of everyone she tells. It might be because she’s told it to everyone about five times now, and I think they’re all starting to think she has dementia. I overheard Paul telling everyone that this must be the case because he did in fact used to have long luscious hair! I don’t particularly know if I believe him in all honesty but I think bald people scare me a little bit. I want to confront him a little though. It’s like a little man is on my shoulder telling me to confront him. And the little man has hair so it’s really tense.  Not that I’m usually confrontational! I once tried to tell off a child for bullying another child and then for some reason they both decided to call me names, which was honestly really surprising. I dealt with it like any adult would. Told my mum, tears down my cheeks and she promised if she saw them she’d fight them. I smiled at her with love in my eyes however I was met with her gaze looking into the open like she was actively planning how to fight these anonymous children. Like Batman. Except he wouldn’t beat children up like my mother. I don’t think Batman would do that. My desk at work is dark oak wood. As I open the drawers to the horrifying plasters, I have to listen to a very sweet old man tell me that it’s his favourite type of wood. You’d think it’d end there, except for my lunch break, I end up with more time than usual due to the lack of customers, so I searched up the table. Found the exact same one actually!  Spruce. The man walks over, checking out a book on wood types. I feel a guilty goblin prod me in the tummy. I end up telling the man that the desk is actually spruce. He says I ruined trees for him. I think that’s a bit insensitive considering that the book he had bought literally cut down a tree in order to be made however I guess to each their own. I lose track of time quite quickly as the lack of customers makes it seem like I’m just being paid to watch some Victorian screensaver or something. The store begins to grow shadows and I start putting away all of the books left behind. I find myself at the door locking up until I feel this inhumane finger tap on my shoulder. It felt bone-like and weird so I swivelled my body around and slapped both hands across their face, and one accidentally back onto my own face. I scream in pain. They scream in anger. Then, for just one bittersweet moment, we just pause and look at each other with a mix of anxiety and utter, pure confusion. I accidentally pull my ugly sad face at them. They pull an involuntary one back in repulsion to my face. They open the door I was just about to lock, and leave, handing me a book that reads: “How to make friends.”  Well now I feel a little bad don’t I? What a sad little book. I mean actually, it’s alarmingly heavy which makes me feel as if the way I’m making friends is almost definitely incorrect. In curiosity, I open the book. The first page is blank. Forgot books do that. I laugh to myself a little. I then read the next page. It has the title on it. Also happened to forget books do that too. Starting to feel like a bad librarian now. The next page is an “about the author” section. I feel empathetic towards the author immediately and the need for this book for some people. The empathy only grows when I read about their sweet daughter, who apparently doesn’t have any friends. I read about the author struggling to find ways to help their daughter, so they wrote this book just in case she ever ran into it. It’s enough to make my eyes water, so I sit down at my desk and continue reading. The store is empty. Only I am sitting here, in the dark, barely making out half the words on the pages. I lightly laugh at myself for my laziness in reading in the dark, so I turn on my desk light and continue reading. As my eyes wander, I’m met with a newly appeared image of the author, which was difficult to see in the dark beforehand. My empathy is completely obliterated as I’m met with a photo of my mother. My whole face drops even more when I realise that she used the same photo of her face that she did with the plaster.  ","August 11, 2023 20:54",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,l2zp8w,Beam Me Up,LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l2zp8w/,/short-story/l2zp8w/,Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Fiction', 'Speculative']",8 likes,"      I clasped my hands in front of me like a good little boy and watched Not-Naughty-Librarian thumb through the book looking for something that seemed mighty important to her. I couldn’t tell you what she was so intent on finding that she couldn’t even spare me a passing glance seeing as how I was dead and hadn’t had orientation yet. All I knew was I didn’t seem to be in hell since there was a considerable lack of hellfire and brimstone.      I don’t remember the exact moment I died. Or, rather, I don’t know when my body died as my soul was sucked plum out without my permission. Did I live another few minutes? I have no idea. All I know is I was rushing through a beam of warm light, neither air nor liquid, but somehow seemingly both. I continued whooshing right past some sort of welcome committee. I saw my Granny Coral, her face so jubilant at first, confused as hell the next moment, but by then I was already long past her and whomever else was waiting there for me.      Zooming right by a blur of buildings, people, alien-looking creatures, beams of light; all wrapped snugly in a cocoon of bubbles, I didn’t have much time to process a thing. Looks a lot like a beehive, I thought, as my progression sped up until I found myself jolted to a stop and plopped right smack dab into a polished chair facing a young woman, hair in a loose bun, glasses perched on the end of a pert button nose, a humongous book taking up the space between us on the desk piled high with books of all shapes and sizes. Frankly, she looked like one of those “naughty librarians” I sometimes liked to watch, but I quickly erased the thought because, you know, I was dead, and Granny Coral taught me all about the Good Book and Judgement Day. I probably shouldn’t have been thinking of my sins right that moment lest I inadvertently invite some of that there fire and brimstone I noticed was fortunately not here.     In fact, this room was rather lovely. I took my first good look at the place. Seemed like I was in an ancient library. All stone and wood and stained glass windows, it appeared as if I was somehow in one of those fantasy movies my girlfriend sure loved to watch. I never really understood the appeal, but she said that’s to be expected when you’re a muzzle… er… muddle… uh.. muggle? Hell, I don’t know. I just know that’s the very second I started to tear up thinking about my sweet, perfect Penelope, my favorite nerd, my little angel baby who used to keep a smile on my face.      That’s precisely when Ms. Not-So-Naughty Librarian finally deigned to cast me a glance. “Oh, don’t you fret now, dearie. You’ll see her again before you know it. You’re from the same group, after all.”       I must have looked rather alarmed because she laughed a tinkling little laugh that sounded unlike any laugh I’d ever heard in my whole life. “Well, you’re not holding anything back, you realize. You don’t have to shout your thoughts at me, either.” Her face was sunshine and dandelions as she thrust her full attention on me. Maybe Judgement day wouldn’t be so bad, I mused.      “Oh, calm yourself, sweet soul. You’re still really new, only been here…” her eyes swept down on the page wedged in between her arms resting casually on the desk, “...oh, yes, you’ve only existed for a few lives. But don’t you worry one itty bitty bit. I’ll walk you through a few things and get you settled in to heal the gaps in your energy.”      All complacency left me as a flood of questions drenched my mind like a deluge worthy of Noah. I no sooner opened my mouth to start shooting them questions right out my mouth before she held up her petite hand and closed my mouth right quick.      “Right, then. First, you’ll need to quit calling me Not-So-Naughty Librarian. My name is Akasha. Secondly, my job here is not to judge you. You’ll find there’s none of that fear-mongering nonsense here. And thirdly, my job is Archivist. I document and organize every single life you’ll ever lead, and then I’ll help you in your studies to evaluate your actions and monitor your growth to enlightenment.”She paused then, and the cutest little smile lit up her face. I presumed my embarrassment over the moniker I had gifted her was showing on my face. Could ghosts blush? Was I as red as my Mama’s homemade sangria that she made every summer?      “No, I’m just trying to figure out why you came straight to me instead of to meet your soul group, head to the The Healing Cavern, or see your guides for your Life Review before they brought you here to study. And you are not a ghost. Those poor souls get a little confused before we can coax them to come back home, but they all make their way back eventually.”     I watched the colors from the stained glass play across Akasha’s face, red and orange and yellow and colors I had no name for. The light should have been blinding, but no. I could feel it moving against my skin like a living thing, warm and cool all at once, before becoming me. Sounds crazy, when I think of it in human terms, but this lady here was busy explaining I am not a human, I am a soul who had a human experience. Huh, imagine that. I didn’t really believe Granny Coral or Pastor Hank. I mean, religion seemed so silly, no more reasonable than thinking a wolf swallowed a little girl in a cherry red cape before gobbling up her granny.      “There’s a reason you came to me first, so we’re going to figure that out together! Let’s take a look at the life you just led, shall we?”     All of a sudden, images sprang up out of that big book she’d been studying and oozed all around, like I was watching my surroundings being painted over, a fresh new world in its place. And then I saw myself being born. I had no idea my Mama could scream like that! Hoo boy! I was going to send her the biggest bouquet of flowers just as soon as I was done here. It hit me again as soon as I thought it. I was dead. There weren’t going to be any more flowers sent to Mama or anyone else.     “No, no, no, just a little too far back. Let’s speed this up just a bit, shall we?”     The blobs of paint began to dance around me, and I watched myself growing up. There I was, spitting beets out all over my father’s face when he insisted I would love them even though I was only six months old, and no baby loves beets. The scene was painted anew as Mama’s laugh faded out. I was a few months older and taking my first steps. I was two and scared of a thunderstorm. I was three and lost my mother for a few minutes when I let go of her hand and chased a dragonfly. I was four and skinned my knees up so badly that I carried the scars for the rest of my life. Five and starting kindergarten, bravely not crying even though I really wanted to. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten; memories, but more. I felt everything all over again. The sting of my first heartbreak. The embarrassment of my first time with Lonnie in the backseat of the old car Dad and I spent a full year repairing, that first time ending before I could say “Oh, my God!”     My graduation, Helena - the first woman I ever really, truly loved. Thought I was gonna spend my whole life with that one. But then the baby, that perfect boy, arriving much too early and gone too fast. I watched Helena pack her things and drive away all over again. No Helena. No baby. Months of depression where my entire world turned grey and flavorless, leaving me lost within the ocean of myself, with no anchor to hold me in place. Then Olivia. Warmth returned to my bones then. Three years of carnivals, concerts, movies, getting snowed in during the nor’easter of ninety-four. Then she, too, was gone, but my world only dimmed a little that time.     I saw myself starting my own auto shop, and working with my hands was good and honest work that paid the bills. That’s what Dad said as he slipped away in the hospital bed in the living room. He was proud of me. The energetic and kind hospice nurse wiped my tears. “Thank you, Penelope,” I breathed into her hair. I could smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo all over again. She became my everything from then on out. Sunday dinners with Mama, camping under the stars, that trip to Disney World because Penelope said we never really have to grow up if we don’t want to. I watched it all again, the joy within me expanding until I felt it explode from me and meld with the images of my life.      And then I watched myself collapse, saw through my flesh and muscle to my heart, suddenly still, and the crowd that rushed in on aisle seven of the hardware store. I wasn’t going to finish that crib now. I wasn’t going to paint the nursery. I wasn’t going to see the little lima bean inside Penelope grow into someone I could teach to ride a bike.      The paint faded back into the book, and I sat on the polished chair, half the size I was before, folded in on myself. Penelope glided right through the desk and wrapped her arms around me, breathing fire back into my soul like warm honey, slowly seeping into each molecule.     “How are you here?” I croaked.     Akasha’s voice seemed to come from within me. “I can be any shape you need. So can you. We are limitless. We are everything.”     The doors burst open, and in rushed my father. If anyone ever tells you there are no tears in heaven, they’re a bald-faced liar, I can tell you that, yes sir! But he didn’t give me time to cry. No, sir! He grabbed my hand right up into his and began to pull me along at the speed of light. It could have been a minute, could have been a week, hell if I know, but we came to an abrupt halt right about where I came in and first saw Granny Coral. Souls were lined up and saying goodbye or hello, depending on which way they were heading.    And there was Granny Coral, just like that.     “I wanted to have more time with ya before I headed on down, but this will do.” Her smile was so much more beautiful than I remembered. “I’ll be popping back in here and there for a while, so we can get a slice of blackberry cobbler with ice cream and play catch-up as soon as I get a little work done. Humans are boring to be until they can start getting into trouble. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be taking care of Penelope for you now.”    “You mean…?”     “I’m your granny and your daughter, Pumpkin. Guess we really are Southern.” The raucous laughter that erupted from me at that moment almost drowned out her goodbye as she headed back through the gates. “We will get that cobbler, lickety split! Go get yourself patched up!”      I can’t describe what it’s like here; I can just let you know that you’re really gonna love it. There is no beginning, there is no end, there just is. Why I was flung halfway to Timbuktu when I arrived hasn't been made clear yet; however, I have a lot to learn over the course of innumerable lives to come. There's no rush. I'll be having a lot of human experiences, I reckon. How 'bout that? Having human experiences is great ‘n all, but being a soul sure takes the cake. Yeah, you're gonna love it here. ","August 17, 2023 04:15","[[{'Helen A Smith': 'This story quickly enveloped me into another world. \nI like the way you describe the MC whooshing past the welcoming committee which included a jubilant, then confused Granny Coral. Also, liked the imagery of the beehive.\nYour attempt at showing different scenes in a life that was cut short and how he’d got to that point was seamless.\n“Being a soul sure takes the cake.”What better way to end. A great take on the prompt. Well done.', 'time': '10:57 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': 'Thank you so much! Coming from such a talented writer as yourself makes your enjoyment that much more sweet.', 'time': '18:10 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Helen A Smith': 'What a nice thing to say! I work hard at stories and keep learning from other writers on Reedsy.', 'time': '18:52 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': 'Thank you so much! Coming from such a talented writer as yourself makes your enjoyment that much more sweet.', 'time': '18:10 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Helen A Smith': 'What a nice thing to say! I work hard at stories and keep learning from other writers on Reedsy.', 'time': '18:52 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Helen A Smith': 'What a nice thing to say! I work hard at stories and keep learning from other writers on Reedsy.', 'time': '18:52 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,2faoka,The Lost Flower ,M. M.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2faoka/,/short-story/2faoka/,Fiction,0,"['American', 'Drama', 'Inspirational']",8 likes," Eunice Mondel pushed her hair back tying it with her favourite green scrunge preparing herself for another late night of searching. She locked the main door of the library, moving quickly to check the other entrances and dimming lights inside. Silent steps in her sneakers made their way around until finally she was upstairs where her search would resume. Pulling out a protein bar and a bottle of water from her pack, tired fingers began combing the backs of old leathered books. Buzzzz her cell phone sat on top of her backpack. 'ANY LUCK YET?"" The text read from Aerial her bestie from middle school on. Eunice sighed. 'NOT YET, STILL SEARCHING'. She replied back. 8 months earlier ...........""I need to find that record. I have to know what happened to my baby girl."" Aerial Bright huffed. Long legs in black boots stretched out sideways. She was a knockout for her age. Manicured nails hugged her glass of soda while they sat at the diner on a hot muggy night, while the neon lights flashed outside. Cars whizzed by on the road going through the tumbleweed dusty town. Some things never change. This diner was one of them.""That was a long time ago, records have been destroyed or lost. It's a lot to ask."" Eunice told her friend with deep defiance. She was tired. Her long hours at the library took up most of her single life. She met Aerial in grade 7, at Rockfish Junior High, and together they were like inseparable twins. One didn't do without the other, two peas in a pod they were often told. High School changed that as the pair went their own ways. Aerial seemed distant and lost in her own world. She began to experiment with makeup, clothes and hair. But she never dated boys - appearing to shy away from them altogether. No one would have suspected what would happen that night at the dance. Eunice only learned later, many years later of what her friend endured and suffered through.""We have to try. I can help too, but no one can find out. Not a living soul in this town or it's over. I just want to know what happened to her after she was taken."" Aerial's eyes began to water. Her past remained as vivid as it might have happened today. Her nails tapped her glass continually as the waitress placed their food down.""Anything else ladies?"" She asked the two friends. She smiled at Eunice knowing she was the librarian but not sure about the other one. Small towns full of secrets and gossip, Marie knew better than to divulge herself with that, she enjoyed her job.Rumour had it Aerial grew up in the trailer park and had little to no other friends except Eunice. Her mom drank a lot and her brother was a pool shark in the city. Austen was about an hour and a half away from their little hideaway town.""No thanks, we are okay."" Eunice told her and they began to eat. The smell of fresh grilled burgers tingled her nose. She was hungrier now while her friend just picked with little interest. It might be next to impossible to find those documents, she thought munching on a fry. But at least she had a heads up access to them if they did exist, and she would find them if they were there at all. She only wanted her friend to find the peace she deserved. Outside rain began to fall, warm humid air engulfing the town as they went home, hope lightening Aerial's spirit.""You can take that to go if your not going to eat it."" Eunice told her, munching through crispy fries. Ahhh, this was almost like old times. How often had they sat here drinking milkshakes and dipping a plate of fries in a small bowl of gravy? The old diner stayed the same, including the red leather stools they sat on. This place was a time capsule of memories, the meeting place of young and old to gather and share talks. A town that could incriminate, destroy and outcast whomever they chose. Like a bad leaf on a tree of healthy branches. People could be sadistic and callous here. Eunice was full aware of that herself. Typical small town insecurities. She had not been among the popular crowd herself, divulging herself in her studies and reading. It was no wonder she became the librarian after she graduated, starting as a clerk then working up.""Okay, I will try for you. I can't say no to my bestie and I know it was a terrible time for you. I just dont want you upset and dwelling on all that pain and sadness again. You have Star now, your a good couple and she's a sweetheart."" Eunice reminded her. Aerial and Star bought a nice cottage that boasted a beautiful landscape. Star did most of the gardening while Aerial kept the house nice and loved to cook. She and Star fell in love in High School during 12th grade, after the fact of her fateful incident. Eunice worried that dredging up the trauma would only hurt her friend. Aerial had gone through enough pain and loss. She was so much better now and wiser. Her friend had grown into a strong woman with a lot going for her.""I know - and I love you for that. But at the same time she was my baby. I didn't ask to get pregnant and I certainly did not ask to have a boy force me that night. None of how she was conceived was her fault. I just want to know what happened."" Aerial was determined. A Pitt Bull challenged by a defiant community in those days. Her anger was edged so deep in her for the longest time, until she met Star. And that wasn't easy either. Star was South African, she was unique, kind and beautiful. And she fell in love with Aerial the minute they met. Her heart was filled with happiness.""I will def owe you one."" Aerial smiled and finally took a bite of her burger. ""OMG, this is sooooo good. I forgot how good these diners are, haven't been here in ages.""""Me either. I gotta I will keep you posted but don't expect it to happen overnight either."" And that was the end of that discussion. *****So, here she was continuing to look whenever she had the time and energy. This was her fourth, or fifth night after a long day. She now had five more books that held closed records of adoption during the year of Aerial's baby birth. She'd been sent to the convent where the nuns kept her and cared for her. Aerial was only 16. The boy who raped her thought she was a snob. It happened the night of a school dance. The band was playing and Aerial was so pretty her auburn long hair gleaming under the disco lights. She wasn't interested in boys. She'd already known who she was and embraced it. However, some resented her aloofness when it came to flirting and dating boys. Bobby Platt was the worst and he often bullied her.""Come outside, I have something for you."" He smiled sweetly flashing a flask of whiskey in his hands. He stole liquor from his parents. The knew and they didn't care. His father was a lawyer and well respected. Bobby was the town spoiled rich kid brat.""No, I am okay here thanks Bobby."" She told him as nicely as she could, lips quivering. She had a bad feeling inside her gut. Her wide doe eyes darting around looking fervently for a way out. Tightened stomach made her feel suffocated. She couldn't breath and wanted escape.Her mom was already passed out on the sofa in the trailer. An empty bottle of rum on the floor and an ashtray full of butts. The place smelled horrible, but she didn't care and ran into the tiny bathroom. Hot water soon flooded her while she cried and scrubbed herself raw, not caring how burned she would be after. Her tears always went unheard thereafter, even though her mom even asked her at one point what was wrong.""You ain't yourself these days girl. What's going on with you?? Flo would say and light a smoke sitting at the table. She did worry about her kid. Ok, she wasn't the best mom in the world that was for sure, but she worried about Aerial now as her daughter was slipping away. The lost weight, unkempt hair, social distancing. Her and that other one, Eunice they were always together but not lately. Flo lowered her dark circled eyes with age wrinkles in the corners and sipped her coffee. An ashtray full of smelly butts lay in front of her. ""I am thinking of moving to Florida. Your aunt Hazel has a trailer there in a nice park near the ocean. You can come with me. Let's start fresh, no more winters either how does that sound?"" Croaked voice said to Aerial. Aerial just nodded compliantly. Whatever.****""I insist, please come on."" He pulled her arm roughly and led her down to the stairwell, the gymnasium door was right there he didn't have to pull her far. Once he got her alone, he pulled her down into the corner bottom stairwell. He muffled her mouth with one hand and climbed on top of her. The stench of dirty concrete and bad air on top of his tobacco stinking breath made her want to puke. She fought with every inch of being in her, scratching his face until it bled. Bobby laughed deep from his throat. ""Fiesty aren't you? Well, you won't get away from me feline beast."" He murmured.""Bobby stop it!!!! Are you crazy? I dont want this."" She tried to cry out for help. It was over in a few minutes. Bobby got up and pulled his pants on, the sound of that zipper still rang in her ears for a long time. A buzzing fly in her head that wouldn't leave. She lay there on the cold cement floor. Her pretty rose dress torn crying and sobbing. Experimenting with her felinity at that time made her get the dress. She went to the thrift store and found it. It was so pretty but subtle. Now she hated everything and couldn't care less about her clothes. She could feel the soreness. The wetness seeping from between her thighs. Sounds of thumping from above meant the patrons were dancing to the beats of disco music. A crowd having fun. She should be up there too safe from this monster.""What's wrong with you now, come on, it wasn't that bad and you act so high and mighty. And if you tell anyone I swear you will regret it."" Bobby huffed at her with dark cold eyes. Callous. He roughly pulled her up. Aerial was in shock and freezing cold, shaking profusely. For months after that night Aerial stayed away from almost everyone, shrivelling from any event or offer to go out. A ghost in a world of fear and hate. Slowly, in by inch she crawled out of her darkness and began to enjoy her life again. One minute at a time. ""Go home, you can't go back in there looking like a mess. Here, take this and go."" He shoved money in her hand. She wanted to hit him and hard. She could have killed him.""I hate you and I hope you rot in hell."" She spat out the words as vile as she felt. And then he left her there. After that things went from bad to worse. The nightmares, the social avoidance and losing all interest in anything that summer. She finally had to go see a doctor, but she knew what was wrong even before she was told.""I am pregnant? How can this happen. I can't have a child. I am too young and I not even finished highs school."" She cried as the her doctor confirmed her suspicions after she missed a few periods. This was not something she wanted or needed right now. ""Look, I can hook you up with the Sisters of St. Bernadette's convent. They will take care of you and find a home for your baby. I don't see you having many choices here. Your mother isnt well, her liver......here's their card."" The doctor gave her the information and a week later Aerial had her first meeting.That was during the year of 1952. over fifty years ago.Eunice found the section in a book of records that was so far back she was shocked. The pages were yellowed and crumbling around the edges. Outside the wind picked up, cicadas sang out into the dark lonely night from the open window. Fluttering heart and holding her breath, she found a list of babies born that year at St. Bernadette's. Even the convent didn't keep their own records that far back. She'd figured they were permanently closed. From there on she cross-referenced and searched over 50 names. Girls were brought there from all over that area of the Nation. It was a haven and they were well looked after.""I FOUND IT, GOT HER NAME' An immediate text was sent.""OMG NO WAY"" An excited reply.'WE STILL HAVE TO SEARCH TO FIND HER THOUGH. THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. BUT WE HAVE A NAME AND A BIRTH RECORD."" Eunice told her.One year later......Aerial and Star sat out on their veranda on a blustery fall night with stars shining down with only the sound of birds and rain. They huddled with a fleece as they looked a photo's of her daughter, now in her 30s and married to a famous Politician in Europe. She had been adopted by a wealthy family and graduated from Oxford with honours. She'd become a legal adviser for Parliament and her husband was head of security. After many searches and disappointments they finally hired a PI to help find her, specializing in missing people from Houston. He did his job well, handing them the file.""She doesnt know your looking for her but there is all the information you need."" He tossed the manilla folder down. ""I wish you all the best ladies."" He said and leaned back in his chair proud. His own sister went missing years before and was never found again. One of the reasons he wanted to become a PI and specialize in missing persons. He was happy his work was done well for these two.""Will you go and see her?"" Star asked staring at her lover's face now filled with some peace at long last. Her heart had broken when she heard what happened to Aerial, and loathed Bobby after. Fortunately, Bobby had incurred other troubles later and ended up serving time after all for hitting an elderly couple and causing serious damages. His big shot father couldn't defend him so he hired another lawyer. Bobby was searving ten in the Houston State Penn. with possibility of parole. He didn't age well after that, ended up an alcoholic and a few burly biker friends. His father still lived and controlled his money which was little to none. Aerial figured Bobby for dealing. She hoped he would go back to prison.""I don't know yet, I haven't decided. I've never been to Europe before.""""Me either. It might be a fun trip, England is nice in the Spring."" Star said dreamily, while her tired eyes cuddled on Aerial's warm shoulder. They were so happy and content.""Let's talk about it then and make some plans."" And with that Aerial went into the warmth of their house, her heart filled with love and gratitude as years of memories shared lay around her. This is what love and home felt like. She hoped her daughter had the same feeling and quality of life as she did.THE END ","August 13, 2023 19:29","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hello!\nI loved the way this story was of genuine friendship. It’s hard to be understood by anyone other than your childhood friend. I also liked the way you built up the mystery of Aerial and you addressed a challenging topic with grace. The only thing that tripped me up was a bit of the grammar-you have few contractions in the story which, while may be technically incorrect, pulled me a bit out of the story. If this was a deliberate choice, I may have chosen to note why a bit more specifically. For example, is English a second language for ...', 'time': '13:11 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'M. M.': ""oh thank you so much for your kind words; and sorry I didn't realize the errors until after the story was submitted. I was so engrossed in the writing part I should have been more careful. I did want to focus on their friendship, Aerial's life and progress as a trans woman during a tough era and have it end with something to give the readers thought and kindness. Thanks again for your positive feedback and yes I will check out your stories. cheers"", 'time': '19:01 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'M. M.': ""oh thank you so much for your kind words; and sorry I didn't realize the errors until after the story was submitted. I was so engrossed in the writing part I should have been more careful. I did want to focus on their friendship, Aerial's life and progress as a trans woman during a tough era and have it end with something to give the readers thought and kindness. Thanks again for your positive feedback and yes I will check out your stories. cheers"", 'time': '19:01 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Gregg Punger': 'Good story. I liked how you switched between the different time periods.', 'time': '22:03 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'M. M.': 'Thanks; I was experimenting and hoped it worked.', 'time': '06:55 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'M. M.': 'Thanks; I was experimenting and hoped it worked.', 'time': '06:55 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,i5x1y6,The Red Book,Asmi B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i5x1y6/,/short-story/i5x1y6/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Romance', 'Happy']",7 likes," She ran a thin finger along the worn spines of the books stacked high. Her heavy breath was the only sound that pierced through the shroud of silence covering her humble abode for books: Willow. The name had emerged on a Sunday afternoon while swimming laps in the town’s run-down YMCA. Evelyn nurtured the leather-bound worlds in her home, allowing the occasional visitor to trail through the vanilla-smelling library and take home a book to cherish. Now, on a dark Saturday evening, Evelyn felt her small world crushed even further. The waning moon’s shallow light filtered in through the curtained windows near the front of the establishment. Under the cover of darkness, Evelyn set about her covert operation to recover a long-forgotten volume of a long-cherished book for a long-forgotten person. On the Sunday afternoon, when Evelyn gave birth to her beloved sanctuary, she had gone to the YMCA in a fit of anger. The young woman parched with a thirst to roam the world, had blanched at the proposal to keep her tied down to the small town. She walked on the ceramic blue and white tiles; the poignant stench of chlorine cut through like a knife. Evelyn tied her blond hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck and dove into the ice-cold water. The liquid surrounded her skin like a cast of a candle, and the rushing rage of the water swept behind her as she took each stroke. The black tiles that marked the lanes danced in her vision. Reaching the end of the lane, she took a breath before turning in the water and pushing off the wall with renewed energy. As her arms tore through the smooth surface of the water, leaving bubbles in their fast wake, her mind tore through the doors that had yet to close for the woman. As the afternoon sun slowly melted into the evening stars, Evelyn emerged reborn, bending with her life swaying like a willow. Ideas of her bookshop swirled through her head, with thoughts of the silver band meant to coil around her finger long forgotten. On the way to the YMCA on that fated Sunday, Evelyn had ridden her childhood bicycle. The baby blue bike with a basket sat leaning against the garage wall of the modest rental house she shared with another. She had left the dinner table, the half-finished plate, and a bundled napkin stood still, forever immortalized in a snapshot of time seared into everyone’s memories. Evelyn had left the man kneeling in front of her with an open box, tears bunched at the corner of his earnest eyes as she left in a hurry. The unopened bottle of champagne sat on the oak table, never to be enjoyed by an engaged couple. She ran out the door of the garage, picking up the backpack she had left in a closet with her swimsuit and beach towel. The man, who had wanted to spend his life with her, stayed down on the linoleum floor of the dining room, the box still open, the silver ring still glinting in its polished light. He wouldn’t be there when she returned. Evelyn would return to a soulless house with echoes of promises still sweeping out the door. She went to sleep with a notebook containing sketches of her future penciled in the corners. Several Sundays before the ring, Evelyn walked through the rows of a bookstore. The earthy tones of the books around her mixed with the sweet vanilla air curling out of the plastic lid of the drink in her hand. She ran a thin finger over the unbroken spines of the crime novels, trying to find the book that called to her for a nice read on her couch, wrapped in a blanket. A tall man with dark hair falling over his face tapped her shoulder. “If you’re looking for a new read, there’s a book I quite like,” he said. He offered a paperback novel with a red cover. Evelyn took the book and flipped through its pages, many of which had been dog-eared and marked with notes scrawled in blue ink in the margins. “I was going to give it to the store to sell second-hand anyways,” he explained. “How much does it cost?” Evelyn asked. A grin lit up her features; another adventure awaited. “Your number?” he asked, tripping over his words. Evelyn bit her lip before pulling a pen from the satchel that hung on her side. “Paper?” Evelyn asked, the pen uncapped. The man extended his hand and offered his palm. Evelyn scrawled out the digits in blue ink. They fell in love over Sundays, from lemonade with ice to cinnamon spice. The words they read, wrote, and lived together lit their flame. She fell out of love in much the same way: lost words formed shackles, and the candle slowly dripped away. Now Evelyn searched through her bookstore for the red-covered book with the blue notes in the margin, many of which she had later penned herself. The Saturday night slowly slipped into Sunday morning, and the red book lay on the counter when the man walked in. The door stirred awake when the bell rang to alert Evelyn. “Hi,” Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck. He looked the same, except for the quiet age that had crept into his face in the time that had passed. Evelyn felt her stomach turn; she had sat in the hurt that she had caused for an awfully long time. She had dropped his heart, after all, and refused to offer help in putting together the remaining pieces. “I’m sorry,” he said. He picked up the book and headed for the door. She stood in silence, willing for her screams to be heard. The man turned back. Evelyn fluttered to attention. “How much for the book?” the man asked Evelyn. An icy sheen covered his face, no longer covered by his hair, but his blue eyes glimmered with an invisible hope. It wasn’t coldness; it was hardly cruel. But the words stung with a bite that had Evelyn second-guessing the shine piercing through his eyes. “A coffee?” Evelyn asked. A quiet love curled around them, and the man offered a smile. “Just a coffee,” he paused for a moment, biting his lip, “Next Sunday?” ","August 12, 2023 23:27",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,vlgyz1,Between the Pages.,Lara Deppe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vlgyz1/,/short-story/vlgyz1/,Fiction,0,"['Friendship', 'Happy', 'Romance']",7 likes," Between the Pages. Sara Lee was bustling through her to-do list with an eager enthusiasm. It was Tuesday. Tuesday was her favorite day at the library. The library was closed on Monday and there was always so much to do after the long weekend. She always liked to map out her day with a list on paper so she could cross things off as she completed them but after nineteen years at the library, taking care of things was like making her bed at home – they were second nature to her; however, her memory was slipping, and she didn’t want to forget anything important. Sara Lee loved leaving her favorite things until the end of the day as a reward for all the other tasks she completed. Sara Lee began by turning on all the lights on the main floor, in the offices and in the conference room. She straightened tables and chairs in the personal study rooms and in the section of open computer terminals. She had watched this room evolve with technology. She smiled at the fact that most of the teenagers who came now didn’t even bring a computer but just their phone. Even with her slight limp, she didn’t mind making her way through both floors of her familiar landscape. As she made her way down the rows of tomes, she pushed books back into place which were pulled from their spot on the shelf; books which were nearly chosen by a patron and yet were left poised in the moment. She washed the glass front doors which were covered in tiny handprints. She reveled in the proof that little people still came to the library. She pictured George who would toddle into the children’s section, pick a row, run to the center where he was surrounded by countless options, point his chubby finger out in front of him, close his eyes, turn a circle, step forward and pull out the first book his finger touched. She smiled at the recollection. George is now twenty-something and just finishing his fourth year at law school. Sara Lee straightened the children’s area and disinfected the toys and tiny chairs. She placed the animal shaped pillows on the tiny orange couch. She wiped down the oversized armchair for Erin who came in twice a week for Story Time. Erin’s voice was full of drama and you could always tell what character she was reading. It was time to open the front doors. She recognized all three faces peering in the tempered glass waiting for her to open the doors. She flipped the switch on the locking mechanism that allowed the doors to open. She stepped back with a flourish. There was Kenzie Walton with her five-year-old son and baby Hannah in her car seat. A slightly ruffled, white-haired gentleman named Eldon Hutchins who smiled shyly every morning at Sara Lee as the doors opened, followed the Waltons into the library. “Good morning, Mrs. Walton and Master James. How is our tiny Hannah today? How do you do Mr. Hutchins?” James smiled up at her with breakfast blueberry jam on his face. “Hi Mrs. Sara Lee! Hannah cried all night.” Sara Lee bent to his height. “You are such a good big brother. What did you do for her?” “I threw my favorite red car into her bed! She held it all night. Now she won’t give it back.” “Is it okay if she borrows it a little while longer?” “I s’pose. Mom said we could come to the library if I let her have it.” “You are a good man, Master James.” “Thanks Mrs. Sara.” He shouted as he ran toward the children’s section. Sara Lee laughed after him and his mom followed, pleased he was already picking out something to read out loud on the orange couch. Mr. Hutchins was following slowly behind. He had taken his hat off and it was in his hands that shook just a little. He took Sara Lee by the hand and softly said, “Good morning Mrs. Nielsen.” “Oh Eldon, call me Sara Lee.” They shared this exchange a couple of times a week. Eldon came in to read the morning paper. He wore a blue bow tie with a button-down white shirt. He was a widower who walked the half block to the library every morning. He always came into the library in his nicest clothes. Shaved and smelling of a weathered aftershave. Following the loss of his wife Debbie, his shirts were never quite as crisp and often had tiny burn marks from the iron being a bit too hot. She watched him as he found his seat by the big bay window and settled in to read the latest news.   She was eager to get to the next activity. It is what she looked forward to most. She opened the closet near the back and pulled out the cloth wagon and folded it out to its original shape. She grabbed the keys on the hook in the Employee Only section of the offices and went out the front doors to the sidewalk in front of the building to gather the books from the Book Drop out front. It was nearly filled to the top after the three-day weekend. She straightened the covers of the books which had dropped in haphazardly and stacked the wagon full. She may need to come back because they were towering with a precarious intensity in the wagon. She locked back up the remaining books. She would take this lot to the office and come back for the rest. After climbing the slight hill back up the building’s front doors, her leg twinged with tiredness from being on it all morning. The ache reminded her of him. The accident which had irreparably damaged her leg had taken the love of her life too soon. But she didn’t like to think about the accident, so she pictured him instead. He was broad shouldered, dark haired, quick to laugh and madly in love with her. Hugh. Hugh Nielsen. She unloaded her treasures on the long table she used to sort them and headed out the front door for the second half. It nearly filled her cart for the return trip, but she fit them all in the wheeled wagon and headed back inside. She returned the keys to their hook and got comfortable in her chair behind the table. Her curiosity was piqued. She couldn’t wait to dive into the books and see what treasures awaited her. Only this time it wasn’t the adventures she was seeking in the chapters but the tiny trinkets, she liked to call them glimpses, that the readers left behind in the books they borrowed from the library.  She started on the first pile flipping through the pages of each book and scanning it back into the system. She moved the scanned books to another table, and she separated them into the areas for re-shelving according to the Dewey Decimal system. She was several books in before a piece of paper came fluttering down on her from the pages of a children’s book. It was a Dental Report for Dylan. It had little red stars on either side of his name. At the top on the right, there was a note that read: Great Patient – thanks! It had check marks beside several items at the top that they had completed at his visit. Oral Exam and diagnosis Dental x-rays Floride application And then the bad news at the bottom of the page: Plaque Cavities: 1 Should floss daily Brush twice daily And this note in cursive in the notes section: Please slow down and brush well around your gums – especially back molars. And it’s very important to start flossing! Sara Lee giggled to herself. Dylan was a good patient but not a good brusher or flosser. She was putting together his story and laughing at his instruction from his medical professional – in writing. She wondered if anyone had seen the report, like Dylan’s Mom, before he tucked it into his library book. She imagined Dylan’s mom rushing him to the library late Saturday night to get his books in the box by the deadline so they would not incur a fine without realizing his dental note was tucked inside.  The next book that dropped a secret pulled Sara Lee’s eyebrows into a worried crease. From a book called So Much for Love: How I Survived a Toxic Relationship by Sophie Lambda fell a photo of a young couple with their arms around each other. Or rather, he was standing behind her with his arms wrapped entirely around her. They were standing in front of a college library. His face had been blackened out with a sharpie. Sara Lee prayed this young girl had made her way out of this relationship and was safe now. Ironically, in the little checked-out book, Crochet for Beginners, a crochet hook fell out which had been holding a place near the front of the book. She guessed that whoever had begun the hobby, hadn’t made a regular pastime of it.  Maybe they would come back to the library looking for the book and bookmark to begin again. Sara Lee was whittling down the stacks. She had just over a dozen left to go and she was gaining speed. Finding three glimpses in one day was unheard of so she couldn’t believe that there was anything else to find in the remaining volumes. But with only four books to go for Tuesday’s detective work, she didn’t expect to find anything remaining. But a folded letter and college lined paper fell from the pages of a book which was fading around the ages.  The handwriting had the jagged sway of aged handwriting. She unfolded the letter, and the first three words caught her attention and her heart seemed to stop in her throat: Dear Sara Lee, She slipped the paper over to see what if anything was on the back of it. Was this truly for her? I look forward to seeing you every day here at the library. I tried to pluck up the courage to ask you to dinner with me, but I just could not do it. I have never seen anyone I thought was as beautiful as my wife until I met you. And everyday you open the door for me with a smile which is beautiful kindness. Would you consider going with me to lunch one day?  On the day you find this letter, please come find me in the library. If the answer is yes, please hand me a copy of The Blue Bedroom and Other Short Stories by Rosamande Pilcher and I will take you to get a sandwich, we will go to a park, and I will read you a short story. If your answer is no, please hand me this letter with a smile. I will tuck it in my pocket and never let on that I put my wish to paper. Sincerely, Eldon Hutchins, your library friend Sara Lee looked around her to see if anyone was watching as she brushed the tears from her face. No one had told her she was beautiful since her beloved had passed all those years ago. She stood. But then not knowing exactly what she was going to do next, she sat back down. She stood again. She knew what she needed to do. She finished scanning the books that lay on the table. She put them in the order they needed to be returned to the shelves as she always did. She made her way to the library office where the director sat at her desk typing an e-mail, waited until she was done typing and asked her a question. Carla, the library director, smiled and told her she thought it was a good idea. Sara Lee found the shelf she was looking for right away, pulled a book from the shelf and went looking for Eldon. She found him in his usual spot the window. She handed him the letter and smiled. And then she handed him the book. He reached for his hat. And for her hand.  ","August 18, 2023 05:16","[[{'David Sweet': 'Such a heart-warming story. Thanks for sharing.', 'time': '21:16 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lara Deppe': 'Thank you so much David! Thank you for taking the time to read it.', 'time': '11:45 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lara Deppe': 'Thank you so much David! Thank you for taking the time to read it.', 'time': '11:45 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Sarah Lee sounds like the coziest librarian!', 'time': '03:19 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lara Deppe': ""Doesn't everyone need a cozy librarian? 😉 thanks for reading!"", 'time': '11:44 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lara Deppe': ""Doesn't everyone need a cozy librarian? 😉 thanks for reading!"", 'time': '11:44 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,kj7ovg,Be Careful What You Read After Dark,Bob Faszczewski,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kj7ovg/,/short-story/kj7ovg/,Fiction,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Horror']",7 likes,"         Words have meaning--but do they have life? Can they actually leap off a page to take you on adventures--even those which you don’t want to go on?        Berlin, Md. historian John Simpson, a long-time friend of mine, called me one Friday and excitedly asked me to meet him at the back door of the Berlin Library at 4:15, right after closing.       I couldn’t figure out why he wanted to meet at the library and why not during regular business hours in this public place where nobody would interrupt our private discussion? Also, the library probably was far less “public” now anyway because of pandemic-limited capacity requirements.      In any event, John, a library board trustee, insisted that the meeting had to be held after closing. My curiosity spiked so I decided to take him up on his “offer.” I went to the Harrison Avenue door and knocked three times as he instructed. The sound of my knocking echoed through the empty library and, shortly, John opened the door to the darkened interior with a creaking sound rivaling those in most of the Hitchcock films I grew up with in the 60s.     We sat down at one of the long reference room tables and he opened James Paterson’s latest mystery and threw it down in front of me. Without saying a word, John pointed one of his arthritic fingers to one of the most gory murder scenes in the latest Alex Cross mystery.      “Read the first paragraph,” he commanded. Just as I did so, a purple haze enveloped the interior of the library and transported us across downtown Berlin to Route 50 and down Racetrack Road to an abandoned farmhouse next to a greenhouse that barely stood up against the weather.     The door of the house creaked open and a hand suddenly appeared at my back and pushed me inside. I looked around and found that John not only had joined me but his hand had come out of the darkness to get me more involved in his creepy mystery tale.     “I came to the library last Saturday to do some reading,” John whispered in the pitch darkness, “and, suddenly, this cold chill came over me. Then, when I opened the Paterson book I just showed to you, what looked like a bookmark with a note on it fell out of the book. Didn’t know where the note came from, but it instructed me to return to the library after hours for further instructions. The incident piqued my curiousity though, and I figured I would bring in ‘reinforcements’ to see if I was just going crazy in my old age or would this weirdness happen again and go further. That’s when I thought of you.”      “Thank’s alot. Couldn’t you let it rest or find other ‘reinforcements’ to become partners in  your strange explorations of the occult? Whatever brought us here can’t have a positive experience in mind for either of us.”       Just then a chilling breeze blew over us. Of course, you would expect plenty of breezes in a farmhouse breathing its last, but the breeze seemed completely centered on the two of us while the rest of the house seemed unbelievably and comfortably warm.       Then I suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder. Didn’t come from John, because he had both hands at his side. I turned around and a dark silhouette grabbed me by the shoulder and motioned with its other hand for me to follow it. Another eerie form did the same to John. We couldn’t escape. Looked like we had no choice.      Our “hosts” pushed us toward the half-destroyed opened back door of the house. They motioned for us to follow them to the abandoned greenhouse to the left of the farmhouse. There we found a large hole in the ground. In the hole we found what looked like a treasure chest we had seen in many pirate movies.       The shadowy form with me motioned for me to open the chest. With a rusty hammer that just happened to be laying on the greenhouse floor I pried upon the chest and looked at its contents. I reached into the chest and found a stack of papers bound by a red ribbon. On top of the stack I found a “List of Those Who Recently Met Their Makers on This Property.”  Strangely enough, myself and my friend John had our names at the top of the list.       Our strange “hosts” then grabbed us by the collars. We thought for sure  they planned to add us to their list of the recently deceased. We ran as fast as we could out of the greenhouse and started sprinting down Racetrack Road toward Berlin with the strange figures right on our heels.     However, in the next instant, our ghostly pursuers disappeared and the purple mist that had transported us to the farmhouse again appeared and whisked us back to the library’s back entrance. John put his key in the lock to let us back in the library, but his key did not work. We quickly got into our cars and sped to our respective houses.       The following Monday John called me again. “As a historian I can’t let this rest, and I am sure you want to find out if someone is out to get you. We have to go back,” he said.       Against my better judgment, but this time in broad daylight, I met John in the library parking lot and we drove to the site of the abandoned farmhouse. To our surprise, we discovered an open field where the farmhouse and greenhouse had once stood.       We then drove to the Worcester County Hall of Records in Snow Hill to see if  the deeds and history of the property could shed some light on our weird mystery. County employees referred us to the building department supervisor, who said the farmhouse and greenhouse had been sold and torn down a month before. This meant the structures supposedly did not exist on the night of our strange adventure.   ","August 13, 2023 13:12","[[{'Anna W': 'What a whirlwind adventure, Bob! I feel like this could be a whole book. Great story, thank you for sharing it!', 'time': '00:10 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,md6m73,Jared's Short Story,EM Cummings,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/md6m73/,/short-story/md6m73/,Fiction,0,"['Horror', 'Adventure', 'Thriller']",7 likes," It was a dark and stormy night. Alia was lingering behind to reshelve the returned books. The other girls had invited her out for drinks, but Alia wanted to be alone tonight.Left to her own devices, she hummed a concerto she recently heard as she danced down the shelves of the dark building. The library used to be an old church, gothic in nature, with large blinding, beautiful stained-glass windows. When it was not dark and storming, beautiful sun beams would filter through the colorful glass, illuminating her books in a heavenly glow.As head librarian, she was the one who insisted the staff each create a shelf of their favorite books. She had placed hers right in the pathway of the most brilliant light. At 10 AM, with the morning glow floating in to welcome the new day, the light filtered down like magic, showcasing Alia favorite books in a magical light. She always liked to take a coffee break right then, staring at her masterpiece of well curated books while sipping on a cappuccino.Tonight, however, there was no magic glow on her shelf, or any of the shelves, just the old, flickering, fluorescent overhead light. Alia restocked the books on the cart, pausing only to conduct for the invisible orchestra playing the concerto in her mind.She picked up the last book to glance at the title and dropped it in shock. The thunk of it hitting the ground reverberated with an echo. Only once the sound had dissipated did Alia bend down to pick up the book. Her breathing was ragged, hand trembling with her prize in hand. Slowly Alia turned the book around to face what had frightened her.DINNER AT DORSIA BY BRET EASTON ELLIS in bold white print stared back at her. She flipped to the back cover to read, “Patrick Bateman is handsome, well educated, intelligent, he works by day on wall street. His nights he spends in ways we cannot fathom, until one night he runs into his new friend Jared Davis. Jared Davis, as it turns out has reservations at Dorsia.”Alia screamed and dropped the book again. She dashed over to her shelf, where all her favorite books were lined up. Another copy of what was supposed to be American Psycho was sitting right in the spot she had placed it. Only now the cover read Dinner at Dorisa too.Another aggravated scream escaped from Alia as she scanned the rest of her shelf too. Right where Jurassic Park used to sit was now a book called Jared’s Park. On the cover it had changed to a shirtless man riding on the back of a T Rex. Alia pulled the book off her shelf in disgust.In the spot where The Count of Monte Cristo used to reside now sat a book called Sir Edmond Dantes. Alia grabbed the book and scanned the back of it, “During the turbulent years of the Napoleonic era, Edmond Dantes is set to be betrayed by his enemies. Right before they can send him away into a secret dungeon in the Chateau d’If, his loyal friend Jared Davis provides damning evidence of his innocence…”Her frustrated scream reverberated in the library, Alia tossed the book away and pulled at the other books she had once cherished. Now they lay in a pile at her feet, spoilt.Alia reached for the last book on the shelf and almost cried. William Shakespeare’s King Duncan was written in an angelic font at the top of the book. Below the title showed a picture of Macbeth holding a beloved, but dead, Lady Macbeth in his arms. Tears were falling off his face onto her still bosom. On either side of him were two men, each placing a comforting arm onto his shoulder. One of the men had on a sparkling golden crown.“No!” Alia gasped, falling to her knees. She held onto her most beloved book and cried. Then she opened it and began to read the text.“No!”Alia turned the page.“No, no!”Alia turned several more pages.“Ne’er shall King Duncan nor the general Macbeth face defeat, for all of Birnam Wood hath been consumed by flame by the hand of Sir Jared Davis. Thus, no mortal born of woman shall set forth to wage battle upon Dunsinane Hill- NO, NO, NO!”Alia was growing frantic as she flipped through Acts and Scenes, the traitorous words cutting through her heart.“No-” Alia whimpered, her cry rumbling around the church as she tumbled into the book.---Enter ALIA, dressed in classical garb.ALIAPray, what infernal occurrence hate unfolded before mine eyes!Enter DUNCAN, as king, MACBETH, JARED, and attendants.DUNCAN(to JARED) By the grace of heaven, thou, Jared, didst arrive to thwart the intent of my slaying. Elsewise, who can divine what fate might have unfurled? (to MACBETH) Whence did one surmise that thine own lady, unbeknownst to thee, did conspired for mine own demise? I do lament thy bereavement, yet seek to bestow upon thy faithfulness to my royal self due recompense. For thou hast scarified beyond measure in obstructing the scheme of my demise.ALIA(to herself) This is a grievous injustice! Lady Macbeth doth meet her fate, yet King Duncan’s demise is but fitting, and who might this Jared companion be?JARED(spotting Alia) Oh, dire misfortune! Behold, Lady Macbeth’s confederate approaches! We must take swift action ere she sets her sights upon thee, King Duncan.ALIA(To JARED) Nay, ‘tis thou whom I harbor the intent to dispatch.MACBETHShe doth confess a desire to inflict harm upon Jared.ALIA(take’s MACBETH’s sword from sheath) This stage is marred, and if I stand alone to mend its flaws, so be it. Yet no remorse shall burden my soul. Nor shall my hands bear everlasting crimson marks, as I thrust my blade into thee. (ALIA stabs DUNCAN)ALLKing Duncan!ALIAMay I be anointed the fresh sovereign, for I have accomplished what Macbeth could ne’er achieve. I sense that might of mine own aspirations coursing through mine mind. Oh, what library intertwined with trepidation! Oh, what beautiful heritage! I now grasp within mine grasp the audacity of existence, the 48 precepts of dominion. I set upon mine brow this diadem (Places crown on head). Kneel afore me, ye mere mortals, bow and lament the absence of such elation as the placing of this circlet upon thine head. It rests so aptly and so fair on mine. As if destiny ordained this coronation for me, fated to be summoned hither and rectify this state. (JARED lunges at ALIA, they fight)MACBETHHalt, desist, I do beseech thee, restrain thy actions. Thou hast wrested my wife, my sovereign, and my regal symbol, yet I implore thee, spare my dearest comrade.ALIA and JARED exits.---I am hardly restrained when the frumpy Davis returned from the bathroom. Apparently, he had found a female companion to join him as she is now sitting in Price’s seat. Price, having grown bored of McDermott and Van Patten, deserted us 30 minutes ago to track down the waiter who had left a round of Prosecco. The newcomer, like Davis, is not a hardbody. There is a lack of noticeable designers on her labels, and her courage to be sitting at our table offended me greatly. I curse myself for not having worn my new opaline Versace suit to further shame this woman’s plain choice of dress. Even that aquarose Calvin Kline sweater that Evelyn gifted me last Christmas, the ugly blue she insisted was one of a kind, would have been sufficient.I had screened my calls this morning hoping that model I ran into would ring me. When she did, I told her I was on the other line with Paul Allen, then hung up the phone for ten minutes before calling her back. Even then, every five minutes I made sure to beep over to the other line, so she knew her place after waiting four days to call me. We had arranged for a date tonight, but that was before Davis had called explaining he had gotten Doria reservations and that we had to go. Once we arrived together Davis bumped into Paul Owen and-“Are you always monologuing? Do you not know when to shut up?”, the frumpy Davis is looking at me. The newcomer woman hides her face behind her hands to avoid my gaze. Both McDermott and Van Patten turn on “Frump-is”.“Are you OK Davis?” Van Patten asks, he grabs at a glass of Prosecco. Price then returns wired on something; I can tell.“Ivanka Trump is at the bar, and word is Donald is on his way,” he whispers. I peer over the meek woman’s head at the bar, desperate to spot Ivanka.“That’s not Ivanka!” McDermott scoffs, but his pessimism is pissing me off. I see the back of a blonde woman’s head and watch as she turns around to face-“Really? This story? You like this story?” Frumpis distracts me as he asks this question to his humble companion. I look back to the blonde, but she has turned back around. I missed my opportunity to confirm if it was truly Ivanka, though her startling white Gucci dress does seem rather promising. I cannot help but think about what her blood would look like staining such an expensive outfit.“Seriously? How did you get through this book, much less put it on your favorites?”, Frump-is asks again. I look at Frump-is in his off-brand brown corduroy sweater and imagine what it would feel like to pull off his fingers one digit at a time and feed them to himself.A team of waiters appeared accompanied by the chef. They place plates in front of us, but no one is sitting in the seat they ordered. In front of me is the orange duck dressed with cilantro and gooseberry sauce, a side of garlic eggplants with balsamic chives on top. The watermelon chilled lamb chops I ordered was now in front of Van Patten, who eagerly bites into my dish without even asking me if I wanted to try it. The chef is staring at each one of us with an annoying, knowing glance until he meets my eye and nods as if we know each other.“I believe you know my girlfriend, Mr. Bateman,” the chef smiles broadly at me, and I want to pull each one of his teeth out until he feels ashamed to smile again.“You hear that Bateman, you might know this man’s girl,” Price says this with a perversion the whole table was thinking.“Bethany?” The chef says my ex-girlfriend’s name without me prompting. My brain explodes and acid begins to make its way up my throat.“Does anyone know what was on the Patty Winters show this morning?” The humble woman asks casually and flicks her eyes toward me as she clumsily cuts into the expensive steak in front of her. That steak cost more than her existence, and I watched her destroy the perfection of it with her uncouth jaw movements.Today on the Patty Winters Show they brought in the “Deadly Six,” the six most murderous men from ADX Florence, to perform Chicago’s Cell Block Tango in full makeup and costume. The original Broadway cast was set to judge the performance and could deduct up to 5 years to each man’s lifelong sentence. The performance was derivative, and the audience threw tomatoes at the men as they sang. While the performance was less than stellar, it was really moving when each man got an additional 10 years added to their jail sentence.“I need to return some videotapes,” the humble woman exclaimed as she jumped up. To my surprise she grabbed Frump-is and dragged him past the wall of red velvet curtains toward a door. Before anyone could do more, both escaped. A bright sign, in the same color as the curtain, illuminated above the door they left through had the words THIS IS NOT AN EXIT.---A young Greek man, named Michaelis, who owned the coffee shop in the middle of the ash heaps was the principal witness to what unfolded next. He had slept past the heat of the day and was strolling over to Mr. Wilson’s garage to witness the sick man shaking all over. George Wilson would provide Michaelis no other information, so the young Greek tried to convince Wilson to go to bed.“I’ll miss out on a ton of business,” Mr. Wilson refused.The neighbors rush over to gossip about the violent racket breaking out in the middle of the street.“I don’t understand,” cried a young man, who would later be identified as Jared, “all you care about are these books, but they all are so… filled with revolting things!”“They are filled with astonishing things! Knowledge, themes, empathy, creativity, expression!” A strange woman who was never identified shouted.Michaelis watched on as the couple fought, the woman not nearly as interested as the man in the heated conversation. Instead, she looked around herself as if trying to find something. Finally, when her eyes laid upon what she was looking for, she gasped.High up in the dark and grey night, through the dust of never-ending ash, was the gigantic blue eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg looking out on the land with no face. A pair of enormous yellow spectacles passed over its non-existent nose, the abandoned billboard brooding over the hot sticky night.“I wanted to love you!” Jared sank to his knees in front of woman. “I dived into these books to understand you better, but they are all so broken.”Michaelis watched as the faint glow of an overhead lamp illuminated the fallen Angel praying to his false idol.“I fixed them,” Jared murmured.“Jared, stand up!” the woman dragged on the man’s collar, but he did not budge.“I fixed them for you!”“Jared, let’s go!”“Do you not hear me?! I FIXED THEM ALL FOR YOU.”“Do you know where we are? Myrtle is locked upstairs right now.”Michaelis was astonished. George Wilson had never mentioned anything to him and didn’t seem capable of such cruelty. Wilson always seemed more of a worn-out man, constantly working, and agreeable to a fault.“I don’t care. I just wanted you to notice me!” Jared’s plea sat sizzling in the summer heat.“Have you never read The Great Gatsby?”“Not since High School,” he cried.“George caught Myrtle cheating; she is going to die!”The neighbors all turned on George, but he eyed each of them suspiciously, sizing the men up. Mr. Wilson opened his mouth to ask a question when a commotion upstairs stirred. A rugged Mrs. Wilson, face stained from crying, dashed down the stairs. Her husband grabbed her upper arm harshly and pulled her into him.“Beat me!” The small gathering heard Mrs. Wilson sob. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward.” Then she slapped her husband, and it was only a moment later when she rushed out toward the strangers.Myrtle started to wave and shout at nothing, but the woman tackled her, mumbling about unrequited longing. Before Michaelis could leave the front door of the shop, the whole business was over.The ‘death car’ as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop. It came out of the tremendous darkness, wavering tragically in the moment, before disappearing into the ash covered night. No one would be able to tell the police the color of the car, it had moved too fast.The few cars left on the road stopped, and the occupants ran toward the lifeless body left in the destructive wake. The small crowd surrounded Jared Davis, his life violently extinguished, his body mangled as thick blood flowed out, staining the dust.---Alia and Myrtle wanted to shriek. But the sound never managed to escape their lips.Someone had pulled back the shower curtain. Inside lay the dead purple body, bloated from age. Black marble eyes staring out into nothing. The dead woman’s naked bits of body floating in the ice-cold water. Hands frozen on either side of the tub like crab claws.Slowly, the woman’s purple lips pulled back into a sneer. Then the dead woman started standing up from in the bathtub. Her huge glassy dead eye fixed on both women.Alia felt someone grasp her fingers. Looking down she saw a trembling five-year-old child with a bowl cut and recognized Danny Torrance. He had grabbed Myrtle’s hand too.“Dick Hallorann says he doesn’t think they can hurt us. That they are like pictures in a book. Close your eyes and it will go away,” Danny told them, his voice speaking in their mind, while the child’s lips never moved. Myrtle shrieked and ran out of the room. Alia could hear the hard jiggling of the lock on Room 217’s door.Danny closed his eyes, but Alia knew this would not stop this lady from harming them. She dragged Danny to the doorknob and pushed a hysterical Mrs. Wilson out of the way. Alia began to twist and turn on the lock herself, but it kept slipping from her fingers.“Let us out!” she cried.(Nothing here, there is nothing here AT ALL!!)“Let us out!”(NOTHING IS HERE, JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES)The years-old damp hands, still bloated and smelling of fish, closed around Alia throat from behind. A scream choked in her and she was pulled back until she stared into the cold, purple face that held a dead, hostile smile.PART FOURSNOWBOUND ","August 13, 2023 18:48",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,k5hmg0,The Poetry Book,William Vickers,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/k5hmg0/,/short-story/k5hmg0/,Fiction,0,"['Horror', 'High School', 'Suspense']",7 likes," “I’ll pay it for you this time Ethan,” I said with a smile, reaching for my purse, and tried to sound stern when I told him that I wouldn’t pay his fines again. “What did you think of the book?” His grubby face lit up when he realized he didn’t have to pay the £6 fine.  “I didn’t like it, it made me feel… bad. I don’t think I’ll read poetry again. Do you have any more adventure books?” After I had found some other books more suited to his taste and pointed him in the right direction, I wrote his name and today’s date into the poetry book he had returned. I hesitated when I realised whose name was written as the book’s previous borrower: Olivia Stephens. Upon reading her name, the familiar pain and memories came back. The phone call, crying, speaking with her parents, numb with grief. Tears came to my eye when I recalled the conversations we had shared when Olivia was still alive, her beautiful smile and intelligent eyes. She loved the library and literature, but did her best to hide it to maintain her popular image. She died in an older boy’s apartment at a party after taking all the drugs the idiot kids had, and stranger still, repeating words to a song or poem before passing out. A real tragedy, one that shook me to this day. “Ethan, finish your chapter!” I called out. As usual, he was the last remaining in the library. It was already dark, home time. I was apprehensive about going home to another argument, so I allowed him to keep reading a bit. Curious of the poetry book, the one that Ethan hadn’t liked and perhaps the last book that Olivia had ever read, I flicked the book open to a random page and read a few while I waited for Ethan to finish reading. I thought in that moment - neither of us wanted to find what was waiting for us at home. His terrible home life was well known among the school, and she wasn’t the only one to help him out financially from time to time. I wasn’t surprised that Olivia had only kept the book for two days, the poems were rather simple. But what had Ethan meant when he said it made him feel bad?  I was about to return the book to its place on the shelf and reach for my bag to leave when one stood out to me. Almost shimmering, the tiny poem called out to me. Cradle of life, womb of dread, Yearning for light, path grown dead. Strange. After reading it again, I had to agree with Ethan, I didn’t like this book either. After walking Ethan home, I thought of what awaited me at mine, and what mood Mike would be in. We had argued a lot recently, and I had spent the past two years trying to muster the energy to leave him and look for a man who wanted a child as I did. Or disappear from the town, where Olivia haunted me, and teach English abroad again as I had done in my twenties. The poem lingered in my mind the whole walk home and I realised with a disturbing feeling it’s connection with my desire for a baby. I was surprised to see the lights on and Mike home. He opened the door and greeted me with a hug, a kiss and a glass of wine.  “Come in my love. The sea bass from the market is in the oven and I’m just finishing up the veg.”  As I took my coat and shoes off happiness grew within me. The good wine, the fresh fish from the market… What was this all about?  As I told him about my day and drunk my wine I watched his strong hands cut the carrots and imagined them on me. I drank in the fresh, sweet smell of the carrot juice and I became sure that he wanted to conceive tonight. But since he wasn’t telling me, the suspense grew and I could bare it no longer. I asked him what was going on and he smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m sorry. It’s just … hard… to know what I want. I’ve been stupid, but I know now.” Irritatingly, my phone started buzzing, I ignored it. Nothing would ruin this moment. “What do you want?” I asked him, breathlessly, moving in closer. “I want you, and I want a baby, if you still do.” I threw myself into his arms, laughing. My body soared. I hadn’t realised until that moment how much I had been suffering and how light I felt now. Waves of pleasure reverberated through me and my body sang with music. My tears of joy came off onto his shoulder and when we stopped our embrace I saw tears in his eyes too. My phone. To his dismay, I reached not for him, but for my bloody phone, ruining the moment. My intention was to turn it off, but it showed that a teacher friend, Christine, had called five times. Odd. I could hear sirens. I told Mike I had to quickly take the call in the living room and that I would be right back. Her voice was stressed. “Clara something bad has happened. At Ethan Barnes’ house…” Ethan.  “What is it?” My heart raced as I prepared for what was to come. Not again… please not again. I could not go through another Olivia Stephens… the tears. The trauma, the nightmares.  “It’s just happened, we don’t know. Meet me there as soon as you can.” I told her that I would be right there, then hung up. I didn’t tell her that I had walked Ethan home only thirty minutes ago. Oh god. I tried to reign my terrible thoughts in. Perhaps Ethan’s grandfather has just fallen over? Maybe the awful man hadn’t beat him bloody for being home late as my fearful mind was conjuring. I went back into the kitchen. “Mike, something has happened. I’ve got to go.” He whirled around. “What do you mean?”  “It’s Ethan, he might be hurt…” More sirens. I quickly embraced him. Life was so unfair, tonight was to be perfect. I tore myself away from the warmth of the kitchen and went into the cold porch to put my coat and shoes on. He followed, still holding the knife. He was asking me questions about what was happening, in a concerned voice. I told him that I didn’t know much, but there were already ambulances there. “Clara.” He said, faintly. I looked up at him. Something wasn’t right. “You’re forgetting something.” He came closer. “What?” I asked. What on Earth? He looked at me. Then he said: “Cradle of life, womb of dread, Yearning for light, path grown dead.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. How did he know these words? It took me a moment to realise that that was the poem I had read in the book. But how? He repeated the words, again, approaching closer. Frozen, my mind was frantically trying to connect the dots, drowning out all other thoughts. Repeating the words…  Like Olivia. They said she had repeated words to a song or poem before she died. The poetry book… “Cradle of life, womb of dread, Yearning for light, path grown dead.” An impact, in my stomach. An almost electrical tingle spread around my stomach. Then heat, a burning heat rushed through my body, intense and hot. Pain. I watched in disbelief as Mike, his lips always moving, plunged the knife into my stomach again, and again, and again. ","August 18, 2023 20:15",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,mfzv8i,The Pripyat School Librarian,Sue Hunter,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mfzv8i/,/short-story/mfzv8i/,Fiction,0,['Fiction'],6 likes," The large rectangular windows were speckled with spiderweb-like cracks. Years of heavy snow and brutal winds had battered the library walls and left a few gaping holes in the plaster. Pieces of the green wallpaper had begun to peel, revealing dark brown trails of rotting wood. Bookshelves had toppled over, sending their precious cargo careening into the floor. Those books, their pages faded from exposure to the elements and their bindings snapped on impact, carpeted the floor. You could only imagine the mess Duste Bunni had to wade through every morning. Duste braced himself for another harrowing day of searching. He hopped out from under an encyclopedia that had dropped from a desk, which had landed on its pages and made a tent out of the cover. A quick stretch showed that the dust around his middle was thinning. Thankfully, there was plenty of debris around. Duste took his grey paws and began to scoop up old hair and scraps of paper, stuffing them in the region that would make up his tummy. A few moments later, he was back to his usual self: grey tuffs of animal fur that he had found under a desk, a few pieces of hay that had drifted through a broken window, and, of course, dust of varying shades. All resulting in a small but sturdy rabbit. Confident that he wouldn’t fall to bits as he worked, Duste jumped onto the leg of an overturned chair, then made his way to the only desk that remained intact. Anything electronic had been taken long ago, leaving the desk bare. Duste had been too frightened to demand the looters leave his beloved sanctuary. But that didn’t matter. Duste didn’t feel comfortable dealing with anything electronic, too afraid that a stray bit of static would set his little body ablaze. Besides, the books were all he needed. He wasn’t a very good librarian. He was too small to lift more than a few ounces of paper, and he wouldn’t dare try to scare off the occasional bird that took shelter inside the building (even if their droppings spattered his already battered tomes). But it was his responsibility to take care of the Pripyat library. After all, there was more to being a librarian than taking care of books. Duste scratched his ear with a hind leg. No books had been returned, it seemed. Then again, he wasn’t sure when a book had been checked out during his working hours. He hopped to the floor, causing a cloud of dust to float into the air as he landed. Quick as a…well, a hare, he bounded over countless damaged pieces. He nearly tripped over an atlas of the world and only stopped his run long enough to close the cover of a Ukrainian history book. Duste stopped at one pamphlet that had managed to land upright, leaning heavily on an upside-down agricultural book. The title was in bold letters that Duste could not read, but the picture showcased a family of four surrounded by a circle. A giant mushroom cloud was in the background, casting a shadow over an otherwise bright orange cover. Duste tilted his head. Something stirred in his mind: a fear of something he could no longer quite remember. A bird cawed outside, shaking him out of his reverie. With one last glance at the pamphlet, he bounded toward the library door. A librarian he may be, but only in name. After all, how could he call himself a protector of books when his collection lay in such a sorry state? No, Duste could not do very much on his own. He stopped at the library's rotting doorframe. He checked the hall, noting that the usual grime had not been disturbed, which meant the thing he was looking for had not come this way. Duste sat back on his haunches, wishing he had a mouth from which he could sigh. His memory was as fuzzy as his hindquarters, but sometimes when the sun rose early in the morning, he could recall vague moments of his life. An elderly woman sitting in an ancient wooden chair, organizing children's books on a rack. Small babes, some barely able to walk, playing with blocks on a soft carpet. Kids talking excitedly as they held books about…well, anything. Everything. A bell signaling when they came and left. The library was a safe place. A warm place. Clean and beautiful. Duste began to jump through the halls, looking inside classrooms and cafeterias for a human. That was who he needed so desperately: someone who could come into his library, declare “What a mess!”, and clean it until it was as spotless as it had once been. Yes, it would take a while. Duste wasn’t asking for a miracle. He just needed someone to pick the novels off the floor and give the area a quick dusting (excluding himself, of course) to bring some life back to his home. Duste may have only been bits of trash and dirt, but he knew the library merited care. He knew, on some level, that the children’s books disintegrating into dust deserved to be in the hands of some tiny tot. But it seemed that today would be just like the others. The only creature Duste found was a fox that growled at him as he tumbled by. Other than Duste, not a soul strolled the school halls. Duste thumped the ground a few times, trying to make his irritation known. A dust cloud puffed up with every stomp. No one came to investigate the noise. Ears falling, Duste turned back toward the library, beginning his long journey back as the sun began to set. He was nothing if not a determined creature. He would get a good rest and try again in the morning. Someone would come. Duste was forgetful, but he knew one thing: humans always made sure to take care of their possessions. The children, despite being so small and destructive, would always bring back their books on time. The old lady would always go through her prized storybooks and undo every dogeared page or bent cover. So, he didn’t worry as he tucked himself back under his encyclopedia; didn’t worry as the wind howled outside, promising a snowstorm. Because even though they had left, someone would come for his library soon. It was too important to be abandoned. Duste would take care of it until they returned. That was his duty as the librarian of Pripyat. Pripyat School No. 2 was an elementary school in Pripyat, Ukraine (I used the English spelling of the city in this story). Pripyat was only a few kilometers from Chernobyl when the infamous nuclear disaster happened. Because of this, the school was abandoned. Here’s a link to a picture of the school library, which was the inspiration for the setting of this story: https://www.flickr.com/photos/cmdrcord/13951935547. Another inspiration was When the Wind Blows, which highlights the destructive power of nuclear weapons and the effects of radiation on an elderly couple. Though the story I wrote does not necessarily talk about the aftermath of nuclear fallout, I still think it is interesting to include it here. ","August 17, 2023 17:31","[[{'AnneMarie Miles': ""This was such a charming story. And so creative to make a rabbit a librarian! Its interesting how you managed a whimsical and magical tone, personifying the rabbit, while still achieving a somber one: we get the sense no one isn't around and that is unusual... thanks for including the information about Ukraine. It makes this story all the more meaningful."", 'time': '03:34 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sue Hunter': 'Thank you for your comment, it was very kind :)', 'time': '17:27 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sue Hunter': 'Thank you for your comment, it was very kind :)', 'time': '17:27 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Irene Cornwell': 'What a magical tale. I was caught off guard in the beginning and delighted to find the bunny. i dove in then and enjoyed every detail. An added bonus. I lost a remarkable daughter-in-law two weeks ago to a very rapid cancer. Her homeland was Latvia. She met our son through our small business building doll houses. The reference to the atomic accident site seems predestined.', 'time': '23:15 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sue Hunter': ""I'm so sorry for your loss. I hope my story did not upset you. I'm glad that Duste was able to bring you a small amount of joy <3"", 'time': '15:17 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sue Hunter': ""I'm so sorry for your loss. I hope my story did not upset you. I'm glad that Duste was able to bring you a small amount of joy <3"", 'time': '15:17 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Only saying thank you for liking my story right now. Will get back to reading yours after a while.', 'time': '15:16 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,xk4wc0,The Library and the Beasts,Travis Gibson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xk4wc0/,/short-story/xk4wc0/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Horror', 'Suspense']",6 likes," Laura's trembling fingers caressed the ancient leather-bound book of spells. She opened the heavy tome as dust particles snowed in a small town library tucked against the eastern edge of a northeastern state. A feeling of destiny raced through her veins. Laura loved her library, a place of dreams and secrets. But now the town was under siege from mysterious creatures. She felt a strange sense of security here, as if some unknown force was protecting them. A few townspeople had found refuge in the library. Would the books provide an answer to ward off the monsters? Laura opened the ancient book of spells, searching for a way to protect them all. As she read, Laura felt the power of knowledge, wisdom and strength grow inside her. She realized that the answer to sending the monsters back to the shadows could be found in this library. She put down the book when it wasn't helpful and began looking for another, hoping to repel the creatures before they found their way in. Earlier that day. Excited to be the new Head Librarian at Northeast Falls Library, Laura had decided to live near her office. This morning, instead of the usual lively sounds, a rumble like thunder filled the street. Suddenly, the ground shook and Laura grabbed onto a street lamp for stability as chaos ensued: people clinging to trees and railings, cars crashing into each other, fire hydrants breaking free, trees snapping in half, and telephone poles collapsing. She watched in horror as life struggled for balance. Laura clung to a street lamp during the earthquake, thankful that it held firm. When she looked around, there were a few people on the ground, but no serious injuries. Hesitant of aftershocks, Laura hurried to the library. When she made it inside, she found the place in complete disarray. Books had fallen off shelves, and bookcases lay toppled over one another. Laura felt her heart sink as she realized the enormity of the damage. She quickly assessed the situation and made a plan to tidy up as best she could until more help from staff and a few volunteers arrived. Nearly an hour went by and she was still working on getting some books organized on the shelves when she heard someone enter the library. ""Hello? Excuse me. I was wondering if anyone is in here?"" Laura was confused as she had turned on the lights earlier, as per the opening checklist, even though the place was still a mess. She looked up from the pile of books she had stacked near the science fiction and fantasy section to see a teenage girl and boy enter the building. ""Yes. I am here."" Laura waved from behind her stack.  ""Oh well, we were hoping to find someone."" The teens came to Laura. They were keeping close to each other, a skinny boy with disheveled hair underneath a black hat, and a girl with wild red hair, when they found Laura the boy wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder, leaning into her. Laura suspected they were a couple.  ""What can I help you two with?"" The girl continued. ""Well, we were on our way here to get started on our final paper for school, then that earthquake hit and it kind of made us want to get here faster."" The two teens looked around the library, assessing the damage. ""Though it looks like you're having trouble of your own."" Laura thought she made a mistake opening the library now and thinking it best to close for the day, but staying to clean up. Then another tremble started shaking whatever shelves were left standing, but unlike the first one, this only lasted several seconds. Laura looked around to see if any more shelves fell down, thankfully only a few books. The teenagers gripped to the nearest table; the boy wrapping his hand around the girl. Laura's suspicion of the young couple's relationship confirmed. ""Was that an aftershock?"" asked the boy. ""I believe it was. I know little about earthquakes, but we could have some more aftershocks before it's over."" Laura got up and noticed the entrance door opening.  Walking in was an older man, possibly in his 60s, with a bushy white beard and hair. He seemed flustered in his polo shirt that had some dirt on it.  ""Excuse me, but do you have a bathroom?"" The older man practically ignored the teenagers and had gone straight for Laura, not wanting to interrupt his mission. Laura stared at him for a moment. ""Yes, go straight back and to your left."" ""Thank you."" The older man proceeded towards his destination. When the bathroom door closed, Laura and the teens trade awkward glances. ""When you gotta go, you gotta go,"" said the boy. The girl smiled at her boyfriend's phrase and looked at Laura. ""I'm Sophia, and this is Tyler,"" she held out a hand and Laura instinctively shook it. Then, after hesitating a moment, Tyler shook her hand as well. ""Do you need help with putting away your books?"" asked Sophia. Laura thought for a moment. ""Well, technically yes, but don't you have a paper to research on?"" ""Well, yes, but it looks like you need more help than we do."" ""No. That's alright. Unfortunately, what you are looking for may not be where you can find them right now, but all I can say for now is try your best."" The two teenagers exchanged nods and made their way towards the reference section. The books were completely jumbled, yet this did not deter them from their quest for knowledge. Their eyes scanned through the piles of books, searching for the one they needed.  The older man came out of the bathroom and looked at the chaos that made up the library's interior.  ""Quite a mess, isn't it?"" The older man stroked his beard thoughtfully. Laura nodded. ""Yes, it's going to take some time to get everything back in order."" The older man stepped closer to Laura, his eyes filled with concern. ""Do you think it's safe to be in here? I mean, with all the earthquake activity?"" Laura looked around, considering his question. ""Well, we're in an old building, so there's always some risk. But the library seems to have held up pretty well during the initial quake, so I think we'll be okay for now."" The older man nodded, seeming to take some comfort in her words. ""Good. I was worried there for a minute. My wife is at home alone, and I need to get back to her before anything else happens."" Laura offered her sympathies. ""I hope she's okay."" The old man gave a tight-lipped smile. ""She'll be fine. She's resourceful, especially when nature strikes. She survived four hurricanes and flash floods when she used to live on the Gulf coast."" ""Oh, well, she must be very resilient."" Laura was too distracted from organizing the books, and reluctant to get into any conversation at the moment. As she was looking through the books, she noticed that one of them was much older than the rest, one that looked to be practically ancient relative to the others. At first she was holding it like any other book, but then she carefully lifted it up with both hands and carried it over to the nearest table. She set it down as gently as she could, like it was some type of religious artifact, and given its aged look, it might in fact be one.  ""What have you got there, miss?"" asked the older man. Laura didn't answer for a moment, not even hearing what he said. ""Oh. I...don't know. It seems really old for some of these other books. Most of these are relatively new."" Laura started opening the book, instead there was a loud bang outside. All four people looked to the entrance. Tyler got up and started to the door. Laura, feeling it her duty as head of the library, also went to check out the disturbance. When Tyler and Laura opened the door, chaos filled the street. Smoke veiled a large hole in the middle, which people fled from before stopping to investigate. Laura and Tyler were among them. Then out of the ground a giant claw, followed by another, came out of the hole and the people started to scream and run away. Laura and Tyler froze in shock, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly, a monster emerged from the hole; its body towering over the people. It was a giant creature with scales covering its body, its eyes glowing red with rage. Smaller creatures resembling cockroaches skittered around the base of the larger creature. People scattered in all directions, running for their lives. Laura grabbed Tyler's hand and started running in the opposite direction of the monster. They could hear the creature's footsteps behind them; its massive body shaking the ground with each step. They made their way back into the library and quickly shut the doors. The keys still on her, Laura quickly locked them. They backed away from the entrance and made their way to the others. Tyler rejoined Sophia while the older man went to Laura. ""What happened? Was there an explosion?"" ""There... there was a monster..."" Laura couldn't believe what she was saying. ""A monster? Pfft. What do you mean?"" ""It was huge...like a dinosaur, but nothing like I've seen on TV,"" said Tyler.  Laura wasn't sure why, but it seemed a weird coincidence that she would find such a strange book right before a hole opened up in the ground and strange creatures come out of it.The older man looked at them all skeptically. ""I think you're all just a little shaken up from the earthquake. There's no such thing as monsters."" But Laura knew what she saw. And as she looked over at the ancient book on the table, she couldn't help but wonder if it held any clue to what was happening outside. She picked it up, flipping through the yellowed pages until she came across a passage written in a language she didn't recognize. But as she stared at it, the words seemed to shift and rearrange themselves until they formed something she could understand.  ""The earth trembles and the ancient beast awakens from its slumber. Its minions shall rise and cover the land in darkness. Only the chosen one can defeat the beast and restore balance to the world."" Laura's heart raced as she read the prophecy. Could it be possible that she was the chosen one? She had always felt there was something special about her, some purpose she could attain. Though that seemed overdramatic. As she looked through the decrepit pages, she could see that there should be more to it, but it seemed several pages were missing. She would need to consult other sources if she was to find out what the prophecy meant and how to defeat the monsters. There was an older part of the library, one that was practically forbidden, not for superstitious reasons but that the books were so old only an expert could handle them. Laura was training to be one, so she could have complete access to the entire library. ""I'm going to have to go downstairs."" She looked at the older man, feeling some sense of comradeship with him because of the ongoing events.  ""I'm sorry, sir, but I didn't catch your name."" The man hesitated. ""Oh, I think you're right. I am Isaac, Dr. Isaac Reynolds of Northeast Falls University. I was just on my way to work until the earthquake hit... I'm sorry, what were you saying?"" ""I need to go downstairs to find an important book. Can you keep an eye on the library and the kids for me?"" ""Oh, uh, sure, ma'am. I can do that. I'll just sit down here and keep an eye on the place for you. May I ask why are you looking for a book at a time like this?"" ""I think it would be hard to explain right now since I don't fully understand it myself, but I need to find a certain book that may be related to this one."" She pointed at the one on the table and left before Isaac could say any more.  Laura headed to a door in the back of the library leading to the basement.  She hadn't looked through all the books yet, but she knew which one to look for - a worn book that reminded colleagues of Lovecraft or King. They started calling it ""The Necronomicon"". She descended a winding staircase until she reached her destination. The air was still and stale, the lighting dim and overly harsh at some points. As she walked through the stacks of books, all of them dating back to the mid 1700s, Laura searched for anything that might be like the one she found earlier. She ran her fingers along some spines, feeling for any type of raised lettering or symbols that pointed it out as special. After several minutes with no luck, she inspected inside each one. She started off by flipping through pages slowly, but soon gained speed as she became more proficient in reading the ancient words and phrases printed on every page. Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching, Laura spotted an old leather bound tome. This was the one she was looking for. Excitedly, Laura opened it up and gasped at what she saw, an illustration depicting an enormous creature similar to what she saw from the hole outside. Then just as she had found in the one from the Fiction section, she also found a reference to the same prophecy: ""The earth trembles and the ancient beast awakens..."" she kept reading until she found what may have been the missing parts from the other book. She believed that the newer one must have been the work of someone trying to copy this ancient text. She went to the only computer in the room and opened up a word document. After a few minutes, she typed the text from the book and saved it to the library's server. This way, she could find and open it upstairs. She placed the book back and ran upstairs to join the others. ""Where have you been?"" asked Sophia. ""I had to find something... what's happened outside?"" ""Some of those cockroach - looking things tried to get in but gave up. Probably found something else to eat."" Laura went to the nearest computer and logged in, then once she found the document, she sent it to the printer. The others were a little confused by what she was doing, but they weren't sure what to say. After grabbing the papers and stapling them, Laura headed to the entrance. She took out her key and opened the door. From outside, she could hear screams and loud crashes. People were running in fear from some creatures that appeared to be destroying the town. Laura had seen nothing like it - these dark, insectoid looking creatures were tearing through buildings and eating anything in their way. Laura knew now was the time to act. She pulled out the papers she had printed and read aloud from them: ""Let those who are of flesh be warned, for a great darkness shall come upon this land, bringing with it an ancient terror that will consume all. Only one can save us from this fate - one who holds the power of knowledge as a shield against destruction."" A brilliant light illuminated the creatures, and they paused in their rampage to look at Laura. Reading aloud, she watched them shake and fit as their bodies dissolved. By the time she finished the passage, only the monster's head was left before it too disintegrated with a failed attempt to scream. Laura felt a surge of energy as she kept saying the words. Sophia, Tyler and Isaac came out of the library and saw Laura still chanting from the pages. They looked around to see if there were more danger, but didn't find any. Sophia walked in front of Laura, who was practically shouting the words from the book. “Ma'am"" Sophia waved her hands. The earthquake shook them, making Sophia lose balance and knock Laura's papers to the ground. Laura ceased chanting and fainted.An hour later Laura woke up laying on a sofa and noticed the two teens and the older man sitting around her.  ""Uh... does anyone have any water?"" As soon as Laura spoke, Tyler handed her a paper cup from the table in between them. ""What happened?"" Laura was still feeling a little fuzzy but completely aware. ""You were chanting some spell from those papers you printed up and couldn't stop. Once I got the papers away from you, you fainted,"" said Sophia. ""Where are the papers?"" ""In the trash."" said Isaac. ""The recycling bin. I also took the liberty of shredding them just in case."" ""I would have done the same thing. Thank you."" A moment of silence permeated the room. ""What just happened?"" Tyler broke the silence. ""I believe some creatures from some other dimension, or possibly hell, or whatever you want to call it, invaded the town, and I found a book with a spell that stopped them."" ""I know this library is one of the oldest buildings in the state. The basement must hold some ancient knowledge."" Said Isaac. ""I believe it does and I'm afraid those monsters may not be the last of them."" ""How do you know that?"" asked Tyler.""That spell came from just the first few pages of the book I found."" ","August 17, 2023 20:48","[[{'Leland Mesford': 'Ooo, ""\'How do you know that?\' asked Tyler."" Then, the line that follows is stupendous. I won\'t spoil it. \nAt first I didn\'t get it. Then, wham!', 'time': '21:28 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,73ryx0,The Librarian,Shanda Kersten,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/73ryx0/,/short-story/73ryx0/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Bedtime']",6 likes," The man had just quietly disappeared. He left behind the bookmark to end all bookmarks. Adam, the librarian, couldn’t find that at the moment either. It just wasn’t in the book he was fairly certain he was reading. When you have five or six going at once, it’s hard to keep track of what mood you were in last, am I right? He thought he was reading a book of Robert Frost poetry, but the marker was not there. This is the problem with working in a library. It is entirely possible that he had laid it down on a side table during a slow moment, then left it when someone asked him a question. He was usually more careful than that, though. We should start with the library itself. It is a rather small structure, with old brick inside and out. There’s even a fireplace that still works and is lit in the fall and winter, with big comfy chairs of all sorts for all ages placed around it. There is a coffee pot and a single camp burner for a tea kettle, on top of a little cabinet with a sink and cups. Two floors of books, no genealogy, research, or any departments like that. Fiction, non-fiction, and how-to is all that these shelves held. The hard wood floors are beat up in a loved kind of way. It’s a place where you could seriously lose time.  When Adam first came across the bookmark, it was in a mystery left lying on one of the many side tables spread around. He took it to the check-out counter where it stayed for two weeks, waiting for someone to come get it. When no one came, he picked the book up and flipped through it. The bookmark fell out and he wondered how old it was and how it was still in one piece. As he picked up the place holder, his head filled with images of several different people, places, and scenarios. He dropped the marker as the scenes flashed through his head. There were so many that he thought he was having some kind of a stroke.  The rectangular piece of fabric did not look special in any way except that it was completely embroidered. It was hard to tell if it was embroidered fabric, or if it was threaded together to make a fabric. Bizarre symbols took up all the space. As Adam touched it again, he suddenly felt suspicious of certain characters that he had seen last time. There were weird associations between some people and some objects. If he left behind the shock of what was happening, he imagined that this might be what a detective’s head looked like inside. Hm.  What would happen if he placed the marker in another book? He had no idea why this notion occurred to him, but he thought he should try it. He went on a hunt to find an entirely different kind of book, just to prove to himself that he wasn’t crazy. The DIY section called his name. Yes. A book on motorcycle repair was exactly the thing. He placed the mark between two pages and looked at his watch. Maybe ten minutes would do it. He took the book with the placeholder and put them behind his counter then went to straighten up some more. While he wandered the upper floor, he noted that it was time to treat the floors again. In fact, it might be time for another complete top to bottom deep clean. Moving all the shelves and books happened every two or three years. Most general cleaning took place weekly and monthly on a more regular schedule.  When he was left in charge of the old building, those were the only instructions he received. The library should be run as he saw fit. He was the librarian after all. The time would come when he would pass the duty on to someone else, and that would be his time and person to choose. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to do anything else, but he supposed it was sure to happen somewhere down the road. Reflecting on what needed to be done spurred him to the desk to make a list and a schedule. Before he knew it, a half hour had passed. The bookmark looked different, but in any way he could define. Nothing happened when he picked up the book and opened it. But when he picked up the bookmark from the pages, different motorcycles flooded his head. He saw what tools to use to do certain things, different ways to do the same things on a variety of bikes and so much more. It was all just suddenly there in a way he would never have understood just reading the manual alone. What a way to read, he decided. Wondering how it worked when you were actually reading the book it was placed in, he thought of the latest book he had wanted to delve into. Since it was a rainy day, he lit a fire in the fireplace, started some tea, grabbed his book, not expecting anyone to wander in today. The room warmed, the kettle whistled, and Adam settled down with a good horror story. What a mistake that would turn out to be. The front door opened and in walked Mrs. Stillson. Adam put the mark in his book and got up to see what he could get for her. She didn’t get up and down the stairs as well as she used to, but she could tell you so much about the library itself that you always wanted to jump to help her out. She took a cup of tea while while he looked for the best books for her. Rarely did she dislike his choices for her. Once she had had her tea, looked over her prizes for the week, and told a tale of hijinks from her youth, she popped open her umbrella and toddled home across the street, and he sat down again in the big poofy armchair to continue his book. Book in hand, he removed the bookmark and almost screamed as his head filled with dark forest sounds and mists and screeches. If he worked at it, he could remember that not everything going through his head was his. Though, it did seem to be what his imagination worked up while he was reading. Sort of like a baking scenario for your head. Maybe, in the future, he would not use the ribbon for scary stories. There were so many more books to read. He finished that book and went to lock up for the night. On his way down the stairs to his cozy little apartment with the book he started yesterday and wasn’t quite in the mood for, he gave a fleeting thought to the missing owner of the bookmark. Getting ready for bed, and turning the overhead light off, he crawled into bed. He opened the book and removed the bookmark. How had that gotten in this book? Well, at least he had found it. Once more, he delved into the story of the librarian who went looking for someone who had left a book in his library...  ","August 12, 2023 19:21",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,cw51ew,A Beginning Conspiracy,Joseph Peck,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/cw51ew/,/short-story/cw51ew/,Fiction,0,['Fantasy'],6 likes," “Where is it, where is it?” The panicked cry was sounded right before the two pinewood doors were thrust wide open. Sweeping through the entrance on swift legs came two robed figures, once clad in viridian and the other in scarlet. The green robed figure was a towering male, bearded face crinkled in worry and movements hurried. His companion wore her almond hair in a simple bun, her face stern. Her eyebrows were furrowed in thought.  “Have you checked the Forbidden Section Director Grunwald?” Her query earned her a huff in response.  “That was the first place I inspected, Inquisitor Espero.” Immediately the woman threw a hand to his shoulder and dragged him to her side. Leaning over, the crimson robed woman glared at him.  “Be quiet, fool! I am working covertly, no one can know the Inquisition is seeking the Book.” The director shrugged her hand off and marched over a desk by the wall, the sunlight streaming through the glass window above it. Set in a wooden stand was an open leather bound book, the parchment pages yellowed and worn. A wave of his hand caused several pages to begin flipping themselves. As that was occurring, the Inquisitor scanned the room, making note of her surroundings. Placed on desks that ran along the walls were rolled piles of parchment and papyrus scrolls. Meanwhile, set in rows, shelves that reached up to the ceiling were filled to the brim with all manner of books, from the journals and grimoires of long dead Wizards and Sorcerers to the various tomes of legend and lore that had been painstakingly collected and written down. Sprinkled amongst that number was the occasional codex that had belonged to the rare accomplished Magus. One, in particular, had gained the attention of numerous parties who desired it. The disgusted scoff from her current companion distracted Inquisitor Espero from her observations.  “Useless, stupid catalog,” Director Grunwald seethed. He turned and threw his hands up in the air.  “The Book is missing,” he admitted in defeat. His shoulders slumped. Inquisitor Espero jerked back as if struck.  “What do you mean the Book is gone?” She demanded. She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. She fixed the Director with a frustrated scowl.  “You are in charge of the Library of Cryignistadt, the most accomplished library in the province, and you have the audacity to tell me that you have lost The Reckoning of Hell, a book that literally has the instructions for someone to both ascend to godhood and bring about the end of the world.” Her furious eyes met his defeated blues. With a growl she stomped to the nearest shelf and began eyeing the books therein.  “Unbelievable,” she muttered to herself. First she learns one of the most dangerous books to have ever been written was transferred to some provincial hovel that dares to call itself a library, then the one responsible for the supposedly best library in the entire province let a threat to the security of the Empire go missing on his watch. Inquisitor Espero closed her eyes and started massaging her temples. What an utter disaster. Behind her, the Inquisitor heard the Director once more flip through the catalog, muttering an incantation of seeking. Suddenly, Director Grunwald gasped. Immediately, Espero’s eyes snapped open and she turned on her heel, hands coming up in a guard position.  “What have you found?” Director Grunwald stared at her in dawning dismay, his ashen beard quivering.  “We have been betrayed.” He made his way over to her, hand waved in a circular motion thrice to set up wards against eavesdropping, if her training was correct. He leaned over to her and brought out a torn page of the catalog. A glance at the page saw that it was blackened and scorched, as if someone had thrown a fireball at it point blank.  “I forgot about it in my panic, but when the founders of this establishment built it, they created the catalog with the function of noting all books contained in this library, not just the ones on the shelves. Of course, there was a safety feature in that you have to know exactly what title you are looking for to get any results, but the fact that the Reckoning is a closely guarded secret means that it should have been protected by anonymity. The fact that someone sabotaged the catalog means only one thing.” Director Grumwald locked eyes with Inquisitor Espero. “Who amongst your colleagues did you tell about this mission?”  “Secrecy is of the essence, so I spoke of this to no one beyond the Grand Inquisitor.” Director Grunwald winced.  “So the traitor is one of mine. Damn it.” He frowned and made his way to the back of the room. “This way.” Inquisitor Espero followed. After a minute they came to a desk set next to the wall upon which sat a leather bound binder. On either side was a small wooden stool. As the Director took one stool and opened the binder, the Inquisitor took the other stool, making note of the signs that had been nailed to several shelves near them: Forbidden, Stay Away. A snarled curse came from the Director. Once more they exchanged looks of irritation with each other.  “Whoever sabotaged the catalog made a repeat offense here,” Director Gruwald gestured to the leather binder. “We will have to manually collect everyone who works here and establish their alibis, unfortunately time is against us.” The Director trailed off at her raised hand.  “If you give me a list of everyone who could possibly have access to the records here, I can use my connections with the local garrison to assist in our investigation.” No sooner did she finish when the two of them leapt to the ground and covered their heads just as a wave of pure concussive force slammed into the desk they had vacated, reducing the hand crafted mahogany into flying splinters. As wooden chips and stakes rained onto the ground, the Inquisitor and the Director sprung to their feet. With a flick of her arm, a carved stick flew into her hand. In that same motion, she snapped it clean in two, releasing a light reddish wave into the air around them. As that happened she slid into the martial arts stance of an Inquisitor, hands in a guard position and feet apart. The Director for his part had pulled out a silver dagger from a pouch at his side, and was now crouched low, eyes alert and body taunt.  CRASH!  The bookshelves behind them were smashed apart, vellum and paper flying alongside wood. Inquisitor Espero spun and brought her arms to the side, generating a burst of wind that blew the makeshift projectiles off course. As she did so, the Director drew a circle in the air with his dagger and jabbed with it, creating a barrier of solid air above them just in time to deflect another attack, this time a large chunk of ice flying at them from the ceiling and instead shattering against the stone walls of the Library.  “Assassins!” The two of them looked up just in time to see a dark shape fly to the ground. Director Grunwald swore.  “I hate Vampires.” Inquisitor Espero looked behind to where another such figure was hanging onto a far shelf with a shit eating grin on a blood thirsty face. The Inquisitor did not bother fighting to keep the disgust from curling her face into a sneer.  Vampires. Undead Revenants raised by the unholy combination of Blood Magic and Necromancy, with the price for their immortality being the crimson life of the young, the innocent, and the virtuous. By the decree of her Imperial Majesty Lucilla Sunwearer, after her husband was murdered by the Vampire Dread Lord Iudas the Damned, all such lore that pertained to the creation of Vampires were either destroyed or confiscated, and a purge of the Empire to commence. Alas, having gotten wind of their impending destruction, the Vampire Courts had risen up in revolt and fortified their island stronghold of Vampyra. The only reason the Empire had elected to ignore the Revenants besieged on their isle was due to the fact that most Arcanians had grumbled about the losses a potential assault against the island would bring, noting that so long as the Imperial Navy held the blockade, no one could escape Vampyra. Whether they would be so passive if they knew Vampire assassins had managed to slip the blockade was another question entirely, one which the Inquisitor knew was a short and blunt ‘No.’ Alas, in order for this information to spread throughout the Empire, first at least either the Director or the Inquisitor would need to survive.  “Oh yippee, we are about to die,” Director Grunwald remarked in a voice dripping in sarcasm. The Vampire behind the two Imperials sniggered. The one in front of them gave them a toothy grin, sharp canines peeking out from beneath his lips.  Inquisitor Espero shifted herself so that both Vampires were in sight. The Director had mirrored her. The young woman dove into the memories of her education. Originally, Vampires had been intended by Dark Lords for use as elite super soldiers, shock troops, bodyguards, and assassins, however the newly created Vampires had proven to be uncontrollable, and proving to be too much danger for too little reward, it resulted in most early Vampires being destroyed with extreme prejudice as was common for such experiments. That would have been the end of it if only they hadn’t been created with an ability that allowed them to transform other sapients into Vampires as well, seeing as how a couple had been able to escape by virtue of incompetence and dumb luck. The Vampire Courts were the inevitable conclusion of that mistake. Overall, they were extremely fast, strong, capable of resisting direct magical attacks that were not tailored for use against undead (or elemental and light magic in general) , were effectively immortal, and were infamous for their psychopathic and sadistic tendencies. It was a small mercy that most Vampires were unable to travel in sunlight without bursting into flames, along with the fact that most Vampires could not perform magic. Only Vampire Dread Lords could cast spells, and even then they were bound to the fields of Necromancy and Blood Magic. Espero observed her opponents. Both Vampires were dressed in a mix of black and gray, enough cloth to cover them from the light of the sun. Aside from that, both bore the tell tale corpse like pallor and the vermillion eyes of a Vampire, the only difference being the one hanging from the bookshelf had dirty blond curls and carried a mace decorated with inert sigils and the one who had came down from the ceiling wore his shoulder length hair back in a ponytail with a similarly enchanted ax stuck through his belt. Unbidden, she felt sweat slide down her neck. Ideally, herself and Director Grunwald would be able to stall these interlopers long enough for help to arrive, however if not, they would have to fight their way out. Due to the flammable materials around them, fire spells would be a poor choice of magic. Alternative methods would be needed. Locking eyes with the Director, the Inquisitor imagined a mental bridge forming between them. She mentally cheered when the Director finished where she left off.   ‘Do you know any light spells?’ Espero thought. The Director quirked an eyebrow.  ‘Technically yes, but it would probably be easier if I lifted the anti-teleportation wards and raised the anti-vampire wards.’  ‘How long do you need?’ Espero questioned, sensing the assailants preparing to strike.  ‘As long as you can give me.’ The Inquisitor tensed her body and nodded.  ‘Do it then.’ With that, she broke the connection and swung about, creating a miniature whirlwind that she sent at the vampire before them. In that same movement, she raised her leg, solidified the air before it, and kicked, sending it right at the vampire who had dropped from the shelf and just landed. The attack slammed him against another bookshelf, several times dropping down on him in a great pile. With him distracted, Espero slid to the side, neatly avoiding the ax blow aimed at her, and with an overhead swing of her leg knocked it from the Vampire holding it. Immediately she came under attack, several punches flying at her. Blood pumping, the Inquisitor embraced her training, her ingrained instincts allowing her to anticipate and deflect the strikes coming at her. Still, the speed and strength being generated would eventually overwhelm her. In addition, her ears picked up the other Vampire getting ready to pounce on her. Deftly avoiding a punch to her face, she delivered a flying kick between the long haired Vampire’s legs, buying her precious seconds with which to skip away from the curly haired Vampire leaping at her, fangs out. The two Undead crashed together in a mess of tangled limbs, ending in a pile on the floor. Sliding into another stance, she moved her arms about, feeling electricity bubbling along her clothes and building in her fingertips. Just when she couldn’t hold it any more, her opponents managed to untangle themselves and fly at her with homicidal rage. Taking a risk, she bent over backwards, the Vampires missing her by an inch. As they passed, the Inquisitor reached up and tagged them both with her hands. The effects were instantaneous. Making a rough landing on the floor, their bodies twitched and spasmed with electricity, their bodies temporarily disabled. Espero breathed in and out, willing away the ache in her muscles.  “Are you quite done yet?” She called to Director Grunwald.  “Not yet,” he replied. Before she could order him to hurry up, a sound like breaking glass echoed in their ears. A robed arm took hold of one shoulder and suddenly in a burst of wind they were in a marble hallway just in time to see a dozen of armed and armored figures sprint up to them. Their metal masks and cuirasses bore scorch marks, and their brown cloaks were singed. Naginatas were clasped in gauntleted fists.  “Director, are you hurt?” One of them asked. The Director shook his head after a glance at her.  “No, however we were attacked by a pair of Vampiric assassins. My companion managed to subdue them briefly, but they must be dealt with swiftly before they can escape. They are in the Library as of now.” Each of them nodding, they took off for the library, naginata blades glowing a bright sapphire hue. Another burst of wind later and they were standing on a balcony overlooking a small garden of bright colored flowers. The danger having passed, the weary Inquisitor spied a stone bench and made her over to it, sighing as she sat down. She felt a wince on her face as she gave her tired body a rest. Director Grunwald took a seat next to her, face creased in thought. For a moment, all was silent save the sounds of two Revenants fighting for their unlives.  “This was no coincidence, Inquisitor.” The Director’s voice was heavy. Espero raised her head and looked at him.  “No, it was not.” The tired woman took the information they had and formulated her hypothesis. She side eyed the Director, who returned the look.  “There is a traitor among my staff,” the Director recalled.  “They were able to sabotage both the catalog, the employee schedule, the list of all those currently employed, and managed to lower the anti-Vampire defenses on this building without any of us being aware of it,” the Inquisitor added.  “Finally, we were attacked by a pair of Vampire assassins wielding enchanted weapons right after we had formulated the plan for our continued investigation.” The Director stroked his beard. “We have quite the conspiracy on our hands.”  “Indeed we do,” Espero agreed. “And if my suspicions are true, then the Empire is in grave peril.” Director Grunwald furrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.  “The real question is: why? Why risk provoking the Imperial military? Why go through all this trouble for a book that they can not actually use?” Inquisitor Espero felt her eyes narrowing.  “Vampires not needing the Reckoning….. Of course, they can not use it!” While the actual instructions had been sealed away, the requirements and prerequisites anyone trying to utilize the book would need was information readily available to the Inquisition. Due to the nature of the ascension ritual described in the book, one of the major prerequisites was that the ritualist performing the rite had to be a living mortal. By default, Demons, Angels, Fae, and the Undead were unable to use the ascension ritual, and since you first had to complete the ascension ritual before you could use any of the apocalyptic rituals, the only use such beings would have for that book was as a bargaining piece. Without warning, a feeling of unease grew in Espero’s heart. Her eyes flew open.  “Director, have you by any chance met this individual?” The Inquisitor questioned, reaching into her robes to pull out a roll of parchment. Unrolling it, she showed the revealed picture to  The Director, whose eyes widened at the sight.  “As a matter of fact, yes. Do you think he could have possibly suborned some of my staff?” Director Grunwald inquired, concern for his workers in his voice. Inquisitor Espero nodded.  “Without a doubt. This man, Gellert Kemmler, is a known Necromancer, wanted in several countries for misuse of his powers and for acts of terrorism, mass murder, torture, sedition, treason, and tax evasion.” The blood drained from Director Grunwald’s face with each word.  “He is one of the worst people to get his hands on that book.” Espero nodded. “If anyone has the power, skill, talent, and insanity to pull off anything from that book, it’s him.” Silence fell on them. ","August 18, 2023 11:19","[[{'Louise Rebecca': ""I really liked this story, you can tell it was well thought out and a lot of effort went into it - I'll be sure to read your other submissions!"", 'time': '20:56 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joseph Peck': 'Thank you! I am glad you liked it and I hope you like my other submissions as well.', 'time': '01:58 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joseph Peck': 'Thank you! I am glad you liked it and I hope you like my other submissions as well.', 'time': '01:58 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,1zs3v7,The Librarian’s Search,Louise Rebecca,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1zs3v7/,/short-story/1zs3v7/,Fiction,0,['Fantasy'],6 likes," Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. One by one another book hit the floor. “Oh where is it?” Fiona muttered angrily to herself. A very unsteady pile grew next to her as she clumsily pulled books from the shelves, her hair falling across her face as sweat trickled down her brow. Outside, rain beat hard on the windows, and flickering candle light illuminated each pane in a warm, orange hue. It was dusk, and Fiona had closed the library and locked the heavy oak front doors, but the day's work was far from over. The library was old, with stone, whitewashed walls on the outside and wooden frames and beams on the inside. There were bookcases everywhere. As you walk through the library entrance, a wooden desk in the shape of a 'U' sits to the left. To the right, a wide fireplace surrounded by armchairs hidden away behind a maze of bookshelves. A place of comfort and ambiance for those who want to read within a quiet setting. Today, only Fiona had been working at the library. She had been so busy that she barely noticed the sly goblin avoiding detection in the ‘Magic’ section. It was slumped down rifling through one of the shelves which, ordinarily, may have distracted her. However, she had been so busy that she failed to notice the uninvited guest. By the time she caught sight of the creature, it had clicked its fingers and disappeared. Fiona was so in her own world that when a customer appeared out of nowhere asking for the whereabouts of a book, she completely forgot the goblin even existed. Goblins weren’t allowed in the library, least of all in the ‘Magic’ section, because they were known for their schemes and, in this case, it was looking for other worldly information to sell to the highest bidder. Fiona had never seen a goblin in real life but had heard customers grumbling about them following goblin reports in the local gazette. Now, she knew the creature was in the ‘Magic’ section but couldn’t remember which shelf it had been standing next to. If she did not find what the goblin was looking for it might end up in the wrong hands. “Hmph” sighed Fiona, as she tied her long, ginger hair into a bun. She walked over to the front doors and gave a little tug on the handle to make sure they were locked before making herself a fresh cup of tea. She made her way around the side of the front desk and through the archway behind it. In here housed a stove, kettle and a sink as well as a countertop and an armchair. To the right of the room was another archway which led to a stockroom. Fiona busied herself with heating water on the stove and finding a nice biscuit because a cup of tea wasn’t the same with a sugary treat. She found some on the countertop beside the stove and, when her tea was ready, she made her way over to the armchair. Tucking one leg under herself, she got comfy and tried to think hard about where the goblin had been standing. 30 minutes had passed and Fiona was still none the wiser, so she decided to carry on looking, returning to where she had been pulling books from earlier. She hoped whatever book the goblin had been looking for would make itself known. She stood up and stretched, realising how cold it had gotten, and grabbed her cardigan from the iron hooks on the wall beside the archway. It was getting darker outside and wasn’t overly light inside either, and so thought she had better light another candle. She made her way to the front of the library where a cupboard besides the doorway held her matches. All of a sudden she heard the slow scratching of wood. She froze. Slowly, she grabbed the matches and turned around, listening out for that same scratching. Towards the customers' reading area where a fire was burning nicely, she heard something again. The front doors were locked and Fiona wondered if the goblin had come back. She steadily made her way towards where the noise came from, holding the matches out in front of her like a weapon, not wanting to think about what she would do if it was a goblin. As she got near the reading area, a large shadow came into view on her left. However, it didn’t look like a goblin; it’s silhouette was almost fluffy. Goblins are known to outsmart their enemies with shadow trickery, but, it was raining outside, so maybe it was just wearing a coat? Unsure how to handle the situation, she decided to jump out into the middle of the reading section. As Fiona launched towards the fireplace, the creature also jumped and Fiona skidded onto the burnt orange rug before falling over on to her back. Groaning, she sat up and looked around. There, licking its paw and sitting in front of her, was the source of the noise; an elderly, black cat. “Oh!’ Fiona exclaimed, leaning forward to scratch its head. She said “How on earth did you get in here?” The cat looked at her with disinterest and she sighed, asking “I don’t suppose you can help me?” The cat stood up, stretched and sauntered off towards the ‘Magic’ section and where Fiona had pulled the books from earlier.  Following the cat, she looked at the mess she had made. It was still raining outside and the place looked gloomy as water continued to pour down the window. She groaned as she realised she hadn’t yet found the book and would have to put all the books back onto the shelves. “She thought to herself that can be a problem for later, as she gathered the mound of books into neat piles. As she was doing this, the cat quietly came and sat near her. Fiona looked up, and noticed the cat had moved. Tilting her head to one side asked it gently “Can you help me kitty or are you just sheltering from the rain?” Giving a gentle meow, the cat turned its head and focused on the bookcase it was sitting in front of and began licking its paw. Fiona looked at the bookcase, which was the ‘Historic Magik’ section and wondered if the book would be there. Abandoning the newly formed piles of books, she made her way over and looked at the bookcase quizzically. There were five shelves, each with about 25 books on them; a mixture of small, thin recipe books and big, leatherbound beasts with titles like ‘A History of Prophecies; Fifth Edition’ and ‘Advanced Draconic Anatomy’. A candle went out and a slight chill filled the room. She said to herself “Well, I’m going to take that as a sign, if a slightly odd one” and with a glance at her new friend, Fiona went back to the fireplace to find dropped matches. The cat had followed her and seemed eager for her to get back to the section, circling her and making lots of noise. “Okay okay I’m coming!” The cat leapt ahead, returning back to the ‘Historic Magik’ bookcase and curled up in front of it. Relighting the candle, the bookshelves returned to a warm hue. Fiona reached up to the top shelf as the cat ‘meowed’, almost as if confirming that’s where the librarian should start. She began pulling books off the shelf and a cloud of dust enveloped her, causing her to cough and lose her balance. Fiona dropped the books as she hid her face behind her cardigan. The cat gave her an angry hiss as it sprang out of the way of the incoming books. “Sorry!” Fiona shrieked, reaching for the cat to make sure he was okay but as she did so, she tripped over the pile of books she assorted earlier. With a loud bang, Fiona and the books went spiralling across the floor. “Ugh, maybe I should just give up and let the goblin just take the book next time” she said out loud, adjusting her hair bun and gathering herself together. Again, the cat had quietly made its way back to the ‘Historic Magik’ bookshelf before licking its paw again. “Maybe I’ll have one more look, just for you.” Pulling the books from the top shelf slowly this time, Fiona felt assured as the cat curled up next to her and purred quietly. Fiona took the books from the second shelf too and put them in a neat pile, out of the way, and began taking the books from the third shelf. Outside, it thundered in the distance as rain began to drum louder against the windows. She soon got to the end of the third shelf when the cat, unbothered by the commotion outside, sat upright again. Fiona sat down, crossing her legs, and began taking books from the fourth shelf, slightly perplexed as to where the book was and whether she had already taken it off the shelf. “These are magic books but they don’t look like something a goblin would want to take, I don’t think they’ve been touched for hundreds of years.” Stifling a yawn, she looked over to the cat and said “Can you help me again please?”  The events of the evening so far meant it was nearly midnight and Fiona was starting to grow tired. The cat stood up, arched its back and gracefully leapt forward. It stopped in front of the bookcase and leant up to the fourth shelf and peered at it. “So you want me to look at this shelf? But what at? I’ve taken all the books off it!” Leaning forward, she peered at the shelf to see if she had missed any books and noticed the hardwood at the back was different to the ones on the shelves above. “Look, there are some faint ruins carved into each corner on the back of this shelf!” She glanced at the cat to see if she was onto the right thing and it gave it a soft “meow.” Fiona stretched out and knocked on the hardwood. It sounded hollow, so she pressed hard against it to see if it would open but it didn’t. The cat gave a loud meow and stood as close to the shelf as possible, which gave Fiona an idea. Slowly feeling around the edges of the wood, she poked her fingernails down the left hand side to try and prize the wood away. It didn’t budge. She tried again, but still no movement was made. “Hmph” Fiona said, getting agitated, “Why won't it budge kitty?” The cat looked at her and pressed up against her comfortingly as it wound its way to her right hand side and sat down again. “Are you saying I need to try from the right?” Getting giddy, she leaned over the cat to the right of the shelf and once again poked her nails down the edge of the wood and prized the wood away. It opened out towards her like a door and she exclaimed out loud as she jumped up to grab the nearest candle so she could see. Behind the hardwood was a hollowed out zone that Fiona instantly recognised as magic space since the bookshelf was pushed flush against the library wall. In the middle of this hollow space was a large, leatherbound book encrusted with small red and amber jewels. Old scriptures from centuries ago decorated the front cover as a circular ruby stone lay in the center. Fiona reached in disbelief and carefully brought the book into her arms. She layed it down slowly, glanced at the cat, and then back at the book. Fiona couldn’t believe such an old book had been hidden away. She held her breath as she contemplated opening the book and, as she did, the light of every candle around her died, plummeting the library into darkness. Shocked, Fiona felt around for the matches and lit the candle closest to her, producing a warm glow. Standing beside her was a small, elderly man with a rounding belly and small circular glasses balancing on a button nose, as if opening the book had summoned him. Smiling at her gently, he offered her his hand and said “Ah, I see you’ve found both my familiar and my spell book.” ","August 18, 2023 15:25","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': 'You have so much depth of description in this story! It makes me want to read more.', 'time': '13:28 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Louise Rebecca': ""Thank you so much! This was the first piece of creative writing I've done and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it! :)"", 'time': '20:35 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Louise Rebecca': ""Thank you so much! This was the first piece of creative writing I've done and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it! :)"", 'time': '20:35 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,5kt14d,The Unicorn in the Library,Angela Grout,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5kt14d/,/short-story/5kt14d/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Mystery', 'Suspense']",6 likes," The woman standing at the counter reminded me of Jessica, approximately the same age, with the same curly hair. I had known Jessica when she visited the library during her high school years. Editor of the school magazine and an avid researcher. This woman wasn’t Jessica but she was requesting something Jessica wrote and since I was working at the circulation counter, it became my request to fulfill. It’s really unbelievable that I’m searching for Jessica’s articles in the alcoves of the library. The magazine had only existed for the last three years of her high school career. The kids tried to keep it going after she graduated but Jessica held the magic to its success. Her artistic and editorial skills gave the magazine pizazz. In the twenty something years since she graduated, I’ve never seen another student with her passion. The woman at the counter requested to see a copy of one of the magazines, flashes of Jessica standing at that same counter rushed my thoughts. Jessica often had requests for information stored on Microfiche which only the librarians could get access too. Her magazines weren’t on Microfiche, they were stored in a box in the library’s basement. We store all the high school’s archives in here-but I right now, I cannot find that series of magazines. Unicorn, with a Q in place of the c, was a strange spelling but I knew I had seen it many times. I had just started working here at the library when my own kids began school. One of Jessica’s friends babysat often for me. Regardless, going down memory lane isn’t serving me right now to find this Uniqorn in the library. I returned to the counter empty handed. “I’m sorry, I can’t locate them. I can call you when I do. I am going to keep searching but don’t want to hold you up.” I told the woman at the counter. She handed me her business card, Cora Wang, investigative reporter. “Sure, call me but I will be in the library for another hour, so I will stop by before I leave.” “OK.” I told her. I tucked the card in my pocket and wondered what would an investigative reporter want with Jessica’s magazines? Jessica’s murder was solved three years ago, after almost twenty of it being an unsolved crime. I don’t even want to think about those years, or her death anymore. I want it behind me but the truth is, I too am curious about what she wrote back then. I returned to the second floor basement of the library and continued running my hands over dusty boxes and files. Books aren’t stacked here like in the first floor basement archives, but labels on the boxes are in chronological date order. Which is why when I searched the High School year of Jessica’s, I was surprised not to find them. Opening that box again, I committed myself to search slower. One of the library volunteers quietly tapped me on my shoulder, “Can I help you find anything?” Mrs. Laurel was a sweet, fragile, book loving woman who volunteered to keep order of the inventory in the archives. She worked three hours each morning. “Keeps me sane to have a routine.” She told me. “Oh Hi Mrs. Laurel, I’m looking for some magazines call the Uniqorn from the eighties.” She thought for a moment, “Unicorn with a Q?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Wait here.” She said. She came back with a thick manila envelope. “There are five in here. I had them in the waiting to put back area because Jessica’s mom had returned half of them last week. She still has the others.” “Mrs. Laurel, you are an angel.” I dashed to the elevator hoping I hadn’t missed Cora Wang leaving. In the short ride up the two flights, I opened the envelope, pulled out a copy. There it was “the Uniqorn” published by Jessica Briggs. The elevator door opened and I walked effortlessly to my desk while reading the first article I found written by Jessica. The title was WRIITNG FOR GRAPHIC NOVELS by Jessica Briggs. I started reading it....Though I cannot write a work worth anyone reading, I found my superpower to tell stories visually. My mind can map the format of a magazine with the graphics and the text however I cannot fill both spaces. Describing the art in written form is difficult for me. I have interviews many authors who report to me the opposite, as they are not able to draw. I can provide graphics which often can get misinterpreted so when writing a graphic novel, sometimes the writing must come first. When I draw imagines, the story unfolds visually which is why writing for a graphic novel requires both an artist and a writer. Cora returned to the desk as I was reading. “Any luck?” she asked. I smiled, “Yup, and this is it. I was just reading her article about writing graphic novels.” Cora looked at the magazine, “Did she do the cover art?” I flipped to the inside page where the list of contributors were recognized. Her name was in several areas giving her credit for two other articles, all the graphics including the cover art, and as the editor. “Yes.” I nodded, admiring the cartoon drawing of a round purple uniqorn. “She certainly was talented.” Cora replied, taking the entire envelope from me. “Can I take these over the weekend?” I nodded as I scanned her library card and processed the borrowing. Cora waited patiently. I handed her all the material including her library card and for a moment, I was handing them to Jessica. Her hair, her mannerism, her smile, it was like Jessica was thanking me just had she had done so many times when I retrieved items from the archives for her. As quickly as Cora walked away, I slipped away for a bathroom break. I silently shed tears as the imaginary and real imagines of Jessica’s life and death flashed in my mind’s eye. Drying my eyes, a mother and a little girl entered the bathroom, the little girl had a unicorn headband on. I couldn’t help but smile. ","August 14, 2023 02:48","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': 'This is very touching and feels very personal and real!', 'time': '15:26 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,y09okj,A Knitworthy Noel ,Malina Hubler,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y09okj/,/short-story/y09okj/,Fiction,0,"['Romance', 'Holiday']",6 likes," For once, Holly wasn't looking for a misplaced book in her closet.""Hurry up, I already promised Kenzie we'd see the tree lighting. Grab your sweater, let's go"", her brother Sean yelled from the kitchen.The exact sweater she was looking for wasn't in her pile of handmade sweaters or in her dresser. Yes, she was a librarian, knitter and had a cat. Don't all line up at once boys!It was the very holiday sweater she'd made for her fiancé she wanted. The one she'd spent countless hours and months, hundred plus dollars on. Fine weight yarn in four colors, yoke with various snowflakes patterning. She thought she'd escaped the ""boyfriend sweater curse"" but it turned her back into the town spinster.""Ok, I'm coming!"" she cried, grabbing a white and blue sweater and her puffy jacket and ran out to the hallway.Sean was doing his best to latch on to his daughter and put her in the stroller, but Kenzie, fluid as water, slumped down and out of his grip. Peter, his husband swooped in and picked her up.""We can bring the stroller; I'll carry her for now.""Kenzie stopped her crying and gleefully allowed Peter to lift her up on his shoulders.The four of them marched up to the main street of Seaview in all it's post-Thanksgiving glory. Overnight, the local shops transformed into a celebration of kitsch and wonder. Bells clanged, lights twinkled, and the classics blared from overhead speakers. People walked in and out of white spray-painted glass doors almost throwing the wreaths off to the ground.""Hang on, Sean!"" Holly was getting tossed around in the crowd. She grabbed her brother's hand and held on for her life. Dodging strollers, grandparents with canes, toddlers throwing fits, and groups of teenagers walking in one solid line, they made it to the town square.Seaview was a place you weren't from, but a place you ended up after a very careful search for the best retirement community and family services.But what it lacked in night life, it made up for in seasonal events. Everyone traveled far to smush themselves in the road to watch the tree lighting after Thanksgiving. Holly saw the large pine though the heads of two men in front of her and kept scrambling towards it.The outline of the tree was dim and uninteresting, but the excitement created an electric buzz.Right in the middle of ""Sleigh Ride"" another voice cut in.""In just 10 minutes, the tree lighting countdown will commence! Please enjoy the free cocoa and cider, provided by your city council."" The baritone announced over the speakers.""Cocoa! Cocoa!"" Kenzie slapped Peter's head, drumming out the syllables.""I'll be right back,"" Sean said. But Holly wanted them to have this family moment, Kenzie was only just adopted, they needed to bond.""Don't worry, I got this bro. Peter!"" Holly looked and waved at him. He shook his head. She mouthed, ""I'll be right back.""He gave her a thumbs up.The path to free cocoa was lined with dads (not all married, potential was there but she probably had been on a date with them before) and kids. She must be the only adult single woman going to get a cup of cocoa.If she didn't get there in time and back, she'd miss getting her brother and his husbands first tree lighting as parents, she didn't want to miss that!What would she do for this kind of line up at the library!She creeped forward, inch by inch, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth of the crowd. The dampness that clung to her, and the cold seeping into her bones gave away to cozy warmth. She pulled her hat over her ears and adjusted her mittens so they fit snuggly in the elastic band of her sleeves.""Countdown to tree lighting, 5 minutes!""Holly breathed in the cold air and rocked on her feet as the line creeped along.There was only a row of streetlamps to illuminate the booth, and only four staff members. Two men, one taller than the other and two women, about Holly's age Grace and Ellen. This taller man must be new. The closer she got, she could make out what the taller man's face as he turned towards her, a short and trimmed bright ginger beard and amber eyes.""Next! Cocoa or cider?""He was wearing a tight knit beany with the city logo. She should tell him that she was the librarian, small talk, network or something.""Uh...""As he moved into the light, she saw his sweater through his jacket. Yes, his muscular arms and chest as well, but it was the sweater that caught her eye.Ryans sweater. Her sweater.""Cocoa please. And um..""""Yes?"" he said, with a sigh.""Where did you get that sweater?""""Well, I don't remember exactly. Bargan bin?""""Hey, let's keep it moving!"" cried a disgruntled man behind her.All the chill came back into Holly's bones, followed by a volcanic rage. Bargain bin!As she grabbed her cocoa and started to stomp away, he called back to her, ""Hey wait, are you the librarian?""""Yeah, that's me.""""Well, I guess I'll see you around.""His eyes caught hers for a second, and her pulse quickened. No one should have a both a beard that nicely shaped and fit that sweater so well.Holly barely remembered getting back to her brother through the crowd, she was suddenly there.""And now folks, let's count down. 10, 9....""Holly snaped a photo of Kenzie sipping her cocoa from Peter's arms and switched to video.""4..3...2...""""Joy to the world"" blared and the lights came on with so much fan fair, a Griswold must have plugged them in.All the fine ornaments, tinsel, stars, angels and gifts were illuminated in golden light.The crowd exploded in a wonderous ""Ahh!""Santa arrived and the crowd dispersed.""Another successful lighting of the Seaview Christmas tree!""The crowd cheered and pushed out to the side streets.Sean leaned over to Holly and asked, ""Who were you talking to?""""I have no idea, must be new to the council. What I know is he has my sweater. I mean Ryan's sweater, the one I made?""""What?""""He's wearing my sweater."" And Holly was going to get it back. ","August 14, 2023 02:51","[[{'LeeAnn Hively-Insalaco': 'Well, I would certainly like to finish this story and am a total sucker for a man with a beard lol', 'time': '03:40 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Malina Hubler': ""Thank you! Yes, it's not really a complete short story. It was hard to make my current wip novel into a short story. This is basically ch 1."", 'time': '19:20 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Malina Hubler': ""Thank you! Yes, it's not really a complete short story. It was hard to make my current wip novel into a short story. This is basically ch 1."", 'time': '19:20 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,u39qd7,Lefty Loosey ,Sean McDonnell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/u39qd7/,/short-story/u39qd7/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Fiction']",6 likes," In the wee small hours of the morning, before much of the world sleepily muddles about looking for pancake syrup, Collin Tuttle can be found lacing up his walking shoes. For the last twenty-odd years, he’s walked the same route; he’s strode down the network of hidden pathways, as coastal folk share a propensity to travel by, then, over ‘The Bump’ (unnecessary local slang for hill), to a soon to be waking downtown.On Main Street, he’d wave to the baker through the window of Happy Glaze, often thinking about going in for a fritter or donut, but a morning constitutional was meant for getting the blood flowing, Collin thought, not slowing it down with excessive amounts of refined sugar.“Morning!” Collin would shout.“Good morning!” the baker would shout back.Then Collin would swing back the other direction, briskly heading down a quaint cobbled ally aptly named Cozy Lane, where he was greeted by the pungent smells emanating from the Seaside Tea and Spice Shop, to Second Avenue, cutting back toward the ‘The Bump’, and then home again, home again, jiggity jig.Once home, he would read the paper, drink a cup of coffee (black), and then patiently wait until 11 am for his next walk.On this particular morning, after returning home and looking inside the newspaper, he was surprised to learn that his good friend, the baker, although they had never actually spoken more than a few words, was closing Happy Glaze for good.He set the paper down on the table and removed his glasses.“This is terrible. But what can be done?”Outside on Collin’s deck, a black squirrel paced back and forth like a school bully at 3 pm.“Ok, keep your tail on,” said Collin removing three peanuts from a bag on the kitchen table. The squirrel flicked its tail in anticipation. Tomorrow I’ll pop in and say farewell. Maybe I’ll have a danish while I’m at it, thought Collin.There was no denying it; Collin had a sweet tooth. He had spent the better part of the previous evening considering the type of pastry he would have at Happy Glaze, finally settling on a cruller. The cruller, thought Collin, originating from eastern Europe, and known as hirshhörner in Germany.Collin’s late wife, Shirley Tuttle, enjoyed all of the facts swimming about in his brain, but unfortunately for Collin, she had been the only one ever to express appreciation for his vast knowledge of the world. It was an unfortunate side effect of being a retired librarian. Shirley used to quiz him over coffee in the morning, attempting to stump him.“What are the origins of the sandwich?” she’d say. Quickly followed by, “How tall is the Empire State Building?” As if throwing multiple questions could rattle Collin, whose life’s work had been dedicated to the collection of ideas and information. “A British Statesman,” Collin would reply, “by the name of John Montagu. He invented what is commonly known now as the sandwich so that he wouldn’t have to leave his gambling table for supper.” Followed by, “You’d need to go 1,454 feet up to eat your sandwich at the tip top of the Empire State Building.” He missed those mornings.And so, on this morning, with his laces double knotted, he felt a spring in his step as he made his way down the paved trails. The climb over ‘The Bump’ felt effortless; he used the momentum of the descent to carry him directly to the front door of the bakery.The shop bell rang out. Collin set his face into a smile in anticipation of a warm greeting, but after standing on his own for several moments, he called out.“Hello?”The hum of the bakery case and the smell of the sugary delights brought Collin back to simpler times.“Hello? You have a customer!” shouted Collin a little louder. Perhaps the baker was out running an errand, thought Collin, or on the toilet (an image Collin quickly put from his mind.)He walked behind the counter and peeked his head into the back room.“Hello?” said Collin. He considered leaving, but the wonderful smell made his mouth salivate. He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and placed a five dollar bill on the register’s keypad, then he slid open the bakery case and pulled out a cruller with a pair of tongs that lay on a tray behind the counter. Dropping the treat into a pastry bag, he called out once more.“I’ve left some money on the register! Good luck with whatever you decide to do next!”Then with the ding-dong of the shop bell, he was back on track, gliding across Main Street and into the ally.As he sailed past the Seaside Tea and Spice shop, Collin slowed to a stop and then smirked. Why not? he thought. After all, I’ve already interrupted my walk with one guilty pleasure. Why not pop in for a nice box of tea to go with this cruller? Maybe a nice chai tea. As he walked up the three steps leading to the shop door, he recited facts about chai tea as if it were a poem by Walt Whitman. “Masala chai, an Indian beverage popular throughout South Asia. Aromatic, complex—cinnamon bark, ginger, cardamom, cloves, nutmeg, and green tea. In English, this spiced tea is commonly referred to as chai tea.” Then he added with a chuckle, “Little known fact, it is excellent with a cruller.” Collin pulled on the doorknob, but the door did not open. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into the darkened shop. He was moments from turning around when he caught a glimpse of movement reflected off of a brass teapot. There staring back was the face of the baker, gagged, his pleading eyes saying, help me!Collin looked to his right and then to his left; the streets were empty. He reached for his phone, but he had forgotten to slip it into his jacket on the way out. He considered running home, and though he was by all accounts a quick walker, he wasn’t sure he would make it back home quickly enough. No, the situation warranted some consideration. He pushed and pulled the door by the knob with as much strength as he could muster, but it was no use; brute force would not be the solution. He looked at the door. It was a simple enough handle, a relic of another time, before every door had a deadbolt and every doorbell had a camera built into it. He recalled a book he had glanced at one night as he restocked the day’s returns at the library. It was mainly a historical account of break-ins and escapes throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, but there had been a paragraph that stuck with Collin. It covered a little-known lock-picking tool. He removed his wallet and fetched out a credit card. With a silent prayer to whatever God might be available, Collin slid the card down the length of the door and between the spring-loaded latch. The door opened without restraint, and Collin, surprised by the ease of breaking into a shop, gawked at his credit card as if it were Excalibur and he now the king of England.Collin ran to the baker. “What on earth, are you Ok?”The baker’s hands had been tied with twine. He pointed up to his mouth with an awkward twist of his wrist.“Oh, yes, let me get that,” said Collin removing the gag from the baker’s mouth.“They’ll be back soon,” whispered the baker frantically. “They are insane. All of this because of one variation— As if—”The mid-afternoon sun blazed down upon Collin, where he lay face down in the Seaside Tea and Spice shop. He put his hand on the back of his head. It hurt, but there was, thankfully, no blood. He looked about him, unsure what had happened. The baker was gone, as was any evidence of him having ever been at the Tea and Spice shop. Collin stood and considered the situation. Had he been hit? And what was it that the baker had said right before everything went dark? Collin dialed 911 from the shop phone and informed the authorities of what had happened, but when they arrived, they found no evidence, besides Collin’s word, of a crime. “Go to the baker’s shop, Happy Glaze. You’ll find it empty,” said Collin. The detectives agreed to look in, but upon returning from Happy Glaze, one of the detectives handed Collin a piece of paper. “The baker’s not there,” said a one of the detectives forcing a smile. “The door was locked, and this note was taped to the window. It says that your baker friend went home to Paso Robles.” “Dearest patrons,” Collin read, “today your beloved Happy Glaze bakery has closed up shop for the last time. I am returning to my home in Paso Robles, where I will pursue my real passion, breeding pet rats.” “Seems like he just wanted to try something new. The medics say that it’s possible you just fell and hit your head,” said the detective. “You might want to go see your doctor.” “Breeding rats?” replied Collin. “He went back to Paso Robles to breed pet rats?” “I’ll admit, it’s a strange passion, but different strokes for different folks.” The detectives thanked Collin for all of his help, promising that they would call the baker in Paso Robles to ensure he was ok, and then left Collin standing outside the Seaside Tea and Spice shop, pastry bag in hand. It was evening by the time Collin was home and wearing his slippers. He sat at his kitchen table staring at the cruller. He saw what he saw at the Tea and Spice shop, even if nobody had believed him, he thought. He placed the cruller beneath his nose and inhaled. “No reason to let this go to waste,” he said to himself. It was just as good as he had hoped, perhaps better, and was that a hint of honey? Collin marveled at the pastry, such a beautiful twist, left to right, up and down. Lefty loosy, Collin mused. As he consumed the fatty treat, licking his fingers between bites, he thought about the baker. Here he was eating the baker’s art, this cruller could only be referred to as such, but he was also giving up on a man who was clearly in need of help. Collin, deciding he would not let the baker down, washed his hands, grabbed a flashlight, and then laced up his sneakers. Collin removed a credit card from his wallet and slid it down the seem, but when it hit the latch, it fell to the other side of the door. “Shoot!” he said. Then he circled to the back of the bakery and tried the rear door. Collin was relieved to find that the door had been left unlocked. The door swung open. The smell of sugar and dough wafted out of the building as if it had ambitions greater than the confines of a small coastal bakery. Collin peered into the kitchen, moving his flashlight to and fro like a cartoon watchman. He stepped in, then, feeling bold, flipped on the switch to the overhead lights.The baker’s apron was on the floor, and beside it, a whisk with tendrils of batter hanging down, forming a pool of congealed pastry dough. Everything about the kitchen said haste to Collin. Sure, the machines were off, but they weren’t clean, and the fryer had donuts (now looking more like the tires of a toy car, nearly black, and tough) floating leisurely about in the fatty oil.On a baking sheet, there sat a dozen crullers, twisted lefty loosey just like the one Collin had enjoyed at his kitchen table less than an hour before.Off the side of the kitchen was a small office, just big enough for a half desk, monitor, and chair. On the desk, there was a postcard. Paso Robles. Collin turned it over and read the back. Homesick.“Homesick, well then, maybe it really was all in my mind,” said Collin putting his hand to the back of his head. The lump on his scalp was real enough, he thought.As he put the postcard back on the desk, his hand brushed up against the computer’s mouse. The screen came to life with small pop and whine. There on the screen was an assortment of restaurant-grade equipment.Seems an odd thing to be researching if you’re planning on shuttering your doors for good, thought Collin.At the corner of the screen, there bounced a virtual shopping cart. Collin clicked on it. “A new commercial fryer. I don’t think such things are used in the breeding of pet rats,” said Collin. As if in response to this comment, a pop-up appeared overlayed against the checkout page of the site: “20% off one item! Use promo code: Homesick.”Homesick, Collin thought. It’s a promo code not a declaration. Collin felt first vindicated and then frightened. Why would anyone go to such lengths to kidnap a small-town baker? Collin opened the baker’s email and scanned for clues, but nothing obvious stood out among the mundane. Then he searched the kitchen, poking through the trash like a raccoon in the night. Nothing. He was exasperated and on the verge of retreat, then it hit him. “The trash, that’s it!”Collin rushed back to the computer and opened the baker’s email again. He clicked on the trash folder, and there among the spam and discarded promotions was an email from a Mrs. Whitney, of Sweetie Cakes.The email was brief: “The League has voted. If you don’t stop what you are doing, I won’t be able to protect you from them. They are watching you! Please delete this message.”It looks like I’ll be eating another cruller tomorrow, thought Collin.The next day, Collin drove one town over to Sweetie Cakes. The woman behind the counter seemed nice enough, and when Collin approached the pastry case, she said, “Welcome to Sweetie Cakes, this your first time here?”“It is! Thank you for the warm welcome. These crullers look divine. Is there any special discount if I’m with the…with the League?” said Collin as casually as he could manage.The woman smiled back at Collin, but her warmth had left the scene.“The League, you say?”“Yes, the League—you are Mrs. Whitney?”“Nobody let me know that we had a new member.”“Quite alright, I just moved to town,” said Collin bending over to look at the pastries. “I’ll take one of those delicious-looking crullers.” Mrs. Whitney’s smile faded from her face. “Are you a cop?” she said. Shirley Tuttle, God rest her soul, could always tell when Collin was lying because Collin wasn’t good at it. A man’s life is a stake, Collin thought. What would Sherlock Holmes do in this situation? “I’ll have that one there, back left. Shall we talk about our dear friend the baker of Happy Glaze?” said Collin, assuming the role of detective Collin Tuttle. “He had a choice—he’s a stubborn fool—and for what?” “Settle down, please. Let’s take it from the top. Where is he now?” “He’s in the hull of a ship called the Pearl Duck over in the harbor. The ship is set to leave this afternoon for Boston.” “Tell me about the Leauge and why they would want our baker,” said Collin taking a bite from his cruller. “There are rules. He knew that when he joined the Seaside Bakers League. The cinnamon roll was one thing—lemon in the frosting! But then the crullers!” said Mrs. Whitney. “Yes, I had one; it was good. In fact, it tasted the same as yours. Is that a hint of honey?” “It is, and you’ll find that same recipe in every bakery in the area. Because every bakery in the area has agreed upon that recipe for our crullers.”“Why would you all want the same recipe?” asked Collin.“Because that is how you establish a reputation as a community. See, we work for the greater good—not our own pride.” “Agree or not, this tastes the same to me. So if there is a difference in your—” Collin stopped short and looked down at his cruller. “It’s not lefty loosey.” “Ah, so now you see, this couldn’t stand,” said Mrs. Whitney with resolve. “It must be right over left, those are the rules!” “So you were going to kill the—”“Kill?” interrupted Mrs. Whitney. “Who said anything about killing? No, he’s just being shipped off to Boston. He’ll be allowed back in one year.” “I have a confession, Mrs. Whitney. I’m not an detective, but I am a good friend of our friend the baker of Happy Glaze.” Collin took his phone from his pocket and began to dial. Mrs. Whitney’s face flushed, but after a few moments, the color faded, and when she spoke, Collin thought that he could hear relief in her voice. “Please tell them I have been cooperative?” pleaded Mrs. Whitney. As Collin waited for the detective to answer his phone, he asked Mrs. Whitney about the piece of the puzzle that made no sense to him. “Why the rats?” “What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Whitney. “Paso Robles, I get that, you thought he was from there because of the word homesick written across the postcard. But having him going back home to pursue his passion of breeding rats?” “Oh, but that is his passion. He won’t shut up about it—I thought you two were good friends?”  ","August 18, 2023 23:12","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'A baker secret society. Very interesting and fun story Sean. I appreciated the eccentricity of the ex-librarian. :)\n\nWelcome to Reedsy! Looking forward to more of your work.', 'time': '00:55 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate it! Looking forward to reading some of your work as well!', 'time': '18:24 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate it! Looking forward to reading some of your work as well!', 'time': '18:24 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,bwqwok,Cold Witch Coffee Brew,Donovan Santiago,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bwqwok/,/short-story/bwqwok/,Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Fantasy']",5 likes," Darkness, rain, and the whistle of the trees. The lighting shows a brief flash of a gothic-style castle. It’s resembling an old, twisted set of pipes. Inside large halls filled to the brim with books. A middle-aged woman in a golden top and bottom walks around. Looking at each shelf. She has flowing black hair. This is the librarian. Her name was lost to time. Even she is okay with not remembering it. She manifests an iced coffee in a purple cup. It has a red and gold-colored straw. She sips on the coffee.  ""Now where is that old thing?"" She looks at the cup. ""You’ve outdone yourself. Fifth cup of the day."" As she talks to herself.  She continues to look around. All alone, the rain hits the outside of the castle. She looks up at a window to see a green neon sign flashing above. It reads Cozy Witch as the green light flashes on and off of her face. She looks at the shelf. Then she keeps looking. ""Unbelievable. I’m always able to find it. But now I can’t."" A red armchair manifests behind her as she sits back. She looks up at the massive book shelf. After another sip of her coffee while sitting, she turns to a red book. ""I may be 900 years old, but I’m still as sharp as I’ve ever been."" She pauses. ""Not you, red book number six."" The book poofs away. ""That’s one cheeky book."" She gets out of the chair as it disappears. ""This place is too dark! I mean, it’s a Wednesday."" She pauses. ""Or is it Vanovensodisday?"" With a smirk on her face, she snaps her fingers. The once-dark castle lights up, giving it a warm afternoon vibe. ""You books have to know that this darkness is all for show. I mean, you can’t be protected if the place looks like a summertime shack."" She walks to another book shelf. All of the books have strange symbols on them. With her finger, she tries to find the book she needs. ""Let’s see. How to cook a Medah Warrior—no, anyway, the last one got stuck in my teeth. The Devil and his two stones, that’s not it."" She looks at a purple book with a green gem in its spine. ""Gateway to the Multiverse Vol. 2, that’s the one."" She grabs the book. ""You’re quite the sneaky one. All of you are. Don’t I take care of you all?"" She yells at all the books. ""I could make this place disappear! Then you will be out in the rain. You get the idea. Don’t complain about a different place! This is the only planet that can support all of you. Any other planet would blow up with this amount of you."" Everything is silent. She then looks at the rain. ""Rain, you can rest. I want the sun."" The rain stops as the sun shines in. She then looks at the books again. ""Don’t respond! Just enjoy the comfort of Castle Archer!"" She smiles with the book in her hand.  A large, ominous steel door towered over her. ""Another coffee for this one."" She manifests coffee in her hands. Then a small black cat like creature rubs up against her foot. It has green eyes and a golden tale. ""Aww, Shadow."" The coffee floats in the air as she picks up Shadow. ""How’s my Kittus doing?"" She gives it a kiss on the cheek.  Shadow speaks in a formal British tone. ""I’m doing quite well, madame. I’ve cleared the castle of those pesky Xinoice."" She smiles. ""Good job, my little cutie pie. Why do you take the rest of the day off."" ""I would, but the planet of Jenko is being invaded by the space barbarians of Bigel-V."" ""Shadow the brave Kittus Warrior. Always a hero. Go save them."" ""Yes, madame. I should be back in a day."" Shadow jumps off of her and opens up a green portal. Shadow enters. ""That Shadow. Always on adventures."" She brings her coffee back and drinks some.    She enters a large black steel door. Inside is a red cauldron. The roof of this room stretches into the darkness above. The walls have a mix of yellow and blue crystals on them. Everything is spread out. She walks past a mirror and looks at herself. Her skin is wrinkle free. She then smiles and notices a small wrinkle on her forehead. ""They say 900 is the new 30."" She frowns in disappointment. ""Well, it was going to happen one of these days. Some people look like prunes at this age. I guess I shouldn’t take this for granted."" The coffee is empty, and it poofs away. She then looks at the book. Then she walks off after staring at herself in the mirror one last time. Her left eye twitches.  Over the red cauldron, she opens the book. The pages have various creatures and symbols marked on them. Each page has a yellow tint. She flips page after page. ""I don’t know what I’m looking for."" She keeps flipping. ""I don’t need any help."" She flips a few more pages.  Then she stops at a black page with a red creature and text. ""Here we go."" Silence as she reads aloud. This is what I was looking for."" She pauses. ""You talk a lot for a book. I mean, you all do. Question after question."" She gives a death stare to the book. ""Fine, I’ll answer."" She takes a deep breath. ""Every 900 years, I have to defeat a powerful creature from a different universe. It changes each time. I won’t know until I know. Now I know."" She turns her head toward the book. ""This is my third time doing this. The last time I had to face a giant living spaceship from the future."" She shakes her head. ""I don’t make the rules. I just follow them. Each time I need a book, I do the summon thing. You get the idea. I absorb the energy of whatever I need to absorb."" She pauses. ""Nothing really makes sense in the grand scheme of things. I mean, you are a book who zaps responses into my brain. All I know is that your books have living souls within. Chatty living souls."" She stares at the red devil-like creature in the book. ""This thing is the All-Father. A powerful mix of a demon and an alien creature. Some idiot thought it was a good idea to mix the two’s DNA. Everyone forgets that park that brought back dead creatures. The creatures got loose and destroyed the planet. Or the moron who thought it was a smart idea to go to the demon realm and steal a baby demon. The entire crew was dead in an hour. I hate people; this is why I isolate."" She then smiles at the book. ""Actually, despite my complaining, I don’t mind you all. I guess being isolated gets to one’s head. Plus, I’m wanted on most planets. I mean, I was young and summoned an army of dead clone troopers from an alternate timeline. It was an accident."" She shakes her head. ""Good point; I am getting distracted. Thanks for keeping me on track."" Taking a deep breath again. ""I have one chance. The creature can escape or kill me. If it escapes, I’ll be dead within a month. If it kills me, then."" She coughs. ""I can join the other side."" She looks up at the darkness in the room. She then looks back down. ""Not yet. I’ve still got more life to live. Maybe this will be my final 900 years. Maybe it’s time to connect with all of your books."" A smile lights her face. ""See, I can change. Now let’s get this creature out. Mommy is ready for another 900 years."" With a flick of her hand, yellow sparks fly out. They land on the paper. The paper burns blue. The books then start to float over the cauldron. Then she fires a black bolt at the cauldron. The green gem fires a beam into the black liquid, turning it red. Then the process stops. The book closes and flies towards her. ""It’s ok. Don’t cry."" She cuddles with the book. Out of the cauldron, the All-Father appears. A red humanoid demon with yellow fangs, two large horns on its head, and horse hooves. She turns to the book. ""I’ve got this."" The All-Father screams as it jumps out. It stands over eight feet tall. It then charges at her. She stands still, smiling. As it is about to hit her, she fires a yellow bolt from her hand. The All-Father freezes. It laughs. Then the All-Father turns into a red cup of coffee. She extends her hand, and the cup comes towards her. She is quick to drink the cup. At the bottom is a yellow gem, which she also drinks. The book flies out from her side. ""The first time was hard. The last time was also difficult. It looks like all those years of isolation have given me an edge."" She listens to the book. Fine, we can leave. You know, I can’t believe it took me 1800 years to accept you all. I’ve been missing out. I think I’m ready to live a relaxing lifestyle. I need more warm lights."" The room has changed and is now much brighter. She smiles again. ""You know I’m quite good at this coffee stuff. I hear that the people of Nebulon could use a new coffee shop."" She listens to the book. ""I did destroy the old one by accident. But I’m a new person. You should come with me."" She smiles. ""Witch and Book Coffee. I dig it."" She walks out of the room. The gems providing the light source turn off, leaving the room in darkness. ","August 16, 2023 01:39","[[{'Gregg Punger': 'I think this is a very creative idea, that might just need to be flushed out more. I think having the reader hear the questions the books ask could add more depth to the story and help add more characters to the piece, and I know turning the final monster into coffee was an ode to the title and the beginning of the piece, but the sole conflict or drama of the piece revolved around her fight with the All-Father. When the fights end abruptly and easily the reader is pretty let down. You could extend out the fight to add more drama to the piece...', 'time': '01:09 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,7lw85b,Ille Liber de Perdita Praedictas,Gregg Punger,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7lw85b/,/short-story/7lw85b/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Funny']",5 likes," “I know it’s here somewhere,” said Linda the Librarian, and yes, she is aware that is an example of alliteration, which if you are under thirteen, she will find very impressive, but if you are over thirteen, she would really prefer if you’d just keep your trap shut. Anyways, Linda continued hurrying through the castle library’s long, dark, and frankly musty rows filled with a voluminous number of ancient texts until young Princess Alice who had been following close behind her this entire time asked, “Are you sure there was a children’s section?” “Yes, I’m sure. This library used to be filled with children. And, I could’ve sworn the door was somewhere along this back wall,” said Linda as she came to a stop and threw up her hands in despair. Then, Princess Alice gently tugged on the edge of Linda’s lavender librarian robe, which, yes, she knows is more alliteration. But, she didn’t pick lavender for the robes. And, honestly, she thinks they are more of a violet, so it’s probably best that you don’t bring it up. But I digress, Princess Alice tugged on Linda’s robe and asked, “Were these two bookshelves always right next to each other? All, these other bookshelves along this wall have some space between.” After giving the bookshelves a good look over, Linda said, “You are absolutely correct. Some cruel soul must have pushed this book shelf over in front of the door to the children’s section.” “Do you think we can move it?” “I think we can if you help me.” I can see from that looks on your face that you are a little confused, and I most apologize that is my fault. I kind of started right in the middle of the story without giving you any context, so let me back up a bit. A long, long time ago, this castle and kingdom were filled with children. There were the Princesses, Laura, Lana, and Leah, the Princes Leopold, Luke, Levi, and Hank, and all of their friends, but then, a mysterious plague hit the kingdom and all the princesses, and princes, and lesser children died, except for of course Hank. As the plague swept through the kingdom, all the neighboring kingdoms closed their borders, merchants stopped coming to its ports, and eventually the other kingdoms instituted a blockade all in hopes to protect their children, which it did. But, the lack of trade and assistance from their neighbors caused the kingdom to whither and weaken. So, many years later, when its neighbors attacked, the kingdom could barely mount a defense. In one large battle, the King and most of his remaining knights were vanquished making Hank king of the now broken kingdom. But, Hank was not weak. He gathered his remaining men and took to the seas. After many years of piracy, He had gathered a mighty fleet and the hand of a beguiling Princess from a distant land who blessed him with a daughter. Feeling strong and seeking vengeance King Hank returned home, retook his land, and his castle. However, King Hank only brought his lovely wife and his daughter the aforementioned Princess Alice. No other children had arrived at the time the princess was looking for the children's section in the library. Hopefully, that has cleared up any of your confusion. Getting back to our tale, Linda and Alice were able to push aside the bookshelf revealing an old dark wooden door with black metal hinges and a circular handle. Linda grabbed the handle and after a fair amount of strain, the door groaned open with a load squeak. Linda said, “I’m going to have to get someone to oil those hinges,” as a wave of brilliant sunlight poured out the door. Alice stepped to the doorway in awe and saw a gorgeous circular room ringed with enormous windows, a low circular bookshelf running the length of the room, and scattering of pillows and over stuffed chairs surrounding a cozy but large furnace that sprouted from right in its middle obscuring a back section of the room. Linda asked, “Will you be ok here by yourself, while I go look after other matters?” Alice nodded her head to amazed to talk. After Linda left, Alice carefully entered the room feeling a sense that the room required her respect. She made her away around the right side of the room until she was behind the furnace. Once there obscured from the doorway, she saw lying on the floor next to a large blue chair a very old, very large book. She bent down and saw that the cover read “Ille Liber de Perdita Praedictas.” She like all of you who do not read Latin, did not know that it said, “The Book of Lost Fairies,” but there was something about the book that drew her to it. Without knowing why or really thinking about it, Alice rubbed her hand over the cover feeling some form of warmth or vibration. Then, as if she was compelled, she opened it. Immediately, a bright sparkling little fairy with shiny, gossamer wings, bright blue eyes, beautiful short painfully blond hair, wearing a gorgeous pink dress flew out of it in an array of sparkles. It stopped right in front of Alice’s wonderstruck face and said, “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met before. My name is Alette. What’s yours?” “A-A-Alice.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I really appreciate you letting me out. I’ve been stuck in there for ages.” “Wh-Wh-What are you?” “I’m a fairy.” “What’s that?” “Fairies are immortal, magical creatures, but really all you need to know is that because you rescued my from that book, I am going to make your life a whole lot better.” “How?” “By fulfilling all your wishes and making you laugh,” said Alette as she stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, which as she predicted made Alice laugh. “So, what else can I do for you to make you happy? I can get you some cookies or hot chocolate, or lemonade because it’s actually kind of hot…” As Alette continued to list of the various things she could get or do for Alice, King Hank walked into the library and found Linda sorting some books at her desk. Linda quickly put her books down and said, “Your majesty,” as she executed a deep curtsy. King Hank waived her up and said, “I am looking for my daughter.” “Of course, your majesty. She is in the children’s room.” “What children’s room?” Linda said, “You don’t remember our children’s room. You spent so much of your time in there when you were a child."" King Hank shook his head but felt an odd tickling feeling at the back of his neck. Linda said, “Not a problem. I know you have a lot on your mind I can show you the way,” and stepped around her desk. As she walked towards the stacks, she said, “It did take me a while to find it because someone had pushed a bookshelf in front of its door.” Suddenly, a memory long since forgotten or more accurately twisted and tied and buried deep within the King’s subconscious came roaring back. The King gasped, “Oh no,” and raced ahead. With his heart pounding and sweat pouring from his forehead, he crashed into the Children’s room. After frantically searching around the room for Alice, he heard her sweet, soft, giggle coming from behind the furnace and fear gripped his heart. Carefully, he crept around the side of the room until he spotted Alice who was now sitting in the chair munching from a plate of macaroons smiling at whatever joke Alette was telling her. Then, he hissed, “Alice, get over here now!” scaring her nearly half to death and causing her to flip the tray out of her hands. Shaken and scared, Alice asked, “What’s wrong Daddy?” King Hank said, “Come here now! She is not to be trusted,” as he narrowed his eyes threateningly at Alette. As Alice scrambled out of the chair, Alette turned to King Hank and said, “Hey, what’s with the tone?” “You know what you did!” roared King Hank. The force of the King’s roar physically pushed Alette back, but it also spiritually knocked her back because she couldn’t think of anything bad that she had done. King Hank began to back out of the room while holding Alice safely behind him when recognition sprang across Alette’s face, and she asked tentatively, “Hank, is that you?” “You know it’s me!” Alette said, “Yes, I do now,” as she flew towards the King. But, he quickly raised his first, and she stopped. “Why are you being like this?” asked Alette. “I thought we were friends. Didn’t I give you everything you asked for?” “No, you took advantage of me.” “What are you talking about?” “I was just a kid! You had to know I wasn’t being serious.” After a moment of silence, Alette said quietly, “But, you wished for it.” “But, I didn’t mean it.” “So, you would have me take it back?” “Yes, a thousand times, yes.” “Very well.” The King waited for a moment but nothing looked or felt different. So, he asked “Did you do it?” Alette nodded solemnly. Something about Alette’s nod felt off to King Hank. Then, as a cannon ball sized pit slammed into his stomach, the King turned around, but Alice was not there. King Hank sprinted out into the main library where he slammed into some librarian he didn’t know. He grabbed the librarian by his lavender robed shoulders and asked frantically, “Have you seen my daughter?” “Your daughter, your royal highness?” asked the librarian with confusion written clearly across his face. Then, Hank wailed, “No,” and sank to the floor as the sound of little feet slapping against the hard stone floors and giggling drifted in out of the castle’s halls.   ","August 16, 2023 02:37",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,w225vv,The Hidden Recipe for Eternal Life,Madeline Honig,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/w225vv/,/short-story/w225vv/,Fiction,0,['Suspense'],5 likes," “I know it is here somewhere,” the librarian called out from the top of the wooden ladder.  “No one has requested this book for as long as I have worked here.  But it’s in our database so I know it must be here somewhere.  We are quite good about keeping meticulous records.  Efficiency is key when you have this many books in a library before computers.  Found it!” The librarian retreated from the top of the ladder with care and grace.  She then held out a blue hardcover book covered in dust and handed it to Dalton.  Dalton’s blue eyes grew large, but I still was not sure what the big deal was.   I could read the words written on the front cover written in gold, “The Recipes For Everyday Things.”  Dalton thanked the librarian, dismissing her, and made his way to the nearest table.  I followed him in curiosity.  I knew this book was a big deal for him.  I would not have come all the way to Rhode Island if it wasn’t.  According to legend, and Dalton, this book contained the recipe for eternal life.  He cracked the spine to a page in the middle of the book, causing dust to cover the oak wood.   “Let’s see,” Dalton said, scanning the first page he landed on and then flipping to the next page.  “This makes little sense.”  “What do you mean?” I asked, brushing a stray hair behind my ear.   “This is a book of what looks like poetry.  I’m looking for recipes for an elixir,” said Dalton before reading out loud. “Stardust and beams.  Whispers in the night in tranquil streams.  Constellations with a silver spoon, slumber until dreams bloom.”  “Let me see that,” I said, reaching out for the book and Dalton slid it over to me.   “Where are the eggs?  Where is the butter?” Dalton crossed his arms in front of himself.  The page that Dalton had read from had numbers next to each line that appeared to be counting the lines: 1, 2, 3.   I flipped to another page at random and it was clear as day.  “Look, these numbers are measurements.”  I read out loud, “Resilience.  Faith’s gentle hold.  Optimism, and a story unfolds. Strength of hearts that cope, Serve all inside a ring of rope.  And the numbers by each line are reading 3, 2, 3, 1.  It looks like the numbers are equal parts.”  “How do we find Faith’s gentle hold?  And how do we find the recipe for eternal life?  I don’t see a table of contents or an index” Dalton asked, taking the book back.  He flipped through the book, scanning each page as though it would tell him where to find the recipe for eternal life and hoping it would contain sugar and vegetable oil. “Are you sure we want to find a recipe for eternal life?” I asked.  Living past everyone I loved and the long past the end of humanity sounded lonely. “Its eternal life.  Why wouldn’t we want to find that?” He said.  I had my doubts ever since Dalton first told me he had found the book at this library the day before.  It was something his grandmother had told him.  Ivery time he saw a library or a bookstore, he would poke his head inside to look for this book, just in case.  He was on a business trip in Rhode Island and learned that one of the oldest libraries in the United States was in the same town.  Dalton figured that if anyone had the book, this library would. He had asked the librarian for the book by title, not giving it much thought, when she replied they had it and asked him if he wanted her to retrieve it.  Not believing what he was hearing, he choked on his own response before replying, “I’ll be back.” And leaving the library as swiftly as he entered. He called me immediately.  Being his best friend for almost his entire twenty-six years of life, I had seen him go through so much.  I was the only person on earth who knew about his secret search for the book.   When he called me I answered the phone like I always did when I saw his name on my caller id, “What do you want?”  “How fast can you get to Rhode Island?” He asked me on that phone call in a breathy voice.  “I can’t go to Rhode Island.  I am at work.  I have a tennis match in the morning.  Why do you need me, anyway?”  “I found the book,” he said, taking in breaths as he spoke. “I’ll be there,” I looked down at my Swatch, “in three hours.”    “The library will be closed in three hours,” he said. “When does the library open tomorrow? I can be there first thing in the morning.” And that brings us to sitting at this wood table, at this ancient library, the very next morning. “What if the recipe works?” “That is the point,” he said, eyebrows raised.  He looked back down at the book and exclaimed,  “this looks like the recipe.  They titled this poem ‘The Elixir of Eternity.’”  Then he read aloud.  “In a chalice of starlight, begin this rite(3). Blend timeless dreams(2) and celestial light(1). Stir in memories of ages gone by(5). Let wisdom(4) and youth(2) harmoniously tie. Add a dash of wonder(1), a sprinkle of grace(1). Mix in the courage(2) to divulge in time's embrace. Infuse with the essence of love's gentle kiss(5). Sip the elixir of eternity, eternal bliss.” Dalton looked up at me with enormous eyes full of hope.  Where was he going to get timeless dreams and celestial light?  Where was he going to get any of the ingredients of the recipe?  I knew that eternal life was a horrible idea but this recipe gave me hope he would never reach it, anyway.  I had nothing to worry about.  I tried to hide my doubt.   “Where are you going to get two parts of youth?” I elbowed Dalton in the side. “Have you seen me,” Dalton joked walking toward the checkout desk near the enormous front doors of the library.  Dalton borrowed the book, signing up for a new library card and fibbing a bit on application with the pretense that he was visiting his grandmother.   I returned home, and he returned to the trip he was in Rhode Island for to begin with. A week later, Dalton called me.  I had not heard from Dalton but periodically through the week wondered what had become of the cryptic library book. “I did it!” He exclaimed into the phone. “You did what?” I asked, being doubtful he was referring to the poem. “I did it!  I have the ingredients for the elixir for eternal life,” he said. I was speechless.  “Where did you get courage and time’s embrace?”  “It took some research, but I found it all.  The number of shops around the city that have these ingredients would surprise you.  Unfortunately, almost no one carries them all, so I had to do some hunting.  But after visiting a few dozen of them.  I have all the ingredients I need.” “You found them all?” I asked, raising my eyebrows along with my voice. “Yes.  Yes, anyway.  Will you take the elixir with me?”  “I… I’ll be right over,” I grabbed my jacket and ran out the door.  I didn’t know what I was planning to do, but drinking memories of ages gone by was not how I intended to spend my evening.  When I got to Dalton’s apartment he was shaking a cocktail mixer which I assumed contained the elixir.  He pulled out two martini glasses from the cupboard.   “Oh, none for me, thank you,” I said sitting on the kitchen island stool and plopping my oversized purse next to me and holding up the bottle that was closest to my reach. “More for me, then!  Down the hatch,” he tipped the mixer back and finished it in one gulp.  He ran a shirtsleeve across his mouth and gave a wet burp. “Four parts?  I thought youth only had two parts,” I said with a chuckle putting the bottle for youth back on the island. And that is when he dropped to the floor.  I checked for a heartbeat but couldn’t find one. “So, you see, Mr. Policeman, I didn’t poison my friend.  He poisoned himself with youth,” I finished my story hoping that the policeman would believe me.  But before I could show him the evidence, he hauled me away in handcuffs.   ","August 16, 2023 17:25","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'LOLOL - sort of. The ending was a hoot, but I feel bad for the friend. \n\n""He poisoned himself with youth."" Hilarious! And a real shot at youth being destroyers. Very nice!\n\nLet\'s make an aphorism: don\'t screw with the recipe for eternal youth. LOL\n\nNicely done, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:54 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Madeline Honig': ""Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '05:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Madeline Honig': ""Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it"", 'time': '05:14 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'J. D. Lair': 'The ever elusive fountain of youth, always too good to be true.', 'time': '15:03 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,i0y8br,The Glimmer by the Fire,Roan Clay,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i0y8br/,/short-story/i0y8br/,Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Fantasy']",5 likes," I rang the bell on the counter three times. Brisk feet sounded on an upper level, and the librarian came down the stairs, eyes on me like two indignant spotlights out of the gloom. She wore green trousers, high boots and a belted caftan, in the style of the lower city intelligentsia. She had taken her place behind the desk before I realized she was artificial.“Yes?”I smiled “Sorry to bother you, but I need all the information available on Hilford Gibbons. Since he was involved in so many things, it would take too long for me to cross-reference everything. Is there any way I could have a list of all the volumes available? Then I can go and find them myself.”The librarian bit her lip. “I don’t think I can. I was up there looking for something, and until I find it, I won’t be able to help you.”This would have been mere rudeness from anybody but an android. I said, “If you’re too busy, I can wait a few minutes. But the matter is urgent. I need to make my report by Monday, I’ve fallen behind. I was counting on getting what I needed tonight.”I stood waiting for her to reply, listening to the rain drumming on the high roof, thinking how odd it felt to stand begging favors from an artificial person. “No,” she said at last. The word came with difficulty. “No, I can’t. I can only apologize.”“Why?” I asked.“I...” she glanced around, “I lost something. Without it, I can’t work. I can’t...”I had never seen a robot in pain before. Most could not feel pain at all, but even with a face of synthetic skin, the expression was unmistakeable. “What exactly did you lose?” I said.She bit her lip, eyes flickering from my face to the floor.“Listen,” I said, “I want to get this information as fast as possible, and I want you to help me, so I want to help you. Tell me, and we’ll do our best together to get it back.”Another hesitation, then a loud sigh. “It’s somewhere up on the third floor. I think something took it. If I don’t get it back, they’ll remove me from the Library.” She gripped the counter until the wood creaked. “Being away from the books, never allowed to come in here, I wouldn’t survive! I wouldn’t want to survive!”Instinctively, I reached out and put my hand on hers. “We’ll find it. If it’s here, we’ll find it. First, tell me what it was.”Her face relaxed. “An all-purpose skill cartridge, last-generation.”I knew nothing of organetics, or the centuries of robotic design that had led up to it. “Alright,” I said, “But what was on it? What exactly did you lose?”She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “It was my literacy center. I’ve lost my ability to read.”Slowly I nodded, affected strangely by the sorrow in her eyes. “And where did you last see it?”#The library’s architecture changed as we climbed upstairs. This great building had been one of the first constructions in the city, and many features were to be found nowhere else, carved into the shelves and walls. On the right, we passed a line of re-shelving drones lined up and charging in a recessed wall, then a great mural depicting the city’s founding. The librarian waved her hand toward the dark gulf on the left. “Over seven million volumes, serving the entire upper half of the city. Even though I was built only three years ago, my literacy places me into a continuity reaching all the way back to the first explorers. When I’m out among you people of flesh, I’m no more than a specialized tool, but here in the Library, I’m an authority, a part of something eternal. My literacy is the most precious thing, the only thing I will ever own. I would have given my arms or legs, or been erased rather than suffer this!Trying to calm her, I spoke slowly. “And what exactly does this drive look like?”“It’s a lamellar disc, rectangular, about two fingers thick. It has a lovely iridescence to it, like the play-of-color in a fine dark opal.”The library was full of moving things, tiny drones that kept the Library clean, all coming to life now as evening drew near. They skittered out of our way as we climbed up onto a wide, separate veranda, complete with cushions and padded chairs grouped around an ornate fireplace, carved to represent a forest scene. A healthy fire burned behind the grate. The librarian pointed to the space in front of it and said, “There. That’s where I lost it.”“You were in front of the fire?”Her voice raised defensively. “It was during my break, and no one else was here! I was curled up with a copy of Eisenstill’s ‘The Rhapsody of Flowing Water,’ and I accidentally read the passage about the River Espizh. I should have known better. The rhythm of the words affected my shut-down inhibitors, and the fire and the sound of the rain didn’t help. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, the words made no sense to me! I’ve searched the entire area! I can’t imagine where it’s gone! I can hardly imagine anything without that drive!”The area was warm, and the sound of the rain made it cozy indeed. Standing here, my report seemed unimportant, along with the whole city. This library was the only place to be, with plenty of books, a fire, and the rain outside.I blinked and rubbed my eyes. “Very well. You woke up, and it was gone. Therefore, something took it. It must have been an animal. What would any of the drones want with a data disc? None of them could possibly use it. It must have been a wood-vole, gathering shiny things for its nest. Either that, or...”The last possibility remained unspoken, because if someone had managed to sneak in while she was asleep, then all hope was gone. The drive was somewhere out in the city, sold many times over, lost in the underworld. I smiled at her, shrugged and said, “Couldn’t you get another disc?”“No. I was an expensive model. If I tell them I lost such an advanced component, they’ll decide I’m a bad risk. It would be better to erase and reuse me.”Before she fell back into a hole of recursive panic, I nodded and took hold of her hand. “Well then, let’s start looking. We’ll explore every niche and corner, the likely and the implausible. It must be somewhere inside the building.#We searched every level, moving at a run from one place to another. Together we moved cabinets, rifled through storage lockers, wrestled crates and potted plants. She held my ankles as I dangled upside-down to check the undersides of stairs and balconies. Soon I was exhausted. Even the librarian had begun to slow down. Still, there was no sign of the drive.We returned to the fireplace, defeated. “You can learn to read again,” I said, “You can do it on your off-time. I can help.”She shook her head. “You don’t understand. It’s most of my memory as well, all the books I’ve read, all my time here, my ability to cross-reference and interpret layers of meaning. Now I have a fleeting memory of ‘The Rhapsody,’ but soon even that will be gone. I’ve never been at such a loss! I can’t think! There must be a possibility I’ve missed, something, anything! But what?!”Looking at her, it occurred to me that I could leave. What was it to me if this one android went the way of all metal, a few years early? Standing there, I knew the question was meaningless. I could not leave. This was no robot to me, but a young woman, much younger than she looked, and this Library was all she had. At one time, it had been the same with me. I remembered my childhood self, lugging a book far too large for me over to my reading spot on the first floor, where a sunbeam would bring some grand illustrated adventure to life in my hands.Because there was nothing else to do, we sat together without talking, staring into the dying flames. Minutes passed, and then I reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want me to read something to you? Maybe get a head start on learning to read for yourself again?”“No.” Her voice was a hard monotone. “It would make me too jealous. I’ll sit here until I enter another shut-down state. Maybe I’ll dream I can still read.”I sat with her, wishing I could read while I waited, that I could get up and fetch one without making her feel bad. Soon, the fire was only smoke. The smell was sharp, growing stronger, until my nose burned, and my eyes started closing on their own.The librarian gave a great sniff and stood suddenly, scenting the air like a questing hound. I did the same. The smoke was wrong, with a toxic whiff of plastic and metal. Standing in silence, I could hear a set of footsteps, light and solid.“No!” she breathed, indignant, “Without a command? How could it?”I was about to ask what she meant when a drone walked into the light. It was carrying a book, open in one hand.The image was wrong, almost obscene. Drones were only just complex enough to do what they were told. Take this box of books to this floor, file them according to their codes, return to your dock and wait for the next task. They traveled mindlessly, with an efficient, uniform gait. This drone strolled, weaving, all its limited attention focussed on the printed page.“Command exit!” the librarian barked, “Return to niche! Unit, respond!”She spoke all the right words. I could see them as they registered with the drone’s systems, each one causing the metal skull to wobble as it resisted its orders. Fingers built for crude labor now turned pages delicately, wide sensor-eyes scanning the text out of its squat, brutish skull.The drone read the last page, then instantly threw the book onto a cushion, plucked another one from the shelves and started reading again. A low hum rose into audibility, then climbed to a piercing whine.The librarian pulled my sleeve. “We need to stop it! Come on and help me!”The smell was unbearable now. Wisps of blue smoke leaked out from under the drone’s carapace. We stood on either side of it, held the upper torso, then twisted and heaved upwards. The hands never stopped turning pages as we set the machine on the floor, but the legs behaved automatically, sinking into a cross-legged posture. The drone only existed now from the waist up, but it still read, the blunt head bent toward the open page.The librarian took hold of the book, and the drone lashed out, struck a blow that would have caved my chest in, but only sent her spinning like an unbalanced drill across the floor and into the wall. She picked herself up and came back through the cloud of blue haze. The processing panel glowed orange, and the librarian took hold of this and pulled up, peeling the door away to expose drone’s slots.She plucked at a sliver of iridescence, nestled in the hot metal. “This was never meant for these machines! This drone has some real brass, doing something like this!”Her fingertips were glowing by the time she gave up and withdrew her hands. We watched together, helpless as the entire port turned red, then yellow, then white, radiating until I had to step back from it. At last it slumped and ran down to the floor in a heap of glowing slag.The drone’s fingers still turned the pages. By now, the movement was no more than the machine equivalent of muscle memory, the last wish of a dying machine to read, to never stop reading. Even this halted as a many-colored shape slid out of the molten port and rode down to the floor, as on a frozen waterfall, leaving the metal behind until it lay by itself on the bare stone.I bent and took the book out of the spidery hands, now still, and looked at the title. “‘Elbart’s Book of Sewers.’ If you had the choice of one final book before death, which would you have picked?”She reached out a foot and toyed with the drive on the floor. “It seems undamaged.”I stared at the little block of literacy, shining with many colors on the floor. It hardly seemed possible, but she was right. The edges of the drive were still precisely square, the colors vibrant, free of cracks. She picked it up, brought it over to the fire, set it on the hob, turned back and looked at me. “It should be alright. It’ll cool safely by the fire and when it’s ready, I’ll fit it back into my system.”Still staring at the drone, I said, “How could this happen? Why did it do this?”Her anger had faded, and the skin around her eyes wrinkled with sympathy as she looked at the machine. “They all have an imagination. They need to, for the good of the job. It’s a small one, no more than a few circuits, but I suppose carrying books around year after year must have stimulated part of that imagination into curiosity.”“But it’s not possible! They make sure of that when they build you!”“It’s impossible to say what’s possible. These drones may be simple, but they’re far older than me. If you leave an imagination by itself too long, you can’t be surprised when something starts growing.” She turned to me with a smile. It was the smile she had wanted to give me when I came into the library, calm and professional, befitting a guardian of books. “I’m sorry we can’t accommodate your request at this time. If you’ll leave your contact information, I’ll gather the requisite materials and get in touch with you shortly.”This was a signal for me to leave, common to human and android alike. I thanked her, and she turned away and sat at the fire, watching the many-colored block as it glimmered by the fire.It was a warm, rainy night when I walked out in the street. I turned my collar up against the rain and set out to walk the three blocks home, trying to identify the feeling that had overcome me upon leaving the Library. At last I decided it was resentment, after all I’d been prepared to sacrifice for the librarian, the hours I’d spent helping her. Having done all that, she had turned me away without so much as thanks. By tomorrow, the melted drone would have been cleaned up, the metal scraped off the floor, and the librarian would be functioning normally again. Would she remember any of this time? Would she ever think of me, as she sat down with a book again?I came to the boarding-house under the crooked steeple, I found that I was smiling, though I could not tell why. I was still smiling as I locked the door of my room and began warming milk for chocolate, then took up a selection of pastoral poems and laid it open across my lap. By the time my drink was ready, I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame the poor librarian, all by herself in that ancient palace of reading.She was only a machine, after all. ","August 19, 2023 03:35",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,yvphv1,Under the blue hardback,Kit Spayd,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yvphv1/,/short-story/yvphv1/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Historical Fiction']",5 likes," Juliette was working the late shift at the community library one evening, when she realized something, she was looking for was now missing. Earlier that week, she had found the most peculiar article, one from the Salem Witch Trials, that she had never seen before. She worked there for nearly ten years, and knew the library inside and out, along with its contents. So, when she happened upon this article, she knew it was very important.  The importance would not come to be known until later. But she knew it was going to be one of the most important pieces of literature she had ever touched. While she quickly skimmed over it there were many names she recognized, but the most recognizable was Warren. She married Alex Warren in June of last year, so the name was familiar to her. She and Alex have known each other their entire lives, and she heard of the many stories about his ancestors and the Great Doctor Joseph Warren. He was of course the one who ordered Paul Revere and William Dawes to warn Samuel Adams and John Hancock of the price that was placed on their heads by the crown. All she knew was that he was a wonderful man, and in fact he was. However, she was always curious about the older stories though, the ones they don’t talk about. The ones of the witch trials form the last 1600’s. The ones where the Warren name runs wild through the stories. She was always fascinated by their stories and was always willing to learn more about them. She was curious as to why they were outcast by her husband’s family. What did they do so wrong? She wrote many short stories about them and the untold truths of why these men and women were accused of witchcraft. Some of her professors when she was in college were impressed by her extensive research and theories on the subject. Some were not so impressed, and felt she was disrespectful towards the history and culture of their state. When she saw the article, she knew she needed to take a few pictures of it with her phone, in case it was misplaced. Many things were moved around when she was not at the library, which was typical, since there were always so many new things coming in daily. While on her break she looked at the pictures she took but was disappointed to see they were blurry. Since she had misplaced the article, the blurry pictures would have to do for now. Knowing she would talk to Alex later that evening about it, she was hopeful of getting a few answers to some questions she had. Like, why would an article like that even been written with the name Warren throughout? Were the witch trials something that his family was part of? She knew she needed to find it to be able to answer more questions, but she just could not find it. Searching high and low for it, through books and files, she could not see it anywhere. Nothing. It was like it developed legs and walked away. She went and spoke with her co-worker to see if he had seen it by chance. “Crazy thing you just asked that, because an old man was here earlier and said there was an article that was brought in with some of his family belongings and that he needed them back. When I asked him what it was about and such, he said that it was brought in by mistake with other heirlooms and it was not supposed to be. I saw something that was new and that I had never seen before, and I asked if it was his. He was very happy and grateful that we had it. I gave it to him naturally. I’m sorry Juliette, were you reviewing it? I know how you have a love for the trials.” “Yeah, but its ok. I would’ve done the same. When I glanced over it, I saw Alex’s name, well the Warren name, and it was about the trials like you said. I took a few pictures, but they came out blurry because I was rushing. Once I saw the name you know I was adamant on reading it. But I was trying to finish up a few things and then came back to it. Now I will never know what it was since I don’t have the article and can’t see the pictures well enough to make anything out.” “Oh, Juliette, he left his information in case we came across anything else that may be of equal importance.” Picking up the blue hardback, that had been sitting there for most of her shift now, revealed a post it note with all his information on it. The smile on her face grew wider, and she was so thankful to him. She made a photocopy, and instantly regretted not doing the same with the article, she couldn’t wait to talk with Alex about who he could be. Walking into the apartment, she could smell the sauce and garlic bread he had made, with pasta and a side salad. A glass of white wine was poured for her already and she smiled at how much he spoiled her. “Hello beautiful! How was your day?” “It was interesting, good, but interesting. Yours?” “It was the norm, you know. We had a few calls, but August is typically quiet since most of the residents are on vacation, and the tourists aren’t here yet.” Alex was a firefighter/paramedic with Bostin Fire Department. “Good babe! So, how, much of your ancestors do you know about,” she was getting straight to it. “Oh, ok. Um, how far are we talkin?” “Salem Witch Trial times, so late 1600’s.” “Not much honestly. I mean there’s always been the rumors and crazy stories you know, but I don’t know what is fact and what is fiction. Why do you ask?” “I came across an article earlier this week and Warren was written all through, at least what I skimmed over anyway. But then an old man came in earlier in my shift tonight and Dustin, not knowing I was interested in it, gave it back to him. The old man said it was accidentally brought in with some other things, and some of those were considered family heirlooms.” “Bummer, babe.” “Nope, I got all his information. Dustin took it down for him in case we came across anything else that may be as important for him.” “Awesome! Wonder if he is a relative of mine.” “I’m not sure to be honest. This is his name, Joseph W. Maddox. I have his phone number and email address.” “I don’t recognize the name. Maybe grandmother would. We can stop by there this weekend if you’d like?” “That would be wonderful! Thanks babe!” They both had the weekend off, for once, and grandmother was very excited about their visit. The couple planned to bring some sandwiches and tea, so she didn’t feel like she had to make them anything. Every time they were there, she was always being a great hostess, but they just wanted to talk with her and enjoy her company. They chatted for a bit and caught up on the past few weeks when Alex asked, “Grandmother, do you know this name?” as he showed her the paper. “I do!” when she spoke her eyes themselves told a story. “That is your third cousin, on my side of course. I haven’t seen him since I was a young girl. Where did you find this name?” “Work,” Juliette replied. “It’s a shame what the family did to him and his family. They were shunned by the old family, so was his mother, and so on and so on.” “Do you know why?” Juliette asked. “Well, of course dear. They rumored to be witches. The whole line of them.” Juliette knew as soon as she said those words that the article had to be about that part of the family. “Wow! That is fascinating.” Alex exclaimed. “Do you have any stories about them? I would love to hear them.” Juliette asked. “I do. Why don’t we go into the study. This way we can sit more comfortably and really get into them.” She said with a grin as she held Juliette's hands like they were getting ready to gossip. Over the next few hours, grandmother would retell the stories she had heard from when she was a child. Alex and Juliette were on the edge of their seats the whole time she spoke. “So, they shunned them all.” Juliette said. “Sadly yes.” Grandmother responded. “Do you believe they were witches, grandmother?” Alex asked. “No, I think they were more in tune with certain things is all. I had always wondered what happened with Joe and the others.” “Wait there’s more?” Alex asked, surprised. “Oh, yes dear. You have many cousins from that line. I have missed them. I was very close to Tabitha growing up. That was Joe’s older sister. Mama and Daddy did not like the practices my aunt and uncle did. They are not Christians, so they were considered outcasts to the family.” “How sad. What did they practice?” Juliette asked in a sad tone. “They are Buddhists. That was a religion the Christians were confused by back in the 1690’s and clear up to the 1990’s. By then, though it was too late, that family was not willing to forgive the rest on how they were all treated. Who could blame them really?” “I would love to talk with him and meet him. Do you think he would ever come here, grandmother?” Alex asked. “I don’t know, Alex. Tabitha passed away a few years ago. Maybe. I guess it couldn’t hurt to try right?” Juliette volunteered to reach out to him and see if he was open to the idea. After a few days, she received a response from him. He agreed to meet. She was most excited, for this could be the reunion of a family that lost so much time. Juliette immediately called Alex so he could let Grandmother know of the great news. “Grandmother! He said yes. He would like to see you!” Grandmother was so happy by this, her eyes started to well up with tears, “That is such wonderful news grandson! Did he say when?” “He did not. He said he would leave it up to Juliette.” “Ok, well how about next weekend here at the house. Unless he is more comfortable elsewhere, I can meet anywhere he would like.” Juliette replied and asked if that time and location worked for him. He replied and agreed to those plans. “My cousin’s home is perfectly fine. The date works for me and my daughter as well.” Was his reply. All were very anxious and excited to meet one another, Joe and Josephine, that is grandmother’s name, were probably the most excited. When the weekend arrived, it was a beautiful summer day in Boston. Joe and his daughter arrived right on time. It was a bit awkward at first but seeing them open up more to each other after some conversation was the most wholesome thing the three had witnessed. They talked about Tabitha, and all of grandmother’s siblings. They were just breaking the ice, they promised that they would stay in contact weekly. Joe agreed to come by often, to help her with things she may need help with around the house. Joe and Josephine were the only two alive from their lines, with many children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. They decided they wanted to plan a family reunion and hope to put those problems far behind them. The cousins were like children again as they talked for hours about many things they missed out on in one another’s lives. The three sat and watched the long overdue interaction between them and knew that Juliette sending the email and finding that article was the best thing that could’ve happened for the families. The importance of that article made itself known that day Joe and Josephine reunited. Juliette was so pleased with herself and even happier for her husband and his family. They were on a path where they could finally get some closure and develop a relationship with long lost family members. ","August 17, 2023 16:43","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'That was nice. Happy happenstance! Thanks for this!', 'time': '16:49 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Kit Spayd': 'Aww thank you!!!!', 'time': '18:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Kit Spayd': 'Aww thank you!!!!', 'time': '18:06 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,z7679z,Rare and Exquisite,𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/z7679z/,/short-story/z7679z/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Adventure', 'Urban Fantasy']",5 likes," Edmund was not his real name.The young man was a librarian by trade, although one wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He wore a double-breasted gray suit, his neck swathed in a long black scarf. In his hand he held an elaborate pocket watch, which he was studying closely. He was standing outside a wrought-iron gate in a slum of Paris in the middle of the night.He watched as two drunkards across the street stumbled out of what was casually known as a “night cafe.” He eyed them nervously, gripping his walking stick tightly as they walked away.‘Edmund’ gulped and wiped his brow with a clean handkerchief before checking his pocketwatch again....11:58.The young man was tantalized by the night cafe: the fact that on one side of the street was a deep soul-slavery, while on his side - under a flickering yellow lamp - was freedom... at least for those who could find it.12 o’clock midnight.Edmund heard the click from the wrought iron gate, and then began to fiddle with a difficult-to-see combination lock.He quickly scrambled with the lock, his fingers sweating, and inputted 6, 15, 24, and pushed. As expediently as he had entered, Edmund closed the gate fast behind him, giving it a few tugs to make sure the lock was engaged.Under the night sky, the garden had both a threatening and romantic feel to it. Several large trees lent their hanging leaves and fruits to the few who could find them as little lightning bugs darted between the tall grasses that lined the slowly churning stream that ran through the secret garden.Edmund bent down to examine the cobblestones in front of him and put on his specially-made spectacles.“Good,” he murmured to himself after an examination. “No sign of them.”He found himself wishing that the gate would allow itself to be opened at twelve-noon instead of midnight as he walked among the lush greenery. How beautiful it would be, Edmund thought before reminding himself why he was there. He stepped over a bridge spanning the little stream and was presented with the shop he had been searching for for years.Amidst the verdant foliage, a quaint and charming shop emerged like a hidden gem. Its façade was adorned with creeping vines and ivy, a sign that it was much, much older than he had been led to believe. A sign above the entrance read, ""Exquisitely Rare Books,"" inviting the curious and the curiouser to step inside and explore the wonders within.Edmund carefully opened the front door of the strange little shop, stopping the bell above from announcing his arrival. In spite of that, he heard an old-sounding voice from deeper within.“Hello! I am so glad someone had found my clues. It has been such a long... long time since I have had any customers.”The interior of the shop was warm, but the little electrical lights were just a little too faint. Edmund looked around for the source of the voice, but could not discover its origin.“Yes, delighted,” Edmund said, glad to hear that no one else had been in the store for ‘a long time.’ “Help yourself, lad,” the voice responded. Edmund looked over the bookshelves to see if he could see where the shopkeep was, but could not. “If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.”Edmund put on his spectacles again and lit a match. The voice again pervaded the store.“No flames, please!” The clerk’s voice said calmly yet commandingly. Edmund blew out his match and put it in a convenient ash tray.The book Edmund was looking for was definitely worth all the fuss. He passed by several first editions and original manuscripts of books that lesser librarians could only have dreamed of seeing as he walked further and further into the shelves. There was an original Leonardo diagram of some device that the young man couldn’t reckon, followed by a translation of a chapter of the Codex Seraphim and the Chronicles of the Starless Abyss. Books that lesser book collectors would have leapt at without searching deeper. Farther back, farther back, into the recesses of the place. He found a spiral iron staircase and began to ascend. The Atlas Obscura was there at the landing, along with The Lost Apocrypha and the only known copy of the Crystal Codex, made completely out of diamond. The lights were dimmer back here than on the first floor, and even Edmund’s special glasses were not helping him.“Excuse me?” He called out to the ever-darkening gloom. “Is there any chance of making this place brighter?”The clerk responded with Edmund’s true name and a little speech about the ‘romantic promise of darkness.’ That phrase stuck in Edmund’s mind - part of a poem from the book he was in search of.The young librarian sighed. “Nevermind,” Edmund called out to the gloom. I’ve gotten this far, he thought. Even if I have to camp out here until daybreak to see what I’m doing, it’ll be worth it. He clutched his walking stick. Perhaps I could even stave off the clerk until morning as well.“I think you’ll find that daylight won’t help you here,” the clerk suddenly said, somewhere in the dark. Edmund didn’t respond, but instead intensified his focus in order to read the names on the spines of the ever-twisting rows of books. That’s what struck Edmund the most about the place: it was becoming less and less organized as he went forward with priceless books and tomes spilling onto the floor.Picking one up, he saw that it had a title that shocked him so much that it caused him - a man of many meticulous and despicable crimes - to throw it to the ground in disgust. Another book sent a river of tremulous thoughts through his brain. Yet another title seemed to throw the entire worldview of a major religion into question.Focus, focus, he said to himself as he walked deeper and deeper into the bookstore... or whatever it was. The darkness was now intense, but somehow Edmund could read the titles on the various slumping bookshelves.What Edmund was looking for was far more disturbing than these, however. He stepped over a pile of parchment and squeezed between two bookshelves at the very back of the second floor when he saw it: A knee-high gap in the wall with red light pouring out of it. Getting on his knees and pushing the piles of papers away, he peered into the gap. A few more books fell in his way as he crawled forward - scrolls and even a few pages of forgotten minuets by Mozart began to fall in front of him, but he was not deterred.At the end of the crawlspace, he could see a lone book in the distance. Continually pushing the books and pages that were falling in front of his path away, he crawled forward. The space itself narrowed and narrowed, the source of the red light not able to be determined, the book seemingly retreating.He pulled himself by the carpet of the infernal space along with the forward motion of his knees to finally claw his way to the large, eight-hundred-or-so leatherbound tome and brought it close.Edmund’s black hair was now in complete disarray as he stood, kicking the other things away from his feet. A few were scrolls of ancient papyrus, their pages singed by a great fire from long ago. “Did you find what you were searching for?” The voice of the clerk behind him asked. Edmund continued forward.“Yes I did,” Edmund said carefully. “Thank you v-very much.”Clomp, clomp, shuffle, shuffle. Edmund was still struggling to hold onto the tome as more and more books and parchments fell at his feet from unseen shelves.“Very interesting work,” the voice behind him said, growing fainter.“Yes, yes it is,” Edmund said.“I notice that you were not enticed by the other works you passed by on your way to that one.”Edmund gulped, being careful to be polite and yet not looking behind him. “They are wonderful books as-as well,” he said. Up ahead was the faint orange glow coming from the candles on the first floor. He reached the guard rail of the spiral staircase and gripped it tightly.“You are a special customer, that is for sure,” the voice said again.Edmund made his way to the first floor, still clutching his find in his arms.“You a-are too kind,” he said, calling up the stairs, still not looking behind him. “H-how much?” He asked as he trundled across the much brighter, much more comforting first floor.There was no answer at first.“You know the price,” the voice called down in a sly tone.Edmund pushed the door open, not caring this time if the bell made a noise.After a moment, the forgotten and concealed bookstore returned to its state of hush and silence. Every once in a while there was a shuffling noise upstairs, but otherwise there was no movement. When the sun came up, the trees outside blocked the light from entering fully.The shadows from the branches of the willows outside danced strange dances on the floor within. ","August 18, 2023 14:26","[[{'M B': ""I'm sure this one is going to be well liked."", 'time': '18:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': 'Thank you so much, bud! Yes, Edmund is back and so is his surreal adventure', 'time': '19:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'𝒮𝓏𝒶𝓁 𝒱𝑒𝒾𝓁𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇': 'Thank you so much, bud! Yes, Edmund is back and so is his surreal adventure', 'time': '19:19 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,pvpo5w,Goblin Cat ,Hazel Carter,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pvpo5w/,/short-story/pvpo5w/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Mystery']",5 likes," Lillian had been working the closing shift at the Huntington grounds library for 25 years, but this night there seem to be something lurking in the air, a darkness she had never noticed.It was time to skedaddle everyone out the front door. “Good night, Ms. Lillian”said Nancy, who was a regular here at the library , a very sweet girl.“ Catch you later, Ms. L.” That was Stan, he was the high school football star. He only hung out at the library to check out Nancy, who wanted nothing to do with him. Lillian found it funny, to chase something and never catch it. Lillian knew Stan was wasting his time.Lillian locked the doors and made her way back to the front desk to start putting books away, when she caught a figure out of the corner of her eye. Thinking it was a student that missed the final call, she yelled out, “We are closed, you have to leave. “Lillian waited for a response . When there was no response, Lillian started walking towards the area where she had seen the figure. As she got closer, she heard what she thought was a cat meowing. The meowing became louder as she got closer. “ Her Kitty Kitty,” Lillian called. Suddenly books started falling off the shelves in the Syfy section. Here “Kitty Kitty, come on dumb cat. I don’t have time for this and how in the heck did you get in here.” Lillian was getting frustrated. As Lillian rounder the corner of the bookshelf quickly, nothing. “ Okay, where did you go? Lillian called out again “Here, Kitty Kitty.” “MEOW,” This time it came from the other side of the library and was very loud. Lillian couldn’t understand how the cat got in and how it moved so fast. “Come on, where are you?” “Okay,” Lillian said “I am going to finish my work, you do, what you want.” Lillian started putting her books away when she heard, “MEOW,” but this time it sounded more aggressive, and it gave Lillian an uneasy feeling. “Okay get mad, but you don’t want my help,” said Lillian.“Lillian, are you talking to yourself?” It was Charlie, the night janitor. “Oh , Charlie, I thought you had the night off?”asked Lillian, who looked relieved to see him. “No, that’s Thursday. Two more nights to go. You look upset, are you okay?” Charlie asked. “ No, I am okay. It’s just that somehow a cat managed to get itself trapped in here, did you hear it?” “ No, I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure you’re okay?” Charlie was looking at Lillian and started laughing. “You’re not letting the night shift get to you after all these years, are you?” Lillian gave Charlie “the” look and he knew what it meant. “ I get that same look from my wife when she wants me to move on. I’m leaving.” “No!” Lillian couldn’t believe she yelled it out. “No Charlie, please don’t go. Finish your floors and I will take care of these books.” Lillian had an unsure smile on her face.As Lillian entered the sci-fi section of the library, she once again heard a loud meow. “ did you hear that?” Lillian yelled over to Charlie, who was mopping the floor. Charlie looked up, removed his headphones from his ears and said, “did you say something?” “No, just checking to see if you were still here,” Lillian said. “Okay,” said Charlie as he replaced his headphones and went back to work. As Lillian turned, she thought she saw a large cat, “LOOK!” She yelled to Charlie.”CHARLIE!” Charlie dropped his headphones looked at Lillian and ask “Lillian, what is going on with you tonight?” “ I just saw a large cat move towards the legion section over there.” Lillian looked scared, and Charlie could tell. “Lillian I will go take a look for you. “Lillian, there is nothing over here.” Charlie started walking towards Lillian, “I promise you, there is nothing here.””Charlie, I swear I heard and saw a large cat.” Lillian was truly scared. So Charlie suggested that she leave early and finish the books in the morning. “No, I’m okay, I will just finish this section and head out. Thanks Charlie.”Charlie couldn’t help himself and said, “you might have just encountered the Forest Cat , you know the “Goblin Cat.” “ Stop it!” Lillian yelled, “That’s not funny!” Charlie continued to tease, “ You better watch out , the goblin cat’s gonna get you!” “ You know that I never believed in Norwegian folklore, now you just stop!” Lillian sighed. “ You better watch out.” Charlie started repeating over and over again. “STOP IT!” Lillian couldn’t help herself, the night events had gotten to her. “ I’m sorry Charlie, it’s been a rough night. I am sorry.” “That’s okay, I’m the one sorry. I’ll just get back to work.” Charlie put on his headphones and resumed working.Lillian walked slowly down each aisle, placing each book in its place. She moved carefully, looking around. Lillian stopped as she came closer to the Syfy section of legions and folklore, her mind kept repeating what Charlie said, “The goblin cat gonna get you!” “Stop it girl, Lillian said to herself, as she entered the aisle. Charlie had finished mopping the floor and he suddenly had a strange feeling. He slowly took off his headphones, looked over to the last place he remembered seeing Lillian and said “Lillian, where are you? Are you okay? Lillian, answer me.”Charlie slowly walked over and saw Lillian’s cart of books turned over and lying on the floor. “LILLIAN, WHERE ARE YOU!” Charlie was starting to panic. “LILLIAN, ANSWER ME! Charlie slowly headed for the back door, calling out to Lillian the whole way. “Please answer me, where are you?” Suddenly, Charlie heard what he thought was a cat. That can’t be, no way. Then as Charlie’s hand reached for the doorknob, “MEOW” Charlie grabbed his chest as he turned around he saw it was Lillian, laughing and pointing at Charlie, and saying how she couldn’t resist. She knew how much he was into the local folklore. Lillian walked away laughing. Then Charlie started laughing too and said, “You, of all people, got me. ","August 13, 2023 23:39",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,46r4hd,Our Marvellous Morris,Tom Williams,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/46r4hd/,/short-story/46r4hd/,Fiction,0,['Friendship'],5 likes," Morris Lamb rested his reading glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and uncurled his top lip. “So, Timothy, you’re saying that this book you’re looking for has a blue cover?” “Yes,” the boy replied.  “And it has big, bold white lettering?” “Yes.” “And there is an illustration on the cover of a…” “I think it’s a centaur?” Timothy pondered with a twiddle of his fingers. “Or maybe a mermaid? Or a goblin? Something mythical anyway.” Morris Lamb brushed a loose white flyaway behind his ear. “Give me a moment,” he said. With that, he disappeared, returning moments later slightly out of breath, flapping his argyle cardigan to cool himself down. In his hands, a royal blue hardback.  “Is this what you’re looking for?”  The boy’s eyes lit up, reaching for the book and holding it aloft. A prize. A trophy. “Yes, Morris, oh thank you so much. I knew you could help me. It’s true what they say, you really can find anything!” That, Morris Lamb could. In his sixty years as a librarian, Morris had honed a skill of finding any book with minimal information. Of course, this was a skill that many, if not all, librarians and booksellers are born with, but it was no exaggeration to say that Morris Lamb was one of the best. Yet, while it was a skill he prided himself on, Morris’ relationship with books was more about than just finding them quickly. He simply adored books. Not only did he read them, he lived, breathed, ate and drank them; the crack of soft crisp pages his sustenance, the scent of ink an elixir for his soul. When the librarian moved to the quiet market town of Lower Muddle as a young man, the village was, reading-wise, in a sorry state of affairs, in so much that nobody did it.  Morris made it his life mission to change this.  His first port of call was to refurbish-slash-rebuild the building that was apparently the ‘library’ and ask the people what they wanted to fill it with.  “Jam,” they had answered. “Jam?” Morris had replied.  “Jam!” they had repeated.  A pause. “Why jam?” “We all love jam!” the crowd had chorused. “We live jam. We laugh jam. We love jam. Jam is what Lower Muddle was built on.” A pause. “Not literally though. But you know what we mean.”  “Well…” Morris’ mind ticked. “We might not be able to have actual jam here. That’s more so what grocery stores or corner shops are for. But how about recipe books for jam?” A pause. A cheer. “Or perhaps biographies of local jam makers? One can never have too many of those!” A shorter pause. A louder cheer. “How about mystery books where the murder weapon was a jam jar?”  The shortest pause. A third, even greater cheer. In a world where it can be easy to be heard but a lot more difficult to actually be listened to, with this act of kindness Morris had hooked them. But how now to reel them in? Once the library was fully finished, he set up reading groups and book clubs to get the people of Lower Muddle talking about books. He started writing competitions for every age group to encourage people to tell their own stories. He set up art sessions and poetry weeks, each time picking one of the libraries beloved books to base these workshops around. He even set up special events, such as a day in the library where you could be as loud as you wanted, or sleepovers at Halloween to listen to a toilet-roll-wrapped Morris read the spookiest of spooky stories. He even set up the Lower Muddle Book and Jam Festival, a gathering of authors, writers, bookworms and preserve connoisseurs alike to celebrate all the things they loved. In the way that worked for them, Morris made the people of Lower Muddle fall in love with reading, and in doing so, the people of Lower Muddle fell in love with him. But alas, as kind as his eighty years had been to him, a lot of them he had spent in one place. What was more, he had achieved what he had set out to achieve. He needed a new adventure, this time perhaps one outside of the library. For example, he had never been abroad and he liked the idea of spending his final chapters of his life somewhere sunny. Book in hand, of course.  But he would not be retiring just yet. He had one final week, ending with his surprise leaving party that he, as the main organiser of many things in the town, naturally knew all about. However, his last week as Lower Muddle librarian was far from a wind down.  “Morris?” Caught up in colour coding his labels to first hear the voice, Morris took a moment to peer over his desk to see the eyes of a young girl beaming up at him.  “Oh, hello Mariam! How are you today? Enjoying The Amazing Adventures of Amelia Adeje are we? Wait… you’ve not finished it already have you? You only took it out yesterday!” “Oh no, not yet, but I am finding it rather wonderful,” Mariam replied. Morris’ heart swelled. “However, I was wondering something…” “Go on.” “Can I take out another book? Please?” Morris’ heart stretched even more. “Of course, you can, Mariam. Which one are you thinking of?” “That’s the problem. I can’t remember the title...” “No bother.” Morris got his pen and pad ready, his computer was primed. This was his bread and butter. And jam, he now supposed. “Can you tell me something about it?” “Well, it’s gold.” He jotted this down. “All the best books are.” “And green.” He added this. “Green too?” “And blue!” His pen sped up. “Blue as well?” “And yellow and pink and all the colours of the rainbow.” The nib pressed on. “All of them? Ooh er!” “With sparkly writing.” It zig-zagged across the paper. “Ok… ” “And a glittery border.” Now it moved with a scribble. “Right…” “And a pair of silver spectacles right in the middle on the front cover.” Now at a scratch. “Oh… oh, I see…”  “And it’s about this big.” Mariam’s hands spun like a washing machine. It was much like Morris’ thoughts. The pen fell from his strained, drained hand.  “And you cannot remember what it was called?” Mariam shook her head. “Or who wrote it?” Another shake.  “Or where you saw it?” “Nope.” “Or what it was about?” “No.” Now Morris tapped on his computer, but it was more so for the effect than for the practicality. In his entire career, he had never been so well and truly stumped.  “No bother,” Mariam smiled, gauging his uncertainty. “I will try again tomorrow.”  ~ Morris usually loved these bookfinding challenges, but his usual chunks of excitement had melted into a fondue of panic and a restless night followed. He scrolled through the encylopedia of his sweating mind, but the book Mariam sought did not appear. Over the next few days Mariam popped into the library to ask Morris for the book but it was not to be. He had searched the shelves and the stockroom, the intranet and the internet. He had even ventured to book shops and libraries further afield, asking anyone who would listen for help, advice, literally any information they could give him, but the book could not be found.  And so it was, in what he deemed his last act as librarian, he had failed.  ~ The day of Morris’ retirement party should have been a joyous time, but Morris’ seeds of hope had rotted. The colourful banners, bulging party bags and smorgasbord of jam tarts, treats and cakes could do nothing to sweeten his mood.  A tingling of glass. The muffled cries of ‘speech’.  Morris stood before a crowd of beloved, familiar faces.  “It is with great sadness that it is my last day as your librarian,” he began, his heart beating so far up his throat it was tickling his tonsils. “But that is not the only cause of my sadness, as I have as I… as I…” Mariam tottered to the front, a brown paper parcel in her hands. Nodding with encouragement, she handed it to Morris. With a quivering lip and a tear in his eye, Morris delicately removed the ribbon binding the present and unwrapped the paper.  A book. A rainbow book.  A rainbow book with sparkly writing. A rainbow book with sparkly writing and a glittery border.  A rainbow book with sparkly writing and a glittery border and a pair of silver spectacles right in the middle of the front cover… Our Marvellous Morris “But this…” Morris turned it over in his hands. “I know,” Mariam’s dimples danced. “It’s the book I was looking for. Open it.” Morris creaked wide the spine, the waft of freshly cut pages and ink hitting his nostrils, enlivening all of his senses. On the first page there was a message. It read:  To our Marvellous Morris. Our librarian. Our friend. Thank you for caring and thank you for the stories. These stories are for you.  Morris flicked through the pages. Stories. Poems. Diaries. Journals. Comics. Cartoons. Dittys. Anecdotes. Illustrations. All from the people he cared for and loved. All for him. For a man who had read so many of them in his lifetime, Morris Lamb was lost for words.  “I can’t even…” “It’s just something to remember us bye.” Mariam squeezed him tight. “We have another present for you, too.” This time Timothy came forward and thrust a gift into Morris’ hand. He opened the attached note. For wherever your adventures lead you, here is a jar of home.  The paper of the present fell away to reveal a glistening jar of crimson goodness. Jam.  Of course.  ","August 18, 2023 20:05","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': 'What a sweet story! (Jam pun unintended.) When she described the book I thought/hoped that might be where it was headed!', 'time': '13:30 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hi Tom! This is a lovely tale you've written. It tugs the emotions just right - I love the angst dear Morris placed upon himself, thinking he had let someone down when, in fact, he'd done just the opposite and all was about to be laid out for him.\n\nIt's true, librarians spread information, enlightenment, dreams, a wealth of resource (well before the internet, it WAS the internet), and your readers are as pleased for Morris as we all hope he recognizes for himself.\n\nThis was a well told tale, Tom, and the piece as a whole does well. I wo..."", 'time': '00:04 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,xmi9cj,The Scarlet Latte,Z. E. Manley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xmi9cj/,/short-story/xmi9cj/,Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction']",5 likes," +Gemma Phipps had a master’s in library science and 15 years’ experience and yet she was being interviewed by an eighteen-year-old, with more acne than the scones had fruit, for a part time barista position at The Scarlet Latte.The Scarlet Latte. Seriously? That was the best coffee pun they could come up with?Gemma flexed her smile, pushing her annoyance down, and nodded politely at the child explaining the importance of the early morning rush.It could be worse. At least she was in a library. Even if she would be standing on the wrong side of the counter, serving customers instead of patrons. It was still a job. And she needed a job. This job. Hopefully. Pathetically. Desperately.But the child seemed dubious, his thick brows furrowing at her resume. He didn’t like what he saw. The dependability of a solid, steady career as a lauded librarian meant nothing to him. He was fixated on the fact that she hadn’t worked in a café since she was an undergrad.Was he seriously not going to hire her? Was her job search going to plod on after this humiliation? Wasn’t it enough that she had already been rejected once this week in this very building?The Associate Librarian job should have been hers. Without question, hesitance, or debate. The associate position was nothing. Gemma could easily be the head librarian here, dragging the two-story brick building that was the Mud Creek Public Library into the modern century. But Mrs. McCarther didn’t want her.Gemma’s pride suggested it was because the octogenarian knew Gemma could finally be the one to dethrone her from her scowling perch behind the checkout counter. Whatever the case, the associate position had been denied.Overqualified, the only muttered explanation. She tried to object, argue her delight at being an associate, her lack of concern at the downgraded job title, her absolute willingness to follow the path laid out by the head librarian, her delight at her career coming full circle to the library of her youth and the unique opportunity it provided to give back to the community that had awoken her passion for the written word. It was a rather good speech, if Gemma did say so herself.Unfortunately, Mrs. McCarther didn’t listen.Gemma shouldn’t have been surprised. She couldn’t recall a time that the ancient librarian had ever listened to her. So, swallowing her pride, Gemma had thanked Mrs. McCarther for her time, then left, graciously, feigning hope that perhaps her resume would be reconsidered one day.She hadn’t expected to be back in the little red brick building three days later applying for the barista position.Gemma had hoped her job search would lead to something, anything, more substantial. However, Mud Creek was a tiny town. Open jobs were practically nonexistent. The barista position, terrifyingly, was one of the best options. This humiliation was her best chance. And the kid was on the verge of saying no.“Please,” Gemma said accidentally.Tomas’ speech waned at her plea. His brows cratered together.Gemma drew a deep steading breath. Was she about to do this? Was she going to beg an eighteen-year-old for a job in a shoebox sized café shoved into the corner of the library that used to be occupied by the index catalogs? Yes. Yes, she was.“Please.” Gemma said again, this time purposely.Tomas looked deeply uncomfortable.“I want this job. I know how to do it. I will work hard. I don’t take sick days. I don’t mind working holidays. I’ll take any shifts anyone needs to trade. I won’t let you down. Just give me a chance to prove it. Please.”Tomas blinked, his brows now high on his head, white pressure lines forming around his forehead. “The library is closed on holidays.”“Right. Of course.”“Okay,” he said tentatively.“Okay?” Gemma repeated with far too much hope for a job so far beneath her resume.“Yeah.”“Thank you! When do I start?”+Gemma walked through the front door of her childhood home, a red apron in one hand and a surprisingly thick training manual in the other. She was scheduled to start on Monday. That gave her four days to memorize the recipes and regiments of The Scarlet Latte’s minimalistic menu.This was her life now. Cramming the details of a coffee shop, hoping to impress a manager half her age. She shook her head. Closed the door shutting off the thoughts.Now wasn’t the time to spiral. Maybe later. When it was dark out and the helpful neighbors were no longer prone to drop by with sympathetic wishes and guarded welcome homes. She could spiral then.Gemma didn’t bother to click on the hall lights. She knew her way to the kitchen at the back of the house. Plus, the mild darkness made it easier not to glance at the photos on the wall, the shrine to her mother’s family. How long did she wait before she took them down?Not yet. Don’t spiral yet. She had too much to do today to give in now.But really, how long was too long to not pack up and rearrange her parents’ lives into the attic, garage sale, the trash? How did she stop being a guest in their home? When did it become hers? Were there rules for that? A timeline?Gemma was trembling by the time she reached the kitchen. “I hate this so much,” she confessed to the silence. But she couldn’t do this. Not yet. She couldn’t spiral. She still had to drive out to the care home walk into the memory unit sit down beside the bed and the woman who had once been her mom.She couldn’t break now, couldn’t let the tears find an escape. If she did, she’d never get through her visit. And she had to get through her visit. She had to hold the fake smiles, the laughter, the calm assurances that everything was fine and of course she was glad she’d moved back, what was there to miss about her life on the coast, naturally the country was better, why wouldn’t she be happy about any of this?Gemma fixed her shoulders in place, sniffed away tears she refused to let stain her eyes, hung up her red apron on the peg by the stove, placed the manual down on the butcher block counter and huffed out the breath that threatened to implode in her chest.Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.+The Monday morning rush consisted of 16 people. The majority of which did arrive at the same time, which was a tad bit exhilarating in the moment of first day nerves, but the gap between the crowd and the stragglers was more than sufficient to catch her breath. After that, the hours between the customers were tediously long.Gemma cleaned the entire shop, twice. Alphabetized the supplies. Aligned the syrups, fluffed the bags of grounds, straightened the cups. She pulled out the manual, thumbing through it, making notations. Anything and everything to try and fill her shift with productivity. It was boring. Painfully so.As such, she was far too happy to greet each customer that trickled in through the day; even the ones that slowly recognized her and realized why she was back in town. She brushed off their sympathies, dodged their enquiries, in a sweep of polished customer service and perfectly crafted coffees.She made it through her first shift without breaking in any sense of the word. It was harder to do than she’d expected.+Tomas gave her a review at the end of the week. It was stunningly positive.Gemma was oddly moved by his kind words. His constant blush and furrowed eyebrows had become endearing instead of annoying.He offered an extra shift on Fridays because she’d earned it. She took it happily, even though she was pretty sure he just wanted the afternoon off so he could go on dates, but Gemma wasn’t going to complain. Not about this.+The Scarlet Latte averaged 34.75 customers per day. 16 in the morning rush. The rest stuttering randomly throughout the day. Some of them were library patrons. However, most just came in off the street, placed their orders, their backs to the bookstacks, their eyes on their phones, then with a quick thank you, a drop of change or cash into the tip glass, they were gone, rushing away with a purpose Gemma marveled at.What did they do, these rushed commuters of Mud Creek?Gemma started to write their stories in her head to get her through her shift. She had always preferred creative fiction to autobiographies. So, Gemma played, smirking to herself as she twisted what little she knew of the customers into tales she’d guiltily read in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea cooling at her side.The dull banker who was really a sleeper agent. The harried housewife who was having an affair with the postman. The werewolf trying to hide in plain sight. The ghost trying to be seen in any light. The repressed fire starter who just wanted to be a swimmer. The cheerleader turned corporate boss. The alien not ready to become a superhero. The potato farmer growing pot on the back forty. The tattoo artist turned toddler wrangler—“Cole?” Gemma gasped at the woman fidgeting in front of her.Cornflower eyes snapped up from the toddler clutching at her forefinger. She blinked at Gemma. The effort to place her face was plastered all over Colette’s with just enough hint of panic that the wild lifestyle of her teenage years didn’t seem so far behind her. “Um…” Colette’s eyes darted down to Gemma’s name tag, blinked rapidly through the file of names and faces that occupied her mind. It took a full three seconds before it clicked. Colette’s face did a somersault of recognition and surprise before settling into a genuine smile. “Oh, wow! Phipps?”“Hi, Cole,” Gemma greeted with a grin.“What are you…um…”“Doing here?” Gemma filled in with a self-deprecating chuckle.Colette blushed. Shrugged. “Well, yeah?”“I could ask you the same thing,” Gemma replied. “I thought you swore off all of middle America, never to return again.”“Ha! I did do that!” Colette laughed loudly, causing Mrs. McCarther to scowl up from her book, sizzling with disdain at the tattoo sleeved woman rocking a tank top and black jeans. Colette had always been a nemesis for the quite life of Mud Creek. “But. Ugh. Well. It’s a long story. The short of which is, my sister lost her damn mind and left me her kid.”Gemma’s broad smile slipped instantly off her face. “Oh! Man. Cole. I’m so sorry.”Colette shrugged. She looked down at the toddler clutching her finger. Carefully hip checking the kid, which elicited a giggle from the girl, then looked back up at Gemma and shrugged again. “What do you do?”“Move halfway across the country to assume a life you never wanted,” Gemma said before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Shit!” Her eyes went huge behind her hands, glancing at the kid. “Sorry. I meant me. Not you. I’m sure you’re very, er, happy to be taking care of your niece. All things considered.”“Not really. Your first sentiment was more accurate,” Colette admitted. “I hate this. And I have no idea what I’m doing. Do I kiddo?”The little girl giggled again, returning her aunt’s wink with both eyes.“It’s kind of a disaster on every conceivable level. But for some unknown reason Riley is putting up with me anyway. Not that she really has a choice. But you know…” Colette trailed off with a hard swallow.“I had to move my mom into a memory care unit,” Gemma blurted. “Dementia. She knew it was coming on. Had enough time to get everything transferred into my name, the house, the bank accounts, made me her power of attorney, but didn’t bother to tell me what was happening. I had no idea she was even sick until the sheriff called me three weeks ago. He found her on the side of the road. She couldn’t remember how to get home. She was asking for my dad.”“Good fu…fudge,” Colette hissed between clenched teeth and a guilty look at the innocence in Riley’s big eyes. “That’s…damn. I’m sorry, Phipps. That’s terrible.” She cleared her throat. “Mine’s still worse though. I totally win. But solid A for effort.”It was Gemma’s laughter that earned the scowl from the librarian this time.“That’s true,” she conceded, even if she didn’t believe it. “Drinks are on me as your prize. What can I get you?”“Small hot chocolate, with an indecent number of marshmallows, for Riley and the darkest black coffee you can conjure for me.”“Easy enough. Do you want a scone too? They’re only slightly stale. Or I can heat up a breakfast sandwich. They’re not as bad as they should be considering they’re frozen.”“Wow, way to sell the goods. You must be employee of the month. But, uh, no we’re good. I’ve got snacks in my bag. We’re on our way to the park.”“Sounds fun.”Colette shrugged. “Riley seems to like it. Mercifully. There’s not much else to do around here. We go on a lot of walks. Well. I give her a lot of piggybacks. Little legs get tired.”“That sounds perfect.” Gemma handed over the drinks. “If you ever get tired, there’s always reading too. Kids love books.”“I don’t have any books for kids.”“Huh. That is a problem. If only there was a place that children’s books could be found, free of charge.”“Har, har, Phipps,” Colette scoffed. But then, in a rare, or at least rare in the past, moment of honesty and vulnerability, Colette scratched at the back of her neck and scuffed her shoe against the base of the counter. “I have no idea what to read to her.”“Good thing you’re friends with me then.” Gemma grinned, her encyclopedic mind coming alive with possible book titles. She leaned over the counter, fixing all her librarian pleasantness onto Riley. “What’s your favorite animal?”+“Okay, I take it all back. You’re a genius,” Colette announced as she barged into the library with Riley tucked happily around her shoulders, her little legs kicking against the straps of her aunt’s backpack. “She loved all of them.”“Of course she did. I’m very good at my job,” Gemma chuckled, not even remotely kidding.“Yeah, yeah, whatever, oh Master Librarian.” Colette waved a dismissive hand, even as she hurried towards her. “What else you got?”Gemma pulled a carefully handwritten list out from under the counter. “I had some ideas.”“Nerd,” Colette scoffed.“Delinquent,” Gemma spat back.They both laughed. High school had been a long time ago and yet their oddball friendship had resurfaced as if it had been yesterday. So had their nicknames for one another.“Fine. Give me the magical list of perfect children’s stories guaranteed to fight back tantrums and lull wide eyes to peaceful slumber,” Colette mocked broadly, but her hand reached out in a completely serious grabby motion that was not to be denied.Gemma shook her head and happily handed it over. “You mock. But you’re not wrong. This list will do all that.”“Excuse me,” a timid voice asked from behind the double decker unit that was Colette and Riley. It was the harried housewife.“Sorry. We’re we too loud?” Colette asked at once, dropping her voice to a level that was only a whisper in her own mind.“No, no. I just, did you say you had a list of children’s stories? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I can’t find anything my Alex will sit through anymore. Bedtime is a nightmare. I haven’t slept in months.”“That sounds brutal,” Colette grunted. She tugged on Riley’s legs. “Don’t do that to me, okay kiddo?”Riley obediently giggled.“How old is your child?” Gemma asked, ignoring her friend’s antics.“He just turned five.”Gemma hummed in thought. “Is it just bedtime stories or he’s stopped reading altogether?”“Altogether. Its worse at night though.”“Okay. What’s Alex’s favorite thing to pretend to be?”+It became a thing. The customers of The Scarlett Latte still placed their coffee orders, ate their stale scones and frozen breakfast sandwiches, but they also showed up for their personalized booklists. They started calling Gemma the Book Whisperer.Colette called it the politest coup in history. Gemma smacked her tattooed arm and told her to keep her voice down. Mrs. McCarther was mad enough at the new wave of library patrons disturbing her silent reading time, she didn’t need her increased paranoia too.+Ten months later, the spiral finally snapped.Colette opened the door with a sleeping Riley drooling on her shoulder, little fists wrinkling the vintage tee spotted with flung spaghetti and milk stains. “What happened? Is it your mom?”“Mrs. McCarther is retiring,” Gemma gasped through her sobs. “They want me to take her place.”“Er, that’s bad?”“It’s permanent.”“Ah. I know that feeling.” Colette pulled Gemma into a one-armed hug. Riley whimpered at the jostling. Then settled with a grunt. “I’m sorry.”That’s all Colette said. It was all Gemma needed to hear.Suddenly she had a swim buddy in the ocean of her grief. There were still riptides, but she wasn’t alone. She could break without drowning. Stroke by hard fought stroke, she was going to survive this. They both were.+“Excuse me. Are you the librarian?”“I am,” Gemma answered with a smile, setting down the pile of books she had tucked in her arm on the small pushcart. “How can I help you?”“I was wondering if you could help me with a book recommendation.”“I’d love to. What are you searching for today?” ","August 18, 2023 21:17","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': ""I loved this and I'm glad she found a roundabout way to get to do the work she loved."", 'time': '15:24 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Z. E. Manley': ""Thanks! I'm glad you liked the story."", 'time': '03:00 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Z. E. Manley': ""Thanks! I'm glad you liked the story."", 'time': '03:00 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': ""Hi ZE,\n\nI love what you have here. There's a lot packed into a short story but I think you navigated it very well. \n\nReturning home and its accompanying difficulties is a well-known and important passage in many people's lives. The fact you have two returning natives (tail between the legs or otherwise) is a nice glance at, oh what a difference a few years makes to level the social playing field. Nice job here with that.\n\nI might say the only suggestions I would offer: \n\n 1. there's more than one theme you've tackled here: a main ch..."", 'time': '01:03 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Thanks for reading it and for the great analysis. I am always eager to learn how to be a better writer and how to present a story as clearly as possible. Thank you for your suggestions!', 'time': '02:59 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Thanks for reading it and for the great analysis. I am always eager to learn how to be a better writer and how to present a story as clearly as possible. Thank you for your suggestions!', 'time': '02:59 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lara Deppe': 'The moment she gets the job.... perfect. So many well written emotions that strike close to home. Love it!', 'time': '03:27 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Thank you!', 'time': '03:48 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Z. E. Manley': 'Thank you!', 'time': '03:48 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,06qeop,As The Sun Went Down,Elaiza Jane Manansala,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/06qeop/,/short-story/06qeop/,Fiction,0,"['Drama', 'Fiction', 'Romance']",5 likes," Dusty books, the smell of wood. I've been circling around on these shelves for hours, looking for something that I can't point out. In this peaceful small old library, with a few usual students coming over, they know me as the weirdo librarian. No. It's not about the way I look or dress, it's simply because of this habit of mine roaming around the library and tapping my index finger on the edge of each book on the shelves. I know it's a little bit weird but, I just feel like doing it. Seems like something in one of these books is pulling me. ""Hey."" I turned around and saw the dazzling smile of my—what should I call him? Friend? ""Hi,"" I replied and walked back to my desk. ""You're early today."" ""Yeah. Have to take care of someone here."" He giggled but was immediately hushed by the students. He leaned closer and whispered, ""Coffee?"" I stared at him for a moment and carved a smile on my face. ""Sure. After my shift."" He nodded and sat in his usual spot in the library. Avin was a nurse which I met when I was hospitalized 6 months ago. I got into a car accident and he was the one assigned to nurse me. I couldn't detail much about it since I barely remember both the accident and the moment before that.  In truth, I didn't have any memories of my past including my family and friends. Well, thanks to my ruined I.D., at least I knew the part of my name 'Lia'. I was like a blank canvas, waiting to be painted. That was what Avin meant when he said 'he needs to take care of someone'. It was me. He was also helping me to look for my family or anyone he could reach using my ID. Luckily enough, it was still readable even though most of it was burnt. The clock rang as it landed at 5:15; it was closing time. After the students left, Avin and I cleaned the library before we left and headed to the nearest cafe. Surprisingly, I felt a sudden nostalgia. The smell of the brewed coffee, the chattering of the customers. The vintage colored walls, the sound of the baristas. Even the staff moving around the cafe made me feel wistful. This was my first time coming here but, the place seemed so familiar. Or so I thought? ""Lia?"" I came back to my senses as Avin spoke. The waitress was also standing beside our table. ""What's wrong?"" I shook my head. ""Nothing. Just appreciating the ambience."" I smiled. ""Right. I knew you would like it here."" He opened the menu and furrowed his brows as he read what was written there. ""Uh. One espresso please and a slice of chocolate cake."" ""Alright, sir."" The waitress responded as she scribbled on her mini book. ""How about you, Lia? What do you like?"" Avin asked. I hummed as I flipped the pages of the menu. Honestly, I didn't know what to order. ""Uh... Mocha Latté with Car—"" ""Caramel and a slice of mint cake, right Mam?"" I was caught off guard as the waitress blurted my exact order politely. Wait. What? I hesitantly nodded. ""Ah. Yes."" Avin chuckled. ""It seemed like you ordered their best pair here."" The waitress just shook her head as a reply to Avin in a friendly manner. ""It's actually unique, sir. She's the only one ordering that pair here. By the way, it's nice to see you again mam. It's been a long time."" The waitress smiled and left me dumbfounded. I looked at Avin and he definitely had the same expression as me. ""Have you been here?"" He asked. I shrugged my shoulder with a tightening feeling in my chest. ""I'm not sure. But, this place is kinda nostalgic for me."" ""I bet that order just popped up in your mind, right?"" Avin asked with a serious look on his face. I nodded. It was true. Since I'm too lazy to read the menu, I just ordered whatever came to my mind. Was it coincidental? No. Probably my subconscious? ""The waitress. Would you like to talk to her? I'm sure she can help you regain your memory."" Avin suggested which I agreed instantly. After we finished, we waited for the cafe to close so that I could talk to the waitress. Yes, I'm desperate to wait longer than 3 hours. ""I'm sorry, it took a while."" The waitress smiled as she sat across from me. I was just staring at her. Now that I'm focusing on her, though I couldn't recognize her, her voice was vaguely familiar to my ears. ""What is it again? You have amnesia, mam?"" The waitress asked us. Avin tapped my shoulder, signaling me to answer her. I took a deep breath and smiled at her. ""Yes. Do... Do you know me?"" ""Not really mam since I didn't know your name. But, you're a regular here in our cafe and you're ordering the same unique pair every time. That's why I recognize you."" She smiled and hesitantly glanced at Avin. ""But, you're always with someone. Is it appropriate to mention him?"" Avin just chuckled to assure her. ""Don't worry. We're just friends. You can tell everything."" The waitress nodded. ""We actually have your picture together pasted on the wall. Come."" She stood up and we followed her towards the wall where a lot of pictures were displayed there. ""I'm sure it's here. Sorry, there are a lot. We tend to take a picture of cute pairs coming here. Ah! here!"" She happily pointed to the picture on the right side of the wall. I came closer to have a better look. I saw myself smiling in a long brown coat with a cup of coffee in my hand. Yes, the order was the same. There was a half-eaten slice of mint cake on the table and a white cake, probably vanilla? I directed my eyes to the person sitting next to me. I didn't know but, his face. With his genuine smile and hazelnut eyes, I couldn't take my eyes off them. Just by looking at him, my chest tightened. I felt like my surroundings were spinning—heaviness enveloped my body. What's happening? 'Smile to the camera. Don't look at me.' Whose that voice? Wait. Who was laughing? 'Come on. Have a bite.' 'Goodness, Lia. You're so messy. Hahaha' That voice. Was it his? A vague image played like a film in my mind. My head was hurting. I'm choking up— I couldn't breathe. ""Lia. Lia!""  I snapped out of my discomfort as I felt Avin's arms around me. I looked up at him with those tired eyes. ""Avin."" ""Is she alright?"" I heard the waitress ask, worry was obvious in her voice. ""What happened?"" Avin asked me, supporting my stand. ""I got dizzy. Let's go home."" I replied.  I didn't know anymore. I'm so confused—it seemed like my brain was ransacked. Avin drove me home. It was an apartment I rented for the meantime since I didn't remember my real address. There was nothing left to me aside from that ruined ID that you would barely see the details after my accident. My car exploded shortly after I was rescued, that was what they said after I regained consciousness. ""Thank you,"" I mumbled as I stepped out of his car. ""Drive safe."" ""Are you sure you don't want me to stay over?"" I shook my head. ""I'm fine. Don't worry."" ""Okay. Call me if you need anything."" ""I will."" I smiled then I saw him off. I took another deep breath as I paced inside my apartment. Who is he? My boyfriend? Husband? Friend? Colleague? I flinched as I felt my head ached. Ugh. I need rest. The next day, Avin never left my side. He was just watching me all day in the library. I sighed. ""You really don't have to watch me. I'm fine."" ""I'm a nurse. You're my patient. It's my duty."" I rolled my eyes in thin air. ""Heavens. We're not in the hospital anymore, Avin. Quit that nurse-patient game."" ""I'm not. If you could only see yourself yesterday, I'm sure you would do the same."" I just sighed in defeat and just started arranging the books on the shelves that some students left on the table. ""Want me to help?"" ""No. Watching me all day is more than enou—."" I stopped after I strongly pushed one of the books by accident which made the other books fall. ""Careful,"" Avin mumbled. I walked behind the shelves and picked them up and put them back one by one. But, I halted as I noticed the last book. It was thick yet, not heavy. I opened the book to check it. I was right. The book was hollow. It was a gift box designed like a book. I found another mini box inside and a beautifully designed envelope. Without any hesitation, I opened the envelope and took the letter out. I couldn't explain my emotions. I was anxious but excited. I'm happy yet, scared. I read the letter. Just at the first line, my tears started to flow. 'To my dearest Shalia, my lover, my world. If you're reading this now, then probably the most anxious day of my life has come. I know you hated this kind of cheesy letter but, I couldn't help it. I'm so nervous that I might ruin this present if I personally gave it to you. So please, bear with me. Lia, no words can describe how thankful I am to have you. This ink is the witness of my great happiness to love someone like you. Don't cry yet. Open the small box first!' I wiped the tears that had been flowing non-stop to my cheeks. Then, my mouth hung as I opened the small box.  The picture of us was pinned on the cover of the box and inside was a diamond ring, wrapped around with the question 'Will You Marry Me?' Overwhelmed, I slumped to the floor. Feeling the unexplainable heaviness on my chest. Vague memories suddenly became vivid.  His smiles, his touch, his voice, his laugh, his scent. Everything flashed through like a blade slashing my flesh.  I could only hear his voice echoing in my ears. I could feel the air becoming warmer and I felt his caress. Gab... I'm sorry. I burst into tears. I shouted as loud as I could. I couldn't care less. I'm in so much pain. Was this guilt? No. It was a pure longingness. I screamed and screamed, my voice echoed in the silent library. Students were watching me in confusion. ""Lia. Lia! What's wrong?"" Avin worriedly came to me and held my hand as tight as he could. I looked at him. ""I remember everything, Avin. Everything."" I sobbed. ""6 months... It's been 6 months, Avin!"" ""Calm down. Calm down."" He caressed my back, trying to comfort me. ""This library. H-He owned this library before."" Avin hushed me. ""Shh.. I understand. Don't talk for now. Save that for later."" I hugged the box as tight as I could. Gab. I'm so sorry. . . The morning was shining so brightly, yet here I am gloomily sitting inside Avin's car while staring at empty space. ""Here."" I flinched as he leaned the cold can on my left cheek. I looked at him and held the drink. ""Thank you."" ""How are you feeling?"" I sighed. ""I don't know."" I glanced at the closed library from a distance. ""Gab is fond of reading. That's why he bought that place to build his dream library."" I started, drinking my drink. ""Maybe that's why I really wanted to be hired as a librarian there even though I couldn't remember anything. My heart was there. Our memories."" ""Why did you sell the library?"" I glanced back at Avin when he asked. ""I don't know either. We used to live here together but he suddenly wanted to settle down at his parents' residence. His mom was nice so, it's fine for me. A month after we stayed there, he decided to sell the library."" I explained, reminiscing about the happy moments we spent.  ""Is it okay if I ask why you left the residence?"" I smiled at his question. ""I didn't leave. I was asked to leave."" Avin seriously looked at me then his gaze softened with pity. I laughed. ""No. It's not what you think. We didn't break up. Most importantly, I wasn't kicked out. It's just that... He asked me to get his favorite book in the library."" My smile disappeared instantly. Yes, I went back here just to get his favorite book. And I wasn't expecting it to be the book of his proposal. ""So, while traveling here that was when you got into an accident. Goodness! Does it mean he probably didn't know it yet? Now, it's been 6 months!?"" Avin freaked out. ""Wait. Why didn't he come with you?"" I paused and looked away. ""He was sick at that time. We were supposed to come back here together but, he suddenly fell ill."" Both of us fell silent. I couldn't think of anything pleasant. I was anxious. ""Lia. Do you want to go home?"" I nodded. ""Yeah. I should pay my rent today.""  ""No. I mean there. To Gab."" I halted, surprised by Avin's question. I couldn't answer him. Honestly, I'm afraid. As Avin said, perhaps Gab had no idea what happened to me. Now, 6 months have passed and I still haven't returned there.  What is he thinking right now? Knowing that I'm supposed to get his Marriage proposal. Will he think I rejected him for not returning? How is he right now? Is he looking for me? Or... Do I still have Gab to go back to? I was startled as Avin flicked my forehead. ""Stop overthinking. Just follow what your heart wants."" Suddenly, I felt at ease. Avin was right. Whatever might happen, I should clear things up. ""Yes. I want to go home."" The next day, we drove for almost 3 hours then we reached the residence. Heavens. The smell of this fresh breeze. The trees and beautiful flowers. For Pete's sake, I missed this place. ""Are you ready?"" I looked at Avin for a while then I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. ""Yes. I'm ready."" We didn't waste time and went directly inside Gab's parents' residence. There, I saw Gab's mother sweeping outside. With every step I took, my heart was racing faster than before. ""Mom,"" I called. Her eyes widened as she saw me. Tears started to build at the corners of her eyes. ""L-Lia."" She mumbled and was about to move forward but, she hesitated as she noticed Avin behind me. Avin waved his hand at her. ""It's not what you think, mam. I'm her friend."" That was when she continued to walk and hugged me as tightly as she could, tears damping my shirt. ""Goodness, Lia. Where have you been? Oh, God. Thank God!"" Wiping my tears, I looked at her. ""I'm sorry. I... I have a lot of explaining to do."" ""I understand. But, save that for later. Please. Gab is waiting. I'm begging you. Go to him, right now.""  I didn't know what to feel but, the way her voice cracked, I couldn't think it was pleasant. I rushed inside and shouted his name multiple times. As I took the stairs toward our room, I kept calling him. ""Gab? Ga—"" I froze, tears blurred my vision. ""G-Gab..."" His thin and pale face slowly looked in my direction. Even though his eyes were tired, I could see the delight as we stared at each other. ""Lia. Lia."" His voice was more like a whisper. He was too weak. His hair was all gone, and he was thinner than I remember. I rushed to him and held his cold hands as tight as I could—tears were flooding our eyes. ""You come back. I knew you would. I didn't lose hope."" My heart was shattered into pieces. Although his voice was hoarse, he tried to say those words. His weak arms were wrapped around me. ""Of course, I will. No matter what will happen, I'll always come back to you. I love you."" I cried. He formed a weak smile on his face. ""I waited each day. Thank you for coming back."" I nodded while crying nonstop. I couldn't bear to look at his situation. It was too painful to look at. I wiped his tears and kissed his forehead. ""I'm here now. Stop crying. Okay?"" Gab nodded. ""L-Lia... You've found my present, r-right?"" I nodded and forced a smile to assure him. I raised my left hand and showed him the ring I was wearing. I giggled. ""Can you guess my answer?"" Gab smiled from ear to ear. He was too weak but I could sense his happiness. I looked at the doorstep, where I saw his mother whimpering. Why? Why didn't I know about this? Why didn't I notice this before? I shouldn't have left. ""Lia. C-Can you watch me sleep? I've been wanting t-to sleep but, I'm waiting f-for you. I want you to watch me sleep."" My heart stopped beating for a moment. The impending doom ate me up. My hand trembled—holding back the tears, I nodded and gently hugged him. ""S-Sleep now, my love. I'll be just here watching. I won't leave."" ""I love you,"" he softly said with tears in his eyes. Then, I started humming. As the sun went down, Gab fell asleep in my arms. But, unlike the morning sun, he never woke up again. ","August 15, 2023 09:46",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,6kdfb9,"Silence, Please",Amanda Ellison,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6kdfb9/,/short-story/6kdfb9/,Fiction,0,['Mystery'],5 likes," Well, that had not gone to plan. A private detective – one she could afford on her pension and part-time librarian’s pittance – had been her last resort. Her manuscript was now gone forever. Lost. Correction: stolen. She was sure of it. Probably in the clutches of one of those bitter wretches at the writing group. So to hear the smug “Sorry, madam, that’s not the kind of work we take on here” (accompanied by a nasty little smirk) made Hilda want to gouge the investigator’s eyes out, so frustrated was she. As if sensing her wintry mood, the weather took a turn on the return journey home to the village of St Jude. Soft December snowflakes began to fall from an increasingly leaden sky. The warm lights emanating from the pub windows mocked shivering passers-by. As if granted permission by the pub, its radiance was mimicked, domino-like, in the Victorian terraced homes that ran perpendicular to the church. Hilda hastened by the darkly gothic St Jude’s and its surrounding churchyard, dotted with ancient oaks and drunken headstones in various stages of decay. Shivering, she blinked away the particles of ice attacking her eyelids and pulled her hood forward, upping her pace. Never mind, a cup of tea (she was a coffee drinker, but coffee, Hilda knew, altered the whole tone of the cliché) will make everything seem better – a thought belied by her garden gate attempting violent divorce from its hinges, signalling its owner’s entrance. Home: Hilda Hightower-Hardy didn’t recall ever making a conscious decision to leave her husband. She simply made her way to the caravan at the rear of the back garden one day - and never spent another night in the marital home. The tree-canopied carapace became her womb. She would, one day, have to make an appearance in the world. The real world, that is. Bawling and blood-soaked, no doubt. But not yet. And the strange thing was, Max just got used to it. As if he expected such behaviour from her. Perhaps they were just too alike for it to be an issue: asocial, atypical, a-whatever. If asked, she’d say they were still great ‘friends’. But their situation was the proverbial elephant in the room. For now, her bolt-hole in the garden offered peace and security. It would not stay that way, of course. The uneasy stasis would intensify, and something would have to give. But not yet. Right now, she had another problem to deal with. Her missing manuscript. Since retiring early from teaching and taking up a part-time position in the local library, she’d found the time to do what she’d always wanted. Yes, she’d joined a writing group. And finished – actually finished – a mystery novel. The ideal genre for an author with an inquisitive mind. An author who wanted everything to turn out satisfactorily in the end. For justice to be served. But now, it was gone. Now where had she last seen it? That’s right, in the village pub, at the latest gathering of the writing group. Freshly printed, it needed – of course – to be exhibited, validated. Before being sent off to a publisher, who would surely jump at the chance to regale the world with the creation of such a long-hidden talent? Wouldn’t they? And didn’t she deserve it? The Silence, Please signage in the library seemed to Hilda to be aimed exclusively at her. In her marriage, too, she’d felt perennially put on pause. This novel was her voice, her chance to speak out; its absence yet another silencing. A plan of action was required; to accept defeat was simply not in her nature. This was her thought as entered the tiny hermitage she called home, to be greeted by her best friend in the world. Hilda had always wanted an Irish Wolfhound; instead, she’d got Hildegaard. A feisty, knowing feline with shrewd green eyes and a clear superiority complex. Perhaps it was their shared name that made Hilda leave the animal shelter as Hildegaard’s new owner that day. This alarmingly angry black cat had spent years – quite literally – in and out of the shelter. For Hildgaard, new addresses never lasted long enough to earn the epithet ‘home’. One unceremonious dumping after another had scarred this wary creature. Trust did not come easily. Nevertheless, the two had operated as a pair for over a year now.  Hilda’s heart gave a small unbidden fillip on seeing Hildegaard’s silhouette guarding the caravan door as she entered. ‘Let’s get some light in here, Hildegaard,’ said Hilda. Within minutes the cramped space became infused with the cleansing aroma of burning beeswax. and the flickering flames bathed the scene in a warm saffron glow. She’d completed the first step in the crutch of her afternoon routine: 1.   Light candles 2.   Feed Hildegaard 3.   Brew strong coffee 4.   Fill pipe with tobacco 5.   Lounge on bed with said coffee and pipe (and Hildegaard) – all the more enjoyable for the absence of Max’s hectoring health warnings 6.   Fantasise about potential MOs for dealing with the thieving blighter who’d had the audacity to steal her manuscript This sixth item, of course, was a recent addition. And temporary. It would cease when – yes, when – she uncovered the perpetrator and brought them to justice. With the writing group meeting tonight, she needed a game plan. Come on, Hilda – you’ve read enough detective fiction to have some idea where to start. First of all, she decided - some two hours later - she needed a pool of suspects. That bit was easy. Her fellow aspiring writers were the obvious candidates. She would cast an exacting eye on each of them tonight. Speaking of which, the time was nigh. “Off out, girl?” Max’s voice rang through the darkness of the garden. Slipping out without his notice was barely possible, given his penchant for standing at the back door with his evening tipple, no matter the weather. And the weather was heartless tonight. Still, he slouched against the door jamb in the illuminated doorway. Why, for goodness’ sake, did he still insist on addressing her as “girl”? At fifty-seven, she was only ten years his junior – and long past girlhood. What he perceived as a term of affection had started to grate on her long ago. “It's writing group night – as you know,” Hilda’s exasperation was poorly masked. “I’ll walk you over there,” said Max. “Max, it’s only on the other side of the church.” “No matter – give me a minute. Can’t have you walking alone along there, girl. Not in the dark.” Hilda suppressed the urge to tut. Really, there should be awards for such restraint, she thought. Watching Max huddle into his shabby brown coat, she softened a little. His head, a cadaverous congregation of angles, managed to create an aura of both gravitas and vulnerability. His piercing blue eyes, though now borderline rheumy, remained vitally intelligent. The general impression was of genteel impoverishment. “Might pop in for a quick whiskey,” Max said. They strode along the still street, the terraced row on the right and the church - its irradiated stained-glass windows joining forces with the full moon to offer respite from the darkness - on the left. God, no – the thought jumped unbidden into Hilda’s head. Because Max would interfere. He wouldn’t – couldn’t - stand and have a quiet drink at the bar. No, he’d interject and opine freely about the topic under discussion. And, regardless of the theme, he’d know all about it. Of course he would. He was a former Professor of Creative Writing, after all. Boundaries, such as they were: blown to smithereens. At one time, Hilda reflected, his habit of discussing the writing habits of Dostoevsky or James Joyce – or whomever – as though they were neighbours of his was a source of amusement. Pride, even. But now? Did others see it as intellectual arrogance? Did she? But now was no time for reflection. She had a job to do. The village shivered under its crisp, snow-filled roof. It was one of those evenings best spent indoors with the fire blazing and the seasonal weather witnessed through a pane of glass. Despite the biting cold, though, the scene that met Hilda and Max was warmly festive. The church, proud and imposing, stood sentry over its surroundings like a mother surveying her brood. In the centre of the green towered a brightly-lit tree, flanked by memorial seats and facing one of three pubs the village lay claim to: the St Jude Arms. A cheerful, intimate buzz met the pair as they entered the pub. They settled by the log burner and Max went to order drinks. Hilda braced herself for the coming investigation. Her peers must be put under the spotlight tonight.   First to arrive, confettied with rapidly defrosting snowflakes, was Vivienne Sullivan, high-school English teacher and former colleague of Hilda’s. Sacred Cow was Hilda’s secret moniker for Vivienne. Always left to graze, no matter how obvious the misdemeanour. Was it accidental that she was Suspect #1 on Hilda’s list? “Not taking your coat off then?” What some might call a smile hovered around the corners of Vivienne’s lips. “I’m not stopping,” snapped Hilda. Both Max and Vivienne shot Hilda a confused look, interrupted by the entrance of the group’s latest members, gloopy married couple John and Judy – ages indeterminate. Hilda had no idea what the two of them stood for. If anything. They seemed to use the writing group as an opportunity to showcase their tediously saccharine partnership. And she was sure she’d heard Judy, last session, describing her as ‘salty’ to her husband. Judy’s creative offerings were on a par with the average fourteen-year-old’s. A spiteful thought, Hilda knew. John and Judy Davenport liked living in St Jude. They’d said so many times. It wasn’t the same as their old seaside home in Seaview Sluice, of course. But with everything becoming more expensive, and the two of them not getting any younger, downsizing had been a sensible option. Much cheaper here, they reasoned, and ample amenities. They also liked the cosiness of the old village, from which the ever-expanding town radiated. They even had a budding social life. Judy had joined the knitting group. Never mind that they had been politely asked – by Hilda - to find another venue to produce their woolly hats and baby booties. Well, library-users complained about the clacking of their knitting needles, so what else could be done? John had a small garden to potter about in – much more manageable than the sprawling patch of land he’d tended at the old house. And then there was the writing group. Something they could enjoy together. And small enough to ensure they could have their say. Between these two, Vivienne and Max, five minutes would be Hilda’s limit in her current mood. Two more members to arrive, then she could say her piece and leave. As if on cue, the ancient wooden door flung open, admitting the group’s founder and his sidekick, along with an icy blast. Shaking off his overcoat, the slow-moving, rimy-haired George ‘Irony’ Wolff, editor of the local paper and chair of the group, said his good evenings and commented on the weather. “ An apt night for deconstructing the cosy mystery genre!” he guffawed, his ruddy face angling in the direction of the window. A comment that brought a chorus of agreement from around the table. Shadowing his movements was Jed Steele, freelance journalist, a rather gaunt young man of didactically liberal leanings. His articles, which sometimes made their way into George’s paper, were freighted with the moral righteousness specially reserved for those who enjoy a certain level of privilege. His nose was on the long side, and borderline pointed, contributing to his somewhat pinched appearance. His eyes, small and blue, darted from behind his designer spectacles. Agreeing with George, he then added “Not so good for the homeless, unfortunately – courtesy of this government’s shambolic attitude to social responsibility.” Really, his endless political cant is rather exhausting, thought Hilda. It trounces my fundamental tendency to agree with him. One cannot not even have a bacon sandwich without his turning it into a diatribe on the plight of pig farmers, or the evils of not being vegan. Hilda questioned whether Jed was someone who would actually want to claim her work as his own. It was unlikely, she admitted to herself. Their styles differed enormously. And his moral superiority – she was sure of it – masked a mean and narcissistic spirit. Whiskey drained, Max plonked his glass down on the table. As if sensing Hilda’s prickliness, he announced, “Well, that’s me done, folks. Off home to wrap up warm, read a good book and have an early night!” Amid a cacophony of goodbyes, Max made good his departure. Hilda glimpsed his dark shape shuffling past the window, head bent against the blizzard. “Now then,” began George, “let’s get on with the business of the evening. Have we all had a crack at writing an opening based on the model? We’ll do our usual thing of going around the table and…” Aware that George was about to bluster through one of his woolly commentaries, Hilda cleared her throat. “Before we begin,” she said, “there is an issue I would like to raise”. All eyes turned on her. Quietly critical was her usual style, not this strident ambush. And so she began: “As you all know, at our last meeting I shared my manuscript. It was, you’ll remember, ready to pitch to publishers. You all commented on it. Max was here, too, and even he agreed that it should be in print.” She paused, “And we all know how picky he is!” This brought a few snickers. “Anyway, I recall placing it in my rucksack afterwards.” She paused again, and when she spoke her voice had taken on an unwelcome cracked quality. “The thing is, when I went to take it from my rucksack the next morning, it was gone. And … well, I’d left it unattended several times the previous evening.” “Surely,” George was the first to respond, “you don’t think one of us removed it?” Despite his role – inherited! -  at the paper, he really was rather stupid. “I’m saying,” Hilda had now gathered herself, “ that on Thursday evening the manuscript was in my bag, and on Friday morning it wasn’t.” “Hang on!” sneered Vivienne. “What on earth makes you think anyone here would want to steal your work?!” And there we have it, thought Hilda, but said, “Why indeed? What motive would anyone have? Playing a trick on me, perhaps?” Here she looked Vivienne straight in the eye. “Or revenge?” This time it was Judy’s turn to receive Hilda’s now steady gaze, and its recipient flushed at the memory of the knitting incident. John patted his wife’s shoulder, Jed had clearly decided to act as the voice of reason, saying “Couldn’t you have taken it out when you got home and simply forgotten about it? Have you had a good look?” But Hilda did not hear this. She heard, instead: “You’ve lost it, you silly, post-menopausal, middle-aged woman! No one would want to steal that pile of chaff we were all too nice to pillory!” “ I live in a caravan,” Hilda replied coldly, fixing her eyes on his. “Even I, with my supposedly diminishing capabilities, couldn’t mislay something as tangible as a manuscript in that small a space!” “Don’t you have it saved?” smirked Vivienne. This caused Hilda to smash her glass down on the table, triggering her Guinness to slosh over the side and splash onto her coat. Of course she had it saved. That wasn’t the point. Thank goodness she no longer had to work alongside this painted creature on a daily basis. The best course of action, decided Hilda, was to completely disregard the question. “Anyway,” thrust Hilda, “as we all know, find the motive and you’ve found the man!” Vivienne and Jed laughed out loud in unison. “You really have been reading too many detective stories!” said Jed. Not too unkindly. “You don’t seriously suspect that I would take it, Hilda?” pressed George, the tip of his nose reddening. “I started this group! I’m a newspaper editor, for goodness’ sake, so why would I want to purloin the work of one of my mentees?” He patted her hand. Mentees?! “ Because,” Hilda retorted, “ because, you talentless little scone-faced man, you couldn’t write your way out of a paper bag! You’re only at the paper because of nepotism! Everything you write, whether here or in your silly, small-town rag, is as dull as ditchwater! My bus pass has more interesting text on it!” Oh well, no point in trying to save the burning bridge now. With that, Hilda jumped to her feet. And, knowing full well the childishness of her behaviour, she stamped her foot, Rumpelstiltskin-fashion, did an about-turn, and stomped out of the pub, letting the door noisily announce her exit. All she wanted to do was go home, to the soothing ferocity of Hildegaard. The sight of her tiny home, the green box donning a deep white lid, balmed her soul. She felt strangely liberated. However unfair or inaccurate her comments, she’d released the beast that had been hibernating within her being. She’d given her tongue free rein. To her annoyance, Max was standing at his – her! – doorway, enjoying his umpteenth tipple of the evening. Something about his stance told Hilda he’d been waiting for her. “You’re back!” he called. “Got five minutes, girl?” Hilda inwardly groaned. “I’ve good news for you!” Hilda raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Your manuscript?” Max gushed. “Thought I’d surprise you – forgive me, but I pilfered it from your bag last Thursday night and sent it to a friend of mine – you know, Harry, at Northumbrian Press? They love it – they want to publish! Congratulations!” Hilda stood, motionless. Her jaw – literally, surely? – dropped. She opened her mouth. But no words came. ","August 15, 2023 15:03","[[{'April Pereira': 'Great bit of whodunnit. A lot of depth to your descriptions. I especially enjoyed the imagery of the husband "" His head, a cadaverous congregation of angles, managed to create an aura of both gravitas and vulnerability."" Nice job!', 'time': '03:05 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,4nylhu,Of Tinkers and Treachery,April Pereira,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4nylhu/,/short-story/4nylhu/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Fantasy', 'Suspense']",5 likes," Laucian scanned the library shelves looking for the information requested. The young gnome’s maroon vest indicated his affiliation with the Academy, the guild for magic users and tinkerers. The black and yellow sash at his waist denoted him as apprentice, archivist class. He was currently doing a rotation with the Cataloguer, director of the library for the Scholars Guild. It was his first week and the Cataloguer had given him the difficult task of finding everything available on ways to delay spell casting and the various major and lesser Houses of the guilds of Zavah. For the disgraced Grand Tinkerer, Mariasha Smudgenose, no less! He had been at it for most of the morning. Due to the sensitive nature of the tomes, neither magic nor most mundane objects were permitted in this section of the library. Instead a single glow ball, powered with bioluminescent fungi hung from the ceiling provided murky, green tinted illumination.  The lighting turned the gnome’s creamy complexion a pale, sickly color. His tawny blonde hair was disheveled from hours of running his hands through it as he tried to decipher the ancient texts. The combination made him look like he’d be more at home in a swamp hag’s lair than the internationally renowned library of the City of Zava. He wasn’t sure exactly why Mariasha needed this information but he assumed it had something to do with the two deaths that had occurred in the past two weeks. The first death happened during the King’s coronation. An apprentice of the Benevolent Society for Masterworkers had died while holding a small statuette gifted to the King.  He had heard that the Grand Artificer was tasked with determining if a trinket was responsible for the death and posed a danger to the King. In the end, the inquiry found no connection. The case was closed. But then a second body was found with the trinket, apparently dying of a heart attack while in the process of stealing it from the Grand Artificer’s own workshop.  According to gossip in the Academy Halls, things got heated. Accusations were thrown around. Master Tinkerer Orose, head of the Society, claimed that the Grand Artificer had failed in her duties. Old arguments resurfaced about her fitness for such an exalted station due to her age and lack of connection to a recognized House. Some even hinted that she had planted the object as an assassination attempt on Orose. The Grand Artificer accused Orose of orchestrating the theft, lying to the council about where she was during the coronation,  and undermining her authority. In the end, Mariasha was reprimanded for making inflammatory statements about a House matriarch and suspended until a full investigation could be done to determine if she had indeed failed in her duties. Last anyone heard, she had left the city for her family’s home in the northern plains.  Officially, she was persona non grata until the investigation was complete. But Mariasha was respected by many of the apprentices and lower members of the Academy and it was known that Grand Scholar Egide Kingmaker was fond of her. That’s how Laucian found himself alone in the depths of the biggest library in the five kingdoms of the land of Jaqor with such a monumental task. Laucian found the text he was looking for. Pulling it down from the shelf he retreated to a desk in a small room off the main area. On it sat the journal in which he was diligently recording his findings, a regular modern lamp, and a statue made up of metal and gears designed to look like a sleeping cat.  As he entered the room, the cat’s ears shifted forward. Its eyes opened and it uncurled into a stretch. Laucian paused to watch the cat in amazement. Its sleek body was made of various gears and metals, so finely wrought that their workings were almost imperceptible as the cat completed its stretch and repositioned itself so that it sat on its haunches. He had never seen such a perfectly crafted tinker. Its craftsmanship rivaled that of the ancient gnomes whose knowledge was lost generations ago. The cat’s eyes glowed with intelligence and bemusement. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you had died in the stacks.” Laucian finished putting down the book and sat. “Do you know how hard it is to decipher Ancient Gnomish in this lighting?” “Well if you’d let me go with you…” “Absolutely not! Many of the books in there are highly sensitive to magic. Goodness knows what kind of havoc you being in there could create. It’s risky enough having you this close to them.” “So you say. But how will you know if you don’t try?” “No. Just no Vaserius. I’m in enough trouble if word gets out that I’m helping Mariasha, nevermind what would happen to me if they knew I let you in here.” Laucian slid the book in front of the cat and picked up his pen. “Just stay put and I’ll bring things to you.” *** Night had fallen by the time Laucian and Vaserius ended for the day. The cool evening air was a relief after hours in the dry, dusty ancient tomes section of the Library. The journal was full of notes jotted down by Laucian as Vaserius translated. Laucian was astounded. What would’ve taken him a week to decipher, the cat was able to read as if it was one of those fluff novels some of his fellow apprentices read in their spare time.  Laucian stretched and looked down at the tinker standing beside him. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it that you’re able to read Ancient Gnomish?” The cat’s ears twitch as if shrugging. “Smudgenose often works on projects that require translation. We tressyms are quite adept at languages, even if my flesh and bone cousins are limited in their ability to speak. So I figured I’d make myself useful by learning a few of the most common ones she comes across.” “How many languages can you read then?” “Oh 15 or so by last count. It would probably be more but Llordok provided me a text from his own world that I’m finding quite difficult to figure out. It’s from a species he calls ‘humans’. So unnecessarily complex.” Vaserius laid his ears back and flicked his tail to show his annoyance. Laucian shook his head in amazement. “Well let’s get you home and go over what we’ve learned so far.” They crossed the empty square and turned down a road to the old industrial district, now a neighborhood of posh lofts in what were once abandoned factories. Laucian and Vaserius entered one of the more modest buildings and made their way to Mariasha’s apartment. As the door opened, they were greeted by the tantalizing smell of grilled auroch and fresh baked bread. In the kitchen was a gnome not much older than Laucian. Her red hair was pulled up in a practical bun but in keeping with its owner, several unruly curls had escaped.  The gnome turned and a bright smile spread across her face. “You’re just in time. I figured you’d be coming back soon for Vaserius’ adjustments. Knowing him, you haven’t eaten all day. So I made dinner.” Laucian blushed, “Grand Artificer, that’s too kind but really-” “None of that Grand Artificer nonsense.” Mariasha cut him off with a wave. “I’m suspended, remember?” Her smile faltered and her voice hitched on the last part. It only lasted for a moment before she visibly pulled herself together. “Now sit down. We can go over what you both learned after you eat and Vaserius is adjusted.” Over dinner Mariasha kept the conversation light, asking for the latest gossip in the apprentice quarters and discussing her research into Orcish engineering. “Right now our elemechanical systems work separate from their mundane engineering. The amount of hassle it causes, especially when one system breaks down causing the other to fail. Imagine a truly integrated system with failsafes in place so it can keep working no matter the situation.” Laucian listened in fascination as she and Vaserius bantered about the pros and cons of different options. Laucian’s knowledge of tinkering and the elemechanical was rudimentary at best. As an apprentice of archives, the Academy thought it  was more important for him to learn how to find and interpret texts than to actually understand how to apply the information he cared for.  In the short time he’d been working with the two of them, he realized how woefully myopic that view was. How could he be expected to support researchers if he didn’t understand the information he was giving them? As the conversation continued, he would ask a clarifying question or throw out a suggestion. His companions were brilliant, patient, warm, and kind. Nothing like he expected from the rumors that flew around about the Grand Tinkerer and her questionable “pet.” Dinner over and Vaserius working smoothly again, the three made themselves comfortable in the sitting area, Laucian and Vaserius’ notes in front of them. “Ok, tell me what you got.” Laucian opened the journal, “Well, it seems there are some theories about what’s known as a programmed spell. The idea is that some spells can be designed to trigger only under certain conditions.” Vaserius chimed in, “Like a ward but even more limited and precise.” Laucian nodded, “Most of the texts warn about the use of such things though. Apparently the few mages that attempted to create such a thing ended up blowing themselves up.” “What kind of triggers are we talking about?” Laucian flipped through the notes, “Mostly patterns or the introduction of a specific element, like a gem. The goal was to create an integrated lock and ward that would incapacitate anyone that tampered with it that even someone without magical ability could open.” “The problem is, it’s incredibly difficult to dial in the ward’s power and there is no redo. Even something as simple as knocking out someone who typed in the wrong passcode could result in death to the user if they brushed against the lock. Or be useless if a robber was immune to the power.” Mariasha nodded, “The more unpredictable the thing you’re trying to mimic. The less likely the outcome. Artificer’s Third Rule,” Her eyes grew wide, “That’s gotta be it! The illusion spell. It must be programmed to go off when certain people touch it. But instead of setting off a cute little illusion, it’s killing the person.” Both Laucian and Vaserius looked at each other before looking back at Mariasha. Laucian began, “Two problems with that theory. One, these programmed spells are one use only. There is no record of anyone making one that could be used multiple times…” Vaserius continued, “And there is no mage in the Academy rolls that is powerful enough to safely pull this off.” Mariasha’s shoulders slumped and she placed her head in her hands in defeat. After a moment, she gasped, when she picked her head back up there was a sparkle in her eye, “Vaserius, what is the Second Rule of the Artificer’s Code?” Vaserius responded, “Gnomes are the best at most things, but not everything. New perspectives bring new knowledge.” Mariasha nodded, “And the Fifth, Laucian?” Laucian had to think for a moment. It had been years since he took TInkering. “Umm, Never assume you know how something works until you actually see it work.” Mariasha leaned forward, “You said most of the mages that attempted it blew themselves up. You’d have to be a special kind of crazy to touch the item again, correct? Then how would we know the spell only works once? And why are we assuming it’s a gnome that programmed the spell. We know of at least one mage in this town that is as powerful, if not more so than any gnomish mage in Jaqor.” *** The next evening Laucian found himself in street clothes heading to The Credge, a tavern by the docks that mostly catered to laborers, non-gnomes, and the clanless. It was also the place where a group of young, well-to-do gnomes that called themselves “The Thinkers'' were known to hang out. These Thinkers would spend hours in deep discussions about the loss of gnomish self-expression and the oppression of the guild system. All while running up tabs paid for by the very Houses they railed against. Laucian found the whole thing ridiculous.  One of those gnomes was Aymeric, nephew to Egide and one of Mariasha’s closest friends. Egide had arranged for Aymeric to introduce Laucian to one of the other members of the group, a non-gnome by the name of Llordok..  Llordok just appeared in Zava one day. Rumor had it that he claimed to be a planar traveler that was trying to learn everything possible about magic. Most Academy archivists and Guild scholars rolled their eyes at such nonsense. It was generally accepted that he was probably from one of the less civilized people that inhabited the northmost fields of Jaqor. While his origin may be in question, his skill with magic was not. He set up shop as a sorcerer, or non-academy mage not long after his arrival. His reputation as a powerful magic user grew and he was known to produce results that some of the best mages in the Academy were unable to reproduce. Generally he kept himself to minor magic - healing wounds, casting blessings on ships, and helping ward off beasts in the farms outside of the city. He was also well known for his skill with plants and apothecary, a field gnomes usually left to their “less technical minded” neighbors. “He’s the only one I can think of that could even try to pull this off.” Mariasha explained before Laucian left her place last night, “Once Aymeric introduces you two, try to get information from him about spell triggers. If possible, see if he’ll agree to a meeting with me. Tell him I’m curious about plants and their possible uses as lubricant. But be careful, if he’s our killer he could be dangerous.” Laucian arrived at his destination and stepped in. The Credge was a large, two-story building, with a facade made of dark wood and stained glass that loomed over the workshops in the port district. The first floor was dominated by a long bar running down the center. Tables and chairs were scattered around, and a few booths were tucked away in the back. The walls are decorated with nautical charts, old photographs, and paintings of ships and sea creatures. The second floor was his destination. Laucian ordered an ale and made his way upstairs. This area was set up for entertainment, with more tables and chairs, a fireplace, and a small stage, where Aymeric was currently holding court as he recited an old tale of a corrupt King and a hero that saves the people from the King’s cruel rule.  Laucian had met Aymeric on a couple of occasions. He wasn’t terribly fond of the guy, finding him lazy and insincere. After spending time with Mariasha, he couldn’t understand how the two could be friends. He also found it preposterous that he was the heir apparent to the Scholars Guild. He shrugged his shoulders, Maybe I misjudged the guy.  Aymeric wrapped up his oration to cheers and clapping. The loudest came from a small group seated in the tables closets to the fireplace. Laucian recognized a few from various gatherings put on by the Houses. With them was a man with purple-black hair and skin only slightly lighter. He was almost as tall as an Orc but with a nearly willowy thin frame that Laucian had only come across in ancient folklore describing a species long gone that the ancient gnomes called elves. Aymeric stepped down from the stage and waved Laucian over as he walked toward the group. “Laucian, my friend, come join us.” Laucian cocked his eyebrow. That was not how he expected this to play out but he can roll with it. He smiled, made his way over to the group and sat down. “Thank you. It’s good to see you too.” Aymeric introduced Laucian to the rest of the group, leaving Llordok for last. “Llordok, Laucian is a mage with the Academy who is currently working with Aunt Egide.” Laucian shook Llordok’s hand. “I invited him here because he’s come across some interesting texts regarding creating spells that can be programmed to go off with a specific trigger.” Laucian looked around, confused. How did Aymeric know what he was studying? Did Mariasha tell them? That didn’t make sense. Why would she send him here then? Alarms were going off in his head. Something was wrong, he needed to get out of there. But when he went to stand, his legs refused to work. His eyes grew wide as panic set in. He started to feel sleepy. The last thing he heard before darkness overtook him was Llordok’s clipped voice, “Really now? How fascinating…”  ","August 15, 2023 18:37","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'This world you created, Jaqor, is amazingly rich and detailed. I love it! I think this is a terrific tale, written expertly, and full of wonderful surprises that all makes sense - in the world you built. Not an easy thing to do. Nicely done, April. Nicely done indeed.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '12:00 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'April Pereira': ""Thank you so much Delbert! Short stories aren't usually my go-to for writing fiction but this was a lot of fun."", 'time': '14:28 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'April Pereira': ""Thank you so much Delbert! Short stories aren't usually my go-to for writing fiction but this was a lot of fun."", 'time': '14:28 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'April Pereira': ""Note from the author:\n\nThank you for reading my story! The world of Jaqor is a 30+ year labor of love that started as a homebrew D&D setting. While it owes its initial concept to D&D, it is a work entirely my own that pulls inspiration from high fantasy, folklore, history, and so much more. The gnomes of Zava in particular are a nod to Tolkien's Noldor, the technologically minded subspecies of elves, and the 14th Century guilds of Florence, Italy."", 'time': '14:37 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hi April!\n\nSo good to see you here! :)\n\nOoo a fantasy mystery, let’s go!\n\nA very rich tapestry of world-building right from the get-go! I liked the description of the glow ball. I love the intricacies of the names, locations, and timelines; the Credge for a tavern name is just great. \n\nThe backstory is just as intriguing as the story itself. Who is this Mariasha, we wonder? And the clockwork cat! Gnomes, libraries, guilds, clockwork felines … elemechanical, like elemental-mechanical? … Is it a fantasy story, a steampunk story? Just where in ...', 'time': '23:36 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'April Pereira': ""Thank you so much Russell! Praise from such a fantastic storyteller and world builder - you're too kind! Short stories aren't usually my first choice but Reedy said cozy and I couldn't resist!\n\nYou got me. Yes, there is much more to the story :) This is a spin-off from the fanatsypunk cozy mystery I'm working on, Artificer's Dilemma, in this case written from a supporting character's point of view. I really enjoyed playing with POV and narrative, my characters have so much more to say! So expect to see more short stories featuring other char..."", 'time': '14:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'April Pereira': ""Thank you so much Russell! Praise from such a fantastic storyteller and world builder - you're too kind! Short stories aren't usually my first choice but Reedy said cozy and I couldn't resist!\n\nYou got me. Yes, there is much more to the story :) This is a spin-off from the fanatsypunk cozy mystery I'm working on, Artificer's Dilemma, in this case written from a supporting character's point of view. I really enjoyed playing with POV and narrative, my characters have so much more to say! So expect to see more short stories featuring other char..."", 'time': '14:03 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,ry81ge,Covered in dust,Brandon Vaughn,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ry81ge/,/short-story/ry81ge/,Fiction,0,"['Romance', 'Fantasy', 'Mystery']",4 likes," Marceline had started her day off right. There was the smell of chai in the air, her lucky boots were still in one piece, and it was cleaning day in the library she worked for. The Library of the afterlife was typically messy, and messy meant dusty and rarely used. The only messes in this library were from Marceline herself and the occasional soul that wanted to pass time before moving on. There hadn't even been a demon in here since she could ever remember. Today was quiet, not a soul stirred in her space. So, she dusted. Hours went by and she thought she heard movement towards the mystery section but she often heard noises that she ignored. This noise though, Marceline did not ignore. She had a feeling. Marceline grabbed her trusty battle wrench and made her way towards the sound. The mystery section was eerily silent. It would have been empty too except there was a book on one of the center tables. She, very slowly, walked towards it. Checking every direction. She picked up the book and was surprised to find it was a romance. Not your typical romance either she thought. It was one of those trashy romances that your twice divorced aunt read on holiday. ""Hmm, that's odd. This isn't where I left you."" Marceline mumbled to herself. She knew she hadn't put this here, she hadn't even read this particular novel. She was curious though and took it back to the main desk. Her desk. She set it under the top counter and went back to dusting the encyclopedias. The door chimed and I jumped. Dammit. I made my way back to my desk and looked around. Again there was nothing but eerie silence. I blinked and there was a figure in front of me, I froze. The figure was not unpleasant. They had thick dark hair that stopped at their ears. Their eyes were a dark gray with speckles of a deep violet, the kind of violent that promised mischief. Their ears and nose hosted various piercings. Their lips were pursed in debate and their head was tilted as if listening to something. They wore a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up their forearm and a gray shirt that read Taco Tuesday. They cleared their throat. ""I'd like to have a book."" They said, head still cocked. I didn't realize I was still staring until the figure held something out. It was a book. The same book that I found on the table. The exact same book I had in my desk. ""I…"" I tried to form a sentence but couldn't. What the hell? I'm never like this, this is the library of the dead. Be professional I chide myself. ""Yes, but you do know you can only borrow that? If you try to keep it I have to hunt you down and nobody wants that."" They smiled. My insides went crazy and I felt my face heat up. What the hell is going on?! Get a grip for gods sake. Okay breathe Marceline, breathe. This is just another patron just wanting to read. I forced some dignity into my face and asked them to fill out the loan form. They just smiled and filled it out right there on my desk. A few minutes of awkward panic later they handed me the form and toom the book gently from my shaky hands. Our fingers touched. “Thank you, I’ll be back I promise. For you.” They said in a low, honeyed tone. I couldn’t breath. I just stared like an idiot knowing damn we’ll whoever that was was smirking all the way out the door. Finally, after what felt like eons I was able to get ahold of myself and grabbed the signed form. It was signed and dated with a little smiley face with devils horns. I stared and knew I’d never forget that name. Bellona. About two weeks later I was half asleep at my desk with boredom. My normal crowd of souls had already been through, few that they are, and I’ve cleaned this place four times since Bellona was last here. I sighed dramatically and leaned back in my chair. All of a sudden there was a knocking. I sat upright and opened my eyes. Standing in front of me with a grin was Bellona and they were holding the borrowed book. ""I read the whole thing!"" Bellona said, holding out the book to me. ""Could I get another?"" No one was this excited about reading, especially down here, aside from me of course but I'd already read most of these titles. Was Bellona being serious? ""Well yes.."" I took the book and placed it to the side. ""Did you read a little every day for two weeks? That would be some pretty serious self control."" Bellona's head cocked to one side. ""I read it the same day you gave it to me, I wasn't able to return it until the two weeks were up."" ""Oh, you don't have to do that. The two weeks is just the maximum amount of time you get to borrow. You can return it and get another immediately after reading."" Bellona's eyes lit up like hellfire. And immediately they were gone. I got a little melancholy for no apparent reason, which I don't do. Ever. But then she was back again with another book, and I didn't like how good that made me feel. The book they handed me was a cozy murder mystery by some local author. Something inside me lit up with excitement. Murder mysteries were my favorite and for some reason I really wanted Bellona to like them too. ""Okay here you go! Hope you enjoy."" ""Oh I most hellishly will."" Bellona said with a wink in my direction. Something in my stomach fluttered. Just as I finished logging the book back in and reshelving it I heard the door open. I made my way back to the front, and to my surprise Bellona was standing next to my desk. ""I… Did you? Did you read that already?"" I asked, my eyes a little wide. ""Yes,"" Bellona said. ""I simply adore it, and I was hoping you could show me more."" ""I… uh.."" My brain stalled and I couldn't get the words out. ""Yes."" I managed. Oh gods, what is wrong with me?? Bellona just wants me to show them more books, that's all. Right? Did I ever want that to be all? I started walking towards the back and Bellona followed. They asked me questions about the library and some questions about me. I started to relax because this wasn't so bad? It was actually kind of nice to have a real conversation for once. I basically had told them my entire life's story just as we got to the mystery section. ""Okay well here's more murder and mystery."" My voice pitched higher than normal. I started to walk back but Bellona spoke softly. “Will you stay and read with me?” I looked at Bellonas face and melted instantly. There was a softness and also some mischief behind those eyes. How could I have said no? I turned back and sat. We stayed like that for what felt like years. We read and talked and laughed and it was the best I had ever felt. I never wanted it to end. We continued this all through the night until they announced they had to leave. I was sad at first but knew it wasn’t the end. Just the beginning. Bellona came back every day since. The End. ","August 15, 2023 21:30","[[{'Mike Rush': 'Brandon,\n\nWith tow submissions, I guess my greeting should be, Welcome Back to Reedsy! I hope you find a writing home here.\n\nWell done! A library for dead people. Now that\'s a great setting. This is all weird enough to be intriguing. \n\nI wondered if you meant to jump from third to first person point of view at, ""the door chimed and I jumped."" The shift in point of view works. In the beginning, a third person narrator can give us information without Marceline having to speak to us. But that would have worked. I just wondered. \n\nI was also cur...', 'time': '19:59 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,xk6ce4,The Princess's Amulet,Daniella Awani,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xk6ce4/,/short-story/xk6ce4/,Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Fiction']",4 likes," I can’t believe that I’m locked in a wrestling match with my computer's mouse, as I search desperately for a new job. The screen is frozen, refusing to let the silly little arrow budge, disallowing me to continue my miserable search in peace. The library I've poured my heart and soul into for the past decade is getting the boot, making room for yet another mall. You know, because the world definitely needs more places to buy discounted socks. Disgruntled, I push myself off the chair to pour myself a glass of wine. I look around my shoebox of a flat. It's half covered in the books I managed to salvage. I always loved books. They are filled with extraordinary places I could never visit and incredible people I could never be. I always thought that one day, I too would be an architect of worlds where rich and wonderful characters could be brought to life. Inspiration never came though. Not even when I took this decade-long temp job. I turn around, to get back to the computer and resume the job search, only for a box to come tumbling down, upending its contents on the floor. Oh great! I slam my glass down and kneel to tidy up the little mess. As I pile the books back into the box, I see something shiny, peeking beneath an open book.  It’s an amulet. A great blue stone encased in a silver frame. I pick it up and lift it up to my face. As it spins, the light of the rooms seems to trap itself within the stone and strange markings appear in the frame. Frowning, I put it away and return to my search, pouring myself another glass of wine.  The night wears on, and the fruitless search continues. The battle of my computer, had ended with the cursor’s freedom. I pick up the wine bottle and it's empty. With a long sigh, I look around, my eyes falling on the amulet. I reach out and pick it up again.  You know, these markings seem familiar. Alas, the book where I have seen them is not amongst the ones I have here with me. It had been an old dusty book no one cared about and would likely be destroyed in the demolition.  I turn back to my computer.  Customer Service Officer wanted Office Assistant wanted. Was this really the life I wanted?  Suddenly I’m on my feet again, grabbing the amulet, my keys and my jacket as I race to the door. I make my way to the library. The moonlight pours in through the window, providing a soft light. I make my way through the chaotic mess of discarded books, and clamber up the stairs. You would think that a book like that would stand out but this library collected the good, the bad and the really weird big books. Aided by the flashlight on my phone, I forage through the dusty old books.  Just when I am beginning to think that this whole adventure is yet another waste of my time…I find it. With its odd markings and everything. Holding the amulet up against the book cover, the symbols move again, and I gasp as the symbols on the book rearrange themselves into words I can actually read. ""The Storm ends as it begins,"" I whisper. As soon as the words leave my lips, a dazzling blue light bursts from the amulet, flooding the library with its brilliance. The pages of the old book spring to life, flipping rapidly, conjuring a fierce wind that sweeps through the great building. My phone slips from my grasp and crashes to the floor, drowned out by the chaos around me. I clutch onto a shelf, struggling against the gusts. Shielding my eyes from the blinding light, I stumble toward the stairs, each step a battle against the relentless wind. With a sudden jolt, my foot catches on something, and I go hurtling forward. Pain explodes as my head collides with the railing, and the bizarre scene fades into darkness I wake up beneath the stars, with the library nowhere in sight. All around me are trees, stretching tall and proud towards the brightly lit heavens, their leaves forming a vibrant canopy overhead. Slowly I rise to my feet looking around in confusion.  Damn, that was a nasty hit to my head. Where am I? Am I dreaming? As I try to collect my thoughts and senses, the ground is suddenly shaken by galloping. I twist around to see a horse racing toward me, its powerful strides kicking up leaves and dirt in its wake. It comes to a halt and a man swiftly dismounts from the saddleless back. He strides over to me, his gaze locking onto mine. ""Are you hurt?"" he asks, his voice carrying genuine concern. I shake my head. He studies me closely. ""You’re dressed oddly.” he says, ""where are you from?” “London” I answer. “London?” he repeats, “what kingdom is that?.” I stared at him in confusion. “Uninted Kingdom I guess”  He mirrored my expression. “Who are you?” I ask, “where is this?” “Just a few miles from the kingdom of Stormhaven” the man says, “And my name is Kalric.” The Kingdom of Stormhaven?.  I pad myself down, searching for my phone and then I remember I lost it in the library. A library which is nowhere in sight. If I was dreaming, this was definitely a nightmare. “What’s that?” Kalric asks suddenly as a I adjust my jacket. I follow his gaze, looking down to see the amulet clasped around my neck and peeking out of the jumper. “Oh this -” I begin. “By the spirits!” Kalric exclaims in a loud whisper, “You’re the princess aren’t you? Princess Helena! I thought you deadI” I blink, frowning in confusion. “Princess who?” I say, “no, my name is Jennifer. I’m a librarian…or well I was…” “That amulet around your neck bears the seal of the Storm family,” Kalric declares, “until the Drods took over, they ruled Stormhaven in peace, and protected it with their white magic.  “Look,” I say, “I’m not this Princess Helena, I’m a boring unemployed Librarian with a drinking problem. Trust me, if I could do magic I would snap myself into a less pathetic life.” “But the amulet…” Kalric insists. “Is just a piece of junk I found.” Kalric seems unconvinced. He briskly walks to his horse and soon returns. He holds out a clasp and hands it to me. I take it reluctantly. “What’s this.” “The badge of my office.” he says. “I was a soldier in the royal army.  Sighing I lift the clasp up to the starlight and I sonn see what Kalric is referring to. The symbol on the amulet is the same one on his badge.  “Ever heard of a coincidence?” I say to him.  He frowns at me, “why do you deny who you are princess? Do you also fear the Drods. Legend says that the power of the amulet would protect you. It is likely what kept you safe after your family was murdered. Everyone thought you dead.” Suddenly his eyes widen, as though something new has just occurred to him “Or do you lie about who you are to conceal yourseld. I assure you, I am your trusted servant.” He kneels before me and takes my hand bowing his head.  A soft tingle travels from my hand up my arm and I blush. Slowly, I withdraw my hand. “I’m not your princess,” I whisper, “just a boring librarian who’s lost.” “Then why are you here?” “Why are you?” I retort. “If you’re so loyal, what are you doing here.” “The people suffer,” Kalric says, “I left to find help, and I thought I actually did.” He gives me a dark look and turns away.  I hesitate. I certainly don’t want to be left alone in this strange forest. But Kalric has already ridden away. Breathing heavily, I race through the distance in hopes of catching up with him.  I hear a muffled cry in the distance. Tiptoeing through the trees, I follow the sound and come to a clearing. Kalric is on the ground, his horse slain and surrounded by tall figures clad in black armor from head to toe. They speak in a strange language amongst themselves and their words seem to give rhythm to black flames that twist themselves around Kalric. Drods? My heart hammers against my chest as I watch in horror as Kalric is bound and taken away. Quietly I follow, keeping a good distance behind. The trees thin out, and forest is left behind to reveal  a narrow winding road. I follow the trail left behind by Kalric’s captives which leads to what must be Stormhaven.  Small stone houses line either side of the road with larger buildings here and there. Up ahead, a great castle looms overhead and Kalrics captives soon disappear behind its towering gates with their prisoner.  Whatever this Stormhaven is, its people are indeed suffering. Many sat guant, thin, covered in sore sand dressed in rags, begging passers by for scraps of food. Few gathered together, wailing about their misfortunes.  I make my way into a small pub and take a seat in the corner “Did you see” one woman says miserably, “they captured Kalric. All hope is lost.” “What help would be have found?” a barman retorts, “everyone fears the Drods, even more now that the Storms are gone.” “I still can’t believe they are all gone,” a man says, “I have heard whispers that amulet lives on.” “The princess’s amulet? Could she be alive?” “Her body was never found.” “Neither was the prince’s” “Prince Logan always dabbled with the black” the barman said, “it destroyed him.” “But if indeed the princess lives,” the first woman said, “then where is she? Where is this great magic amulet? Why does she live us to suffer at the hands of the Drods.” I slowly shove my amulet under my jumper and slip out through the side door. I realise that I am drawing attention due to my odd clothes, but they all seem too overwhelmed by their own misfortunes to be overly bothered by the woman in odd clothes. Up ahead, I find a line of washing waiting for the sun. Still damp, I nab a dress, and a bonnet and duck beneath a tree to change.  As I fold my things away, I come across Kalric’s clasp. I hadn’t realised that I had held on to this. Suddenly I feel inspired, as my eyes light up with a new and frankly, dangerous idea.  I make sure that the amulet is safely tucked away out of sight before putting my bold and perhaps dumb plan into motion.  I make my way further down the road until I come to the large black castle gates.  “What business brings you here,” the gatekeeper spits at me. “I come to see my cousin,” I say, “he was arrested today.” He glances at me briefly and the gates are thrown open. A guard appears gestures for me to follow. As we enter the castle, all warmth fades away leaving behind a chilling cold. Our footsteps echo as we descend the long spiraling steps.  He guides me through the dungeons, filled with cramped cells and hungry-eyed prisoners stretching bony arms through the bars. At the end of the row, in the last cell, I spot Kalric crouched on the floor. As I approach, he lifts his head, and his eyes light up at the sight of me. ""You've got three minutes,"" the guard informs before leaving. We wait until his footsteps fade before we speak “What are you doing here?” Kalric demands. “Is that anyway to speak to your rescuer?” “You claim not to be the princess.” “And I stand by that claim,” I tell him, “but it doesn’t mean I can’t help.” “Well whatever you want to do, “ Kalric says with a sigh, “you’ll have to do it without me. I’m trapped.” ""Perhaps not,"" I reply, winking. Swiftly, I extract a hairpin from beneath my bonnet, letting a loose curl fall across my face as I bend over the lock. ""I picked up this trick from a favourite book,"" I explain. After a few attempts, a satisfying click resounds, and the door swings open. Kalric's stare shifts from astonishment to an immense grin that lights up his face. “You are the princess!” he declares. “I really am not,” I insist. He attempts to leave his cell but I raise a hand to stop him and whisper my little plan to him. To be honest, I am making it up as I go along but he nods, in understanding and backs away. ""Time's up!"" the guard's voice announces his return. He approaches the door, and Kalric abruptly yanks it, forcing it against him. With my bonnet,  I pounce muffling his cries, while Kalric secures his neck in a hold until he slumps unconscious. Together, we swiftly strip off his clothes, boots, and helmet. Kalric peels off his tunic, unveiling a broad chest and sculpted stomach. Yet, his thin arms betray the toll of his own hunger. Swiftly, he dons the guard's attire, while I dress the unconscious guard in his tunic before we hurry out of dungeon. This plan is going quite well… Or not. We are surrounded. “They must have sensed it,” Kalric says, “The Drods are full of black magic.” ""Indeed we are,"" one of them confirms. Adorned in black armor, his voice carries a shadowy tone as he whispers strange words. Their hands move in harmony, conjuring dark flames that creep toward us. But something even stranger happens: . A brilliant blue light, materializes like a shield from the amulet, repelling the black flames and causing them to writhe, stumble, and dissolve into faint wisps of smoke upon the ground. “She bears the amulet,” the drod said. “How could it be?”  He whispers words again in a strange language as he unsheathes a jagged sword.  Kalric seizes the guard's sword, readying himself to confront them, yet they utter their peculiar words again, and he collapses to the ground, contorting in agony.  Instinctively, I lunge for the sword. In a fluid motion, I strike. Engaging in an unfamiliar choreographed dance, I kick, punch, and slice with an unexpected mastery, and one by one, they falter and fall before me. I stare wide eyed at the sword in my hands then down at the amulet. How on earth did I do that? “She is strong,” said the first drod, “she must be” “We shall see” came a voice from behind.  I jump in fear as I find myself face-to-face—or rather, face-to-waist—with a towering seven-foot-tall drod. “Dronan” the other drods chant, bowing their heads.  Dronan raises his hand, yet the amulet counters his wordless spells. His helmet's eye slits darken. Gradually, he raises a lengthy sword, twirling it in the air. With a powerful swoosh, he lunges toward me, and I bolt.  As I run across the wide halls, he pursues at a steady pace, his boots slamming against the stone floor with each terrorizing step. Whatever hidden combat skills the amulet had granted me earlier, they seemed absent now. Just in the nick of time, I pivot to block a blow aimed at my head. If this is a dream, this would be a really good time to wake up. Nothing. Again.  I continue running for mylife trying with all my might to protect myself with the sword.  Dronan’s pursuit leads me to a narrow room where five stone seats are erected. .  “Ah yes” Dronan said, “take a good look princess. The Storms will meet their end today.” His words stir something in my memory. I pause and look down at the amulet. The markings, the symbol of the Storms. The words. ""The storm ends as it begins,"" I whisper once more. As before, the brilliant blue light erupts from the Amulet, filling the room and engulfing Dronan. His scream pierces the air as he collapses to the floor, his shattered armor clattering around him. Suddenly a warmth fills the room, and soon after, Kalric hurries inside.  “They are gone” he said, “the drods are…” He trails off, his gaze locked onto Dronan. Yet, the figure within the shattered armor isn't Dronan. he couldn't be more than six feet tall. Gradually, he stirs, opening his lids to unveil piercing blue eyes. “Prince Logan?” Kalric said, “You’re alive!” The prince slowly rises to his feet, shoulders slumped “What have I done?” he cries. “What do you mean?” I ask. “I did this,” the prince said, “Please forgive me sister. I delved too deep and Dronan consumed me. He - I killed our parents and I thought you dead too. But you carry the Storm.” “You mean this amulet?” I ask. “Yes,” Prince Logan said, falling to his knees. “Please forgive me. I wanted power. But I never earned it. You deserve to rule.” “But…” “Princess Helena,” Kalric said, “you cannot deny your destiny now. Not after you have defeated Dronan and the drods. Please. Will you not take your place as the ruler of Stormhaven?  I sigh. Perhaps I wasn’t destined for a life of boredom after all. It couldn’t be bad being this Princess Helena.  And that’s when it happens.  I wake up with my cheek pressed up against my computer keys. I’m back in my jumper, sitting in my chair, with the empty glass and wine bottle beside me.  So it really was all a dream.  I stare at the job notices on the screen, before closing the page with a little smile. I open a word document and at the top of the page, I type, The Princess’s Amulet. Bursting with my newly found inspiration, I fire away. ","August 19, 2023 01:13",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,oitjcz,Nana,Chuck Thompson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oitjcz/,/short-story/oitjcz/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",4 likes," It was the mewling that caught her ear. Outside the normal range of library vocals, it was haunting and slightly sad. It set her on a hunt. Connie woke this morning rested and with a sense of anticipation. It was a great way to start the day! Life and work became a tad stale lately and she questioned her purpose, her possibilities and all her decisions in life. It was a recurring theme for her. So many questions and virtually no answers. At least, no answers that satisfied her desire for meaning and tangible goals. Her dad was still of the mind that she needed to get married, keep her job so she would always be self-sufficient and be prepared to walk out on the bum at a moment’s notice. She was thirty-two, gorgeous, well-dressed in the latest fashions available at Salvation Army, Goodwill, or her favorite second-hand store. Librarians may have the wealth of civilizations at their fingertips, but it is not spendable. There is the old tragedy of losing a parent at an early age and growing up in a single-parent household. Something is missing when the dichotomy of parenthood is not maintained. Connie’s coming of age was not much different than what every other single-parent child experienced. Except her dad raised her on a manager’s salary with good insurance. Her teeth were straight, she knew there was a warm place to go if ends would not meet and she had a confidant who would and could come to her damsel-in-distress call. She liked to be at her library (and, yes, that is how she thought of it) at least an hour or two before the rest of her team showed up. It was quiet and gave her uninterrupted time to gather herself for the day.  For example, today the Rahway book club was meeting in the large seating area over by the Research section. They met for about three hours discussing their latest find. They needed the chairs rearranged auditorium-style and the desk and chair set front and center. The hors d'oeuvres table needed to be set up with a large bag-lined trash can close by. The club members bring everything else when they start trickling in around 11:00. The Boy Scouts were coming in late morning to work on their Reading Merit Badge. Joyce and Darren would teach them how to research the library's computerized catalog and help them through the steps to develop their “book talks.” These would be presented to the rest of their troop as part of the Merit Badge effort. That would take no more than three or four hours and they would stay comfortably far from the book club. As she went from her daily calendar review to bringing up her email, she heard the mewling. It made her think of a cat. She knew there was no cat because she had locked up last night and done her walking inspection before that.  She expected no one else for another hour so no one else could let a cat in. Interesting. She stepped out of her office to figure this out. From her door, she could see the Research section, the Fiction and Non-Fiction shelves filling the expanse in front of her, the computer room with its carrels and large picture windows just beyond the shelving, and the double doors to the small amphitheater to the left just beyond the Research section. The restrooms were off to her left along the same wall as her office and the staff kitchen/break room was behind a single door off to her right just beyond the other three staff offices down the wall to her right. She heard it again from the far side of the Research section. She could not see anything but headed that way. She stopped when she reached the seating area and listened. Nothing. Wait! There it was again! From the auditorium! A little spooked, she headed for the double doors and opened the right side one. The automatic lights came on and she beheld just about the last thing she could expect. “Nana!?!” she exclaimed. Off to the side of the podium in the front of the room sat a frail-looking woman in a rocking chair. In her lap was a tuxedo-furred cat with bewitching blue eyes. Both the woman and the cat looked up at her with the same calmness they would have displayed in their own living room. “Yes, Dear. I’ve been waiting for you for a bit. I suppose Precious’s meowing alerted you to us being here.” “Nana, you died years ago!” “I know,” Nana replied. “So did Precious, don’t you remember?” “What’s going on? How can you be here? Why are you here?” The questions boiled out of Connie. “Now, now, calm down, Sweetie. I can explain everything. Well, everything but Precious. I don’t know why she got to come. “Your mother asked me to visit with you. She loves you very much and misses you terribly. I know, they say that once you get to Heaven you leave earthly cares behind. That’s not completely true. We still care for those we have always cared for. “Anyway, your mother is busy and could not come herself. Thus, me. And, Precious, I guess. “You are special. Somehow you attracted a lot of attention from those on high and they want you to know your prayers for a whole family are answered. That’s the good news. “The kind of sad news for you is that your dad had a heart attack in his sleep last night and he is visiting with your mother getting oriented to his new life. Now, now, sit down and listen. “Wait, don’t cry yet. Here’s the interesting news. For the rest of your life here, we will be a prayer away. We will always be discreet; we’re not stupid, you know.  “We want only the best for you. I can tell you that you need to buy five lottery tickets today after work at that store on your way home. Be prepared to share your winnings. There will be plenty to take care of all about which you care. “Okay, after you give me a hug and Precious a pat, you can cry. We will all meet your home tonight. Remember, we love you.” Then she was gone. Until tonight. Who knew? ","August 19, 2023 02:03",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,qkhb8x,Lost Pages,Buddy Calvo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qkhb8x/,/short-story/qkhb8x/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Thriller', 'Suspense']",4 likes," Jane Klee was on her knees desperately searching for a book that doesn’t want to be found. She’s been looking for nearly an hour now, pulling rows and rows of dusty hardbacks off the old wooden shelves in the small sorting room, looking for a one of a kind, handwritten, matte black, 1st edition but she’s having no luck locating it. She’s older, mid-sixties, thin, tall with stringy dyed brown hair, fair skin, and a bad back. Today Jane wore her light pink blouse and black skirt, tights and flat black shoes. Her clothes were worn and old but never dirty. Jane always looked professional which I guess she had to, given that she was our manager and head librarian of the Memorial Branch Library. She’s in pain as the old grey carpet beneath her doesn’t offer much support as she searches through the mess of books in the lower shelf of the nonfiction section. At first, she tried to bend over and search, but her back couldn’t take the stress. She then grabbed a chair and tried to move it along with her, but that wasn’t happening fast enough. Finally, with the encouragement of a .22 caliber handgun to the back of her head she dropped to her knees. I caught a glimpse of her several times, scooting down the aisle, wincing in pain before I ducked down with the others behind the circulation desk near the front door. She was in our line of sight, a straight shot from the circulation desk, past the small conference room and Jane’s office, directly to the back break room slash sorting area. There was four us back there behind the large wooden semi-circle, listening to Jane move around, pleading and coughing but only two of us, Randolph and myself, dared to peek out towards her. I couldn’t help looking over every time I heard her cough, thinking this was the final straw for her old weak smoker’s lungs, breaking my stare with the city issued calendar pinned to the wall and today’s date, October 20th, 2000, circled to remind the team of our yearly inventory shift. I stared and zoned out, thinking if this had happened any other night, Jane would’ve found this book quickly, as usually there aren’t that many books in the sorting room but because of inventory night there were piles and piles of books to go through. I thought that if I only had a cellphone like the more well-off students in my class, I could’ve called the police and, in that case, I would be a more well-off student and not working the inventory shift in this library, ironically to save up to buy books for community college which is only nine short months away. I glanced down beneath the calendar looking at John Deroche, our resident eclectic, who had fainted and slammed his face against the returns book bin. That’s the metal cart that catches the books when you return them in the book drop off. It’s a square frame with a cloth bag in the center and when everything happened, John panicked and stumbled, and crashed down face first onto the frame. John is an older man in his sixties like Jane, he’s tall, bald and wore glasses, his clothes were always freshly pressed, and he wore sneakers so he could do his daily walks around the parking lot during his breaks. He was a bit of a hypochondriac, always calling his doctor or his mother when he felt ill, and he was the only person I ever met that spoke his mind no matter the circumstances or the audience. He repeatedly told Jane to stop smoking, told Marian she needed to lose weight, and told me to lay off the candy and to iron my shirts. I thought it was funny, I had never heard anyone say exactly what they were thinking and the way he did it was kind of innocent, like a child who didn’t know any better, walking in place, rubbing his hands together, with both the look of concern and authority across his face. Now John was laying on his side, his head on Marian’s chair mat, his forehead cut, and his eyes closed. I couldn’t help but smile thinking about how much John hated our floors and how he would react knowing he was laying nearly face down on that old grey, dirty carpet. Last year he put in a formal request, against Jane’s wishes, to the city to replace our carpet as it offered no support, was stained and smelled awful. The city responded with shoe inserts and air fresheners. If John knew he was laying there, on the exact spot where Marian would brush the crumbs from her homemade egg salad sandwiches and walk around barefoot when her feet would bother her when the weather changed, well he would probably faint. Poor Marian, she was struggling to breathe as she sat on the floor trying to shake her legs awake. She was in her fifties, short, heavyset, with thinning curly hair, bad knees and a limp on her left side. She wore a lot of makeup and a lot of perfume. She dressed in these large, oversized blouses, with slacks and soft shoes. She was nice but, in a way where you felt less than. Sitting next to her was Randolph, the assistant head librarian. He was in his forties, average build, dark slick black hair, he wore contacts and had a goatee. He had a slight hump in his back, creased slacks and always wore suspenders over his colorful shirts which made him look like a poet or beatnik, at least what I thought a poet or beatnik would look like. His shoes were like mirrors and he always had a fascinating factoid to share with you. Randolph seemed wise and well read, as a Librarian should seem. He had this amazing vocabulary and would encourage me to learn new words and speak slowly and with confidence. He was a real chatter box and seeing him so quiet with his head down, occasionally looking up when Jane coughed, and his arm around Marian was sad. He was scared and I guess I was too.  About an hour ago John was just finishing up one of his many walking breaks around the parking lot. The only difference this time is it was inventory night, and it was raining and usually we are all out of here by 9pm. Now, nearly midnight, we find ourselves at the mercy of a man wielding a gun, demanding we find a book that was donated here on accident. John was returning from his walk in the rain, coming in the back door wearing his slicker and shaking off his umbrella, slowly making his way into our breakroom slash sorting room and he didn’t see the man as he rushed in behind him and pulled out the small black pistol. John fainted, Marian screamed, Randolph tried to run out the front doors, but they had been locked for hours and Jane was in her office. I was working on a cart of books, putting them in order, relieved that we were nearly done and with all the rain the power had stayed on, usually if it rains for more than 30 minutes the power goes out and we have to wait around until it gets turned back on so we can set the alarm but tonight it looked like we were going to get done early but then I heard the commotion. I headed towards the sorting room when I saw everyone running out into the main area of the library, quickly followed by a man pointing a gun at the back of Jane’s head. The man was average height, average weight, brown hair, tan skin, young looking, not much older than me. He was soaked from the rain, wearing tennis shoes that squished out water with each step, old blues jeans, a faded black shirt, a windbreaker and no mask. Although he had the gun, he seemed more scared than any of us. He was twitching, and constantly looking around as he dripped all over the library, waving the gun back and forth and shouting about his book. Jane quickly offered to help him, keeping it cool and collected, handling the situation as if it was some angry bookworm who couldn’t find a copy of the latest Stephen King novel. She explained that she would help him find whatever he wanted and to just not hurt anyone. He agreed and then pointed to me and Randolph to move John. Randolph grabbed John’s feet and I grabbed his arms, and we dragged him over to the others as Jane started looking for the cause of all of this; a large black hard back, maybe 300 pages, with a red symbol on the cover. It didn’t have an author as it was someone’s personal book, a one off and the man said someone donated this book and he needed back now.  It had been quiet now for a while with just the sound of the rain hitting the ground outside but nothing from Jane or our guest. I crept around the circulation desk, towards the wall that led to the sorting room and there I saw Jane still on her knees, but no longer searching for his book but instead frozen, listening as this man was bent over talking to her. Just then Marian looked up and saw me peeking at Jane and called out to me, just loud enough to catch my attention. I snapped my head towards her, watching as she and Randolph begged me to come back and sit still. Before I could head back, I heard Jane coughing, but this one sounded worse than before, more violent as if she was choking. I looked down the straightaway but couldn’t see her and then there she was, the man had his hands around her throat and held her up against the wall next to her office. Randolph and Marian couldn’t see what was happening, but they could hear it and they both buried their faces into their hands. With the gun against her face, he pushed Jane inside her office, slammed the door shut and we heard her scream several times before the power went out.  Marian was sobbing and Randolph couldn’t bring himself to look up anymore. John was out cold, and I had the brilliant idea to try and sneak past Janes office out the back door. I reached over to Randolph and Marian, trying to convince them to come with me but Marian’s legs were numb, and she couldn’t stop crying and Randolph just shook his head, too afraid to move. I was afraid too but thought I could make it if I was quiet enough and went now. I could go out the back, through the parking lot, down the ditch and up to Ram’s corner store. Rams was open until midnight, and he carried a gun, and he would often tell me he wasn’t afraid to use it. I would visit Ram at least twice a week during my break. I would grab a few snacks and we would chat about the topic of the week although the conversation would always lead back to the JFK assassination and the conspiracy that surrounds it. I thought about what would’ve happen to this guy if he ran into Rams with his puny .22? Ram would pull out the shotgun he kept under the counter and the rest you would see on the nightly news. Enough stalling, it was time to go, I retied my shoelaces, stood up and started walking quickly towards the back. The building was quiet and dark, with only the sound of rain in my ears and the occasional lighting piercing the sky, coming in to brighten up the room. As I passed Jane’s door I heard the keys of Alamo City Nightwatchmen, Tom Wheeler, jingling at the front doors. He must’ve seen the power out and decided to come check on us. Poor Wheeler had no idea what he was walking into.  Wheeler was a very big man, heavy set, had a bit of a lisp when we talked, and his dream was to become a cop. He wore the standard all black security uniform with the Alamo City Watchmen badge sewed on his sleeve, black boots, handcuffs, radio and carried one of those big heavy metal mag flashlights and pepper spray but no gun. At night, Wheeler would patrol all the library branches to make sure nobody was tagging our building or smashing our windows, never too concerned with a break in because what would they steal but tonight he was instore for a surprise. As the doors opened up front, I heard Randolph try and warn Wheeler just as Marian cried out for him to help. I ran to the far end of the sorting room and hid behind the receiving cart John was working on near his desk, as the man with the gun came storming out of Janes office and ran towards the front doors and Wheeler. I moved to run after him, finally getting the courage to fight back but before I got to my feet, I saw it. A large black matte book, a red symbol on the cover, bound by hand, a little dusty and the corners a bit worn. I knew I had seen that symbol before but where? It was laying in the bottom drawer of John’s desk, a place Jane didn’t think to look. I reached for it but before I could grab it, I heard Wheeler shouting. I could see the beam of light from Wheeler’s flashlight dancing on the walls, and I ran to see how I could help. As I came out of the sorting room into the main area of the library, I ran into a cloud of pepper spray just as Wheeler was shot. The two men had wrestled for the gun, and it went off, the bullet striking Wheeler in the shoulder. Marian was screaming now, full force, John began to stir, and Randolph pulled the fire alarm as he made his way out the front doors, waving his arms, running into traffic begging for help. I was coughing now, my eyes burning and my lungs struggling to keep up. From what I could see, the guy with the gun was in shock as Wheeler laid bleeding up against the outside of the circulation desk, spitting and coughing, the pepper spray still in his hand and his flashlight on the floor next to him. I moved to check on him but saw the gun still in the intruder’s hand. I motioned for him to put it down as he shook his head and said there were no more bullets. He repeated this over and over and then said he only had one bullet and that was for him. I don’t know what that meant, and I didn’t care, I wanted to check on Wheeler, as blood was making its way out of him and when I looked up again the man was gone.  Hours later and the police are finally letting me go. I just finished talking to the detective in charge, giving him my statement on what happened. They took John to the hospital as he knew the least and was panicked about a possible brain injury. Marian and Randolph are still busy walking the officers through what happened. Wheeler was rushed off immediately, but I heard a paramedic say he would be fine, no major arteries hit. Jane spoke to the officers for a while. She had been beaten badly, choked and nearly killed. If Wheeler hadn’t showed up who knows what would’ve happened to her. I stood at the door as she told them what the guy said to her. Listening to Jane speak I knew she was dead serious about what he told her, but her story was unbelievable and then I remembered where I had seen that symbol. I had been riding bikes with friends when we cut through an alley, and there it was in the backyard of a small house with tall grass and animal figurines. A huge carving of a circle, a tree and snake chiseled into a giant rock. I thought it was weird but that’s about it.  I grabbed my things from my locker and stopped by John’s desk on the way out.  It was still drizzling when I reached Woodlawn Avenue, a street you usually avoid at night. The house I was looking for was easy to spot as it didn’t have any lights on. I got out of my car, went through the gate, past the statues and figurines in the yard and placed it on the porch. Nothing happened and that was fine by me.  Nearly morning now, I crept inside my house, trying not to wake my parents.  It started to rain again as I crawled into bed trying to get comfortable. Thunder clapped and shook our old house as lighting struck nearby. I turned towards my windows facing the street and went to close the curtains when I saw a woman standing in the middle of the road. She was cloaked in all black and although the rain poured down, she didn’t seem to be wet. She was moving ever so slightly but she wasn’t walking, she was floating just above the ground. I can’t explain what I’m seeing, so maybe I shouldn’t try, maybe it’s just my mind, exhausted from what happened and filled with Jane’s story but here, in the dark, through the rain, I can see her face looking up at me, staring right through me as if she’s there to exist just for me and then, with a crash of thunder and flash of lighting she is gone. ","August 19, 2023 02:05","[[{'Paul McDermott': 'The tale flows smoothly. One suggestion: very first sentence, you use 2 different tenses [Jane ...was / book ...doesn\'t] I\'d use \'Historic Present\' --> ""Jane is ..."" so you AVOID Present Tense & Past Tense in the same sentence [I was taught English Grammar by the Jesuits!! LOL] If you read through you\'ll see that EVERY verb CAN be changed to Historic Present, bringing the story to life. Do this at least as far as end of para 2 "" ... needed back now --> change to "" ... needs it (missing word) it back now.""\nThis grammar trick aside, t...', 'time': '22:07 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Buddy Calvo': 'Hey Paul,\n\nThank you for taking the time to read my story. I have to admit my grammar and punctuation are awful. I’m more of an idea man and story guy so thank you for the insight on how to make the story flow better. I will definitely work harder at getting this right.', 'time': '03:02 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Buddy Calvo': 'Hey Paul,\n\nThank you for taking the time to read my story. I have to admit my grammar and punctuation are awful. I’m more of an idea man and story guy so thank you for the insight on how to make the story flow better. I will definitely work harder at getting this right.', 'time': '03:02 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,du51xf,In a New Light,S. A. McNaughton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/du51xf/,/short-story/du51xf/,Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",4 likes," Content warnings: Death of a parent, adoption “And then you hit return and there you go,” Deirdre explained to Mrs Booker, clicking the mouse to complete a Google search for her most helpless library patron. “If you need any help figuring out which results are reliable, just wave me down,” she added. She had no doubt that Mrs Booker would be raising her hand soon for more assistance. Deirdre had been the head of reference in the small library branch for the past year, and Mrs Booker had been spending more and more time there as the months went by. She reminded herself that at least Mrs Booker’s need for constant help gave Deirdre some job security.   Sure enough, a few minutes later, Mrs Booker called in a loud whisper, “Oh, Ms Quinn! I seem to have uninstalled the network printer. Can you help me with that?” Deirdre sighed and reinstalled the printer, assuring Mrs Booker facetiously that this sort of thing happened regularly to all of her patrons. Then she saw Emolyn the cataloger come around the corner and sit at the reference desk, which indicated that it was time for Deirdre’s afternoon break. The library’s break room was lit only by sunshine from the window when Deirdre walked in, but she welcomed the natural light after the bright fluorescents of the reading room. She turned on the electric kettle and hunted for one of her favorite mugs in the cabinet, looking for the orange and black that usually stood out among the white mugs. Jerome, one of her favorite coworkers who usually took his break at the same time, entered the break room and automatically turned on the overhead light, which allowed Deirdre to find the mug toward the back of the shelf.  “Go Bengals,” the tech services librarian said mildly. “Excuse me?” Deirdre responded, selecting a tea bag from a box on the shelf. Jerome nodded to her mug, which carried the logo of the Cincinnati football team. “Oh yes, it’s my dad’s mug. Was. He was a big fan. I guess I should use a different mug at work if I don’t want to get it smashed by rabid Detroit fans.” She poured the water over her tea bag and crossed the room to sit at the table with Jerome. “Girl, no one in this library cares about the Lions enough to smash anything. These are a bunch of library nerds like me who watch Jeopardy! every night and miss all of the sports questions. Now speaking of dads, did you get those results back?” Jerome neatly changed the subject, “They said it would be about eight weeks, so I feel like that email could be coming any day now.” A few months earlier, Deirdre and Jerome had taken a DNA test through a popular genealogical site to try to connect with family members. For Jerome, who had been raised by a single mother, it was about trying to figure out how many unknown siblings he might have, rather than reconnecting with his deadbeat father. As for Deirdre, her adoptive parents had been killed in an accident a few years earlier. After the loss of the only family she’d ever known, she had started to think about her biological family. She’d been born in Ann Arbor and lived the first two years of her life there before her mom got a job offer in Cincinnati. When she saw the posting for this job in Ann Arbor, she knew she had to take it and return to the place she came from. Jerome finally convinced her to take the plunge with him, and now they awaited their DNA results with some nervousness as well as excitement. Deirdre bounced her leg up and down while dunking her tea bag in and out of her mug. Her roommate Bellamy, the owner of a local tea shop, would have scolded her for improper steeping technique, but she also would have scolded her for using a tea bag in the first place. Jerome spotted Deirdre’s nervous tell. “Feeling anxious about the DNA results?” he asked, donning a cute pair of reading glasses before starting on his crossword puzzle. “I just worry that I’ll be a disappointment. You know? I mean, I don’t know why they put me up for adoption, but they had their reasons. They might be disappointed if they meet me. Maybe that sounds dumb.” Jerome took the reading glasses back off and took Deirdre’s hand. “You have plenty of people who love you. You don’t need them. But I think they will love you just like we do. And they’ll want to brag that they have a published author in the family!” he joked. Deirdre laughed lightly. “Unpublished author of many manuscripts in various states of completion for now,” she corrected, “But thank you for the vote of confidence. I just started working on a romance novel, but I’m stuck. The romance tropes like friends-to-lovers and enemies-to-lovers make so much sense when I read them in novels, but I’m having trouble wrapping my head around them enough to write it myself.” “It’s all around you, girl. You keep an eye on those teenagers who are always coming to the library together, Ethan and Emma. I’m always watching them to see when they figure out that they both like each other. Or even me and Fidel. We were rivals for years in school, always trying to outdo each other, and then we ended up on the same Spring Break trip senior year and it was like I saw him in a new light. By which I mean, I saw him in a swimsuit for the first time.” Deirdre chuckled and Jerome continued, “Sometimes there’s just a small change and you realize that under all the friendship or the fighting there’s someone there who sees you in a different way than anybody else does. And that can change the way you see them too.” § § § After her break, Deirdre returned to the reading room to take over for Emolyn at the reference desk. Emolyn jumped and let out a quiet, library-appropriate squeak when Deirdre approached the desk. “Sorry! It’s been so quiet here I got really into Symphony metadata and lost track of the world,” the cataloger apologized, nodding to the system she’d pulled up on the reference desk computer. Emolyn stood up to make room for Deirdre.  “Excuse me, Ms Rogers,” Mrs Booker whispered to Emolyn, “I have a problem that I need Ms Quinn’s help with. She’s so useful to the library, you know. A real benefit to the community. She should get a raise for all the help she has to give me alone. Now can you help me find the login page for my email program again, sweetie?” Deirdre sighed and helped Mrs Booker log in to her email, then also showed her how to log into the browser so that she could save bookmarks for sites she wanted to visit frequently, even when she used the public computer. She knew that Mrs Booker meant well, but it seemed like she made the same mistakes and forgot the same things over and over again. It was unusual to see someone just one generation older than herself need so much help with technology, or for her to spend so much time at the library during the day. Deirdre was puzzled by this, but didn’t have much time to think about it because the library was closing in fifteen minutes and she hadn’t given the patrons warning yet. Deirdre headed to the circulation desk to make the announcement over the PA system.  When she returned to the reference desk, she found Mrs Booker standing there, peering at a legal pad where Deirdre had jotted down ideas for her romance novel.  “Are you writing a book? That looks fantastic. I’m sure it’s going to be great. Such a talent with the patrons, and an author too!” the older woman beamed. Deirdre snatched up the legal pad and held it to her chest.  “Mrs Booker!” she snapped, her voice a bit louder than the typical library whisper. “This is private! What is it? What do you need help with now?” she said, a bit more shortly than she would have, but she was feeling exposed from Mrs Booker reading her notes. Mrs Booker looked a bit taken aback.  “Well, I need help with… um…” Mrs Booker seemed lost for words after the way Deirdre had spoken to her, on the heels of months of patient assistance. “Did you wipe the hard drives with a magnet this time? Why is Google so difficult? What is the matter with you?” Deirdre put her face in her hands and screamed internally, then took a deep breath and walked away. It was not her proudest moment as a librarian or a person. She told Jerome she was leaving early. As she exited the library, she saw Mrs Booker sitting at a table with a sad look on her face and felt even worse about how she’d just spoken to her. § § § Deirdre opened the door into her apartment and found Bellamy singing along with Paul Simon while washing dishes. She turned off the water and music when she saw Deirdre had arrived, then pointed to a few pieces of mail on the kitchen counter.  “I didn’t see anything that looked like it was from a publisher today,” she told Deirdre. “I guess it’s better to know nothing than to get a rejection,” Deirdre responded. “How’s that romance novel going? I need a juicy draft to read during the mid-afternoon lull. It’s been months since the last one.” Bellamy was a voracious reader and always got first dibs on reading her work. “I've barely even started. I have done a lot of staring at the blinking cursor over the last week,” Deirdre admitted. “Jerome said some really wise things today about seeing love all around, and seeing people in a new light, but it’s hard for me to figure out how to apply it in this book.” “You know, I did wonder if…” Bellamy searched for the words hesitatingly, “I wondered if it was too soon for writing a romance novel. It’s been less than two years since you and Malcolm broke up, and for that to happen so soon after your parents died… you’ve been through a lot. I think you have a lot of pain and fear to work through. Maybe you need to take a break from romance and write another sci-fi murder mystery instead.” “Maybe I need to take a break altogether. It’s been a rough day. I’m going to take a glass of wine upstairs and think about it.” Deirdre went up to her bedroom, sat at her desk, and breathed deeply to calm herself. She hadn’t thought about Malcolm in quite a while. She’d tried not to think about him for so long, but hearing Bellamy say his name for the first time in a year was like a punch to the gut. Malcolm had dumped her just months after she’d lost her parents. She realized that it was hard to think about love without connecting it with loss and pain, and that’s why she was so blocked. She couldn’t quite remember anymore what it felt like to have someone see her in a way no one else did. But making that connection still didn’t solve the problem. She pulled out a legal pad and a favorite pen, then took Jerome’s advice and started making a list to brainstorm: What love looks like Fidel dropping off Jerome’s lunch when he forgot it Ethan and Emma laughing together as they try to sneak snacks into the reading room (Deirdre usually pretended she didn’t see) Bellamy driving four hours each way to Cincinnati to see her sister Emolyn setting up Google alerts to send job postings to her friend who was miserable at work When she thought about her friends, she realized each of them saw something special in her. Bellamy dropped everything when Deirdre needed a shoulder to cry on. Jerome saw the author he believed she could become. Emolyn came over and helped her paint her room when she’d only just moved to town. Even Mrs Booker, despite being frustrating, was so vocally appreciative of her help, always singing her praises to other library staff and patrons. An email alert came in on her laptop as Deirdre was continuing her list, and she clicked on it. At the same time, her cellphone rang. She looked down at the display and saw that Jerome was calling. She bounced her foot up and down again as she answered in a wavering voice. She felt like her whole body was shaking and tight at the same time. “Is this it?” she asked, her voice wavering and barely more than a whisper. Jerome sounded almost as nervous on the other end. “Open the email and let’s click on the link at the same time,” he suggested. “Three, two, one, CLICK!” Deirdre clicked on the email and saw her DNA connections. Deirdre recognized a face in a profile picture at the top of the page and she got goosebumps. Her stomach dropped, then she burst into tears and cried until she started hiccupping.  “Are you still there?” Jerome asked when her crying and sniffling slowed down. “Yeah, I’m still here,” Deirdre answered. “Are you going to be okay? I don’t have much, just some cousins. But it sounds like you got some big news.” Jerome pointed out tenderly. “I… I found my biological mother. And it’s Mrs Booker, the patron who’s always asking me for computer help. I was awful to her today and all she was doing was taking an interest in me and my work… oh,” Deirdre realized. “Wait, she doesn’t ask you for help, does she? And she doesn’t ask Emolyn either. It’s just me, isn’t it? Because she knew.”  Jerome started putting some pieces together himself. “Mrs Booker is a retired computer engineer. She was always asking you for help? No offense, but you’re not Bill Gates. You write on legal pads. Aw, honey. I think she just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.” After she hung up with Jerome, she felt exhausted from the crying, but when she lay in bed, she couldn’t fall asleep. It was a relief to know the truth after all these years, but it also made her feel even worse about the things she’d said to Mrs Booker earlier in the day. She tossed and turned for a few hours until she realized what she needed to do. § § § Deirdre was already at the reference desk when Mrs Booker came in the next morning. “Mrs Booker, I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you yesterday. I realize now that you wanted to connect with me, and I want that too. Now I think I should help you open up your email because there may be a message there that you really want to see.” ","August 19, 2023 02:28",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,wbvzkv,The Shelves are Watching,Sarah Jeong,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wbvzkv/,/short-story/wbvzkv/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Fiction', 'Thriller']",4 likes," Two eyes peered up at Sheila from the bookshelf. She knelt down to inspect them. The pair of plastic googly eyes were stuck onto the shelf about a millimeter apart - just like the others. She glanced at the cover of the book that had been hiding the pair: Caroline’s No Nightshade Kitchen: Arthritis Diet.  The eyes started appearing two weeks ago, when she returned from her annual lake trip with her daughters. The lake tradition began four years ago when she and her husband got divorced. At the start of each summer, she got a blissful school-free week with the girls before their dad took them for the rest of their holidays. The weeks following Lake Week were always the hardest. She needed to build new routines in an empty house, and tackle repair projects before the girls returned to live with her for the school year and wreak chaos in the bathroom and kitchen.  Luckily work at the library always picked up in the summers as people piled in for free air conditioning and children’s activity programs. After hurting her back last year she only reshelved twice a week. Her first day back from the lake, she had come across an adorable find. Two plastic eyes had been stuck on the shelf under F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night. A few hours later, she’d found another set under The Night Climbers of Oxford. Over two weeks she’d found a dozen or so pairs, and the cute joke was starting to feel like littering.  She finished shelving and sat at the checkout desk with Joanne, who was coloring a poster for the kids’ summer reading program. “Should we put up a sign asking people not to leave eyes among the stacks? Or will that give others the idea and cause us more grief - I’m pretty sure it’s just one person playing the prank.”  “Sorry?” Joanne had no idea what she was talking about. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “The plastic eyes that someone’s been leaving around? I only started seeing them once I got back from Lake Chelan but someone keeps sticking them on the shelves.”  “Mmm…eyes like those craft eyes?” “Yes! Haven’t you seen them? I’ve found at least one in every section!” Joanne laughed. “Hey, Charlie!” She called him from the printer room. “Sheila’s been finding eyes all over the shelves!  Charlie smiled too. “Glass eyes? Or like the letter?”  “Nah, you know those plastic ones that kids stick on paper plates to make faces?” “That’s better than the smudges kids leave at knee height. I’m getting too old to crawl around and wipe down the shelves. Correction: we’re all too old. We need to get some young librarians in here.” Sheila laughed in agreement, but an uneasy feeling came over her. Charlie or Joanne reshelved every day, so between the two of them someone should have noticed.  Three days later, Joanne dropped a stack of SAT practice books and grimaced as she bent to retrieve them from the carpeted floor.  “My daughter signed us up for weekly summer pilates classes, even though I’ve never done pilates before. Look at this shit!” Joanne tried clenching her fists, and her hands and forearms trembled. “How am I supposed to stack shelves? I can’t even hold the scanner properly! I’m not going to survive this summer.” “Do you want to stack on Mondays instead? I can take your Thursdays.”  Joanne gratefully agreed, and Sheila left her at the checkout counter as she picked up the rest of the SAT books and returned them to the shelves. She wondered if she should also sign up for exercise classes or some weekly activity. With the girls gone, she didn’t have much to do when she got home from work. Last summer she had found the transition from summer lounging to full-time parent especially difficult. She floated through the library, mulling over what she might actually enjoy regularly doing besides reading, when a restlessness pinged. Something was wrong. She walked among the shelves that she had just restocked to confirm. Nothing. All the eyes had been removed.  The following Monday, Sheila arrived early and strolled through the shelves. She told herself she was looking for stray books that might have found their way onto the wrong shelf, but she knew Charlie always did a thorough sweep on Sunday nights after the busy weekends. No eyes, plastic or otherwise, lurked between the silent covers. Joanne’s sore limbs had recovered and she hoped to find these plastic googly eyes that Sheila had mentioned maybe too many times. But by the end of the day, she told Sheila the person must have stopped, because there was not an eye in sight. On Wednesday Sheila found 13 pairs of eyes. On Thursday she found 8.  At the end of the day on Thursday, Sheila gathered the small trash bin under the counter. Over 40 small eyeballs stared at her from among its contents. A thrill of excitement jumped in her stomach. She snapped the plastic bag closed, wrung its neck into a knot, and held it away from her body as she carried it to the outside bins. The parking lot was empty, but she felt the weight of many eyes observing her.  As a young girl growing up in the quiet suburbs, she had always hoped something magical would happen. She would dream of story tropes that could fit her life if only she kept her eyes open and persisted in discovery. She once checked her birth certificate in case she was secretly adopted - everything seemed in order. She drew extensive maps of the inside layout of Costco, so if an apocalypse hit she could shelter in the warehouse of abundance with her meticulously recorded inventory.  The years slid by, and nothing supernatural happened. She got a degree from her local university, had a wedding in a hot church with too much makeup sliding down her face, taught middle school English until her girls were born, then became a librarian when they were old enough to catch the bus on their own. Not magical, but not bad either. Life just ticked along, but she had never felt selected for anything, or even had a surprise birthday party.  These googly eyes were for her. She knew it. Someone had adjusted to her changed shelving schedule, and she needed to know why. There were no notes, just eyes. But one thing held them together - they were always hiding under books about the night.  ","August 19, 2023 03:20",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,4eaiel,The diary,Emma Tomova,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/4eaiel/,/short-story/4eaiel/,Fiction,0,['Fiction'],4 likes,"   It was the middle of April. The city was colorful, blooming flowers around every corner. There was a calm breeze, hinting that summer was coming. Cheerful laughter and exciting conversations filled the city.    Normally it was Fredrick’s favorite time of year but unfortunately he hadn’t seen much of it. For about two weeks now he’d been stuck inside his library searching for something, he didn’t quite know what himself. People were coming and going, buying books, chatting about the beautiful weather, encouraging Fredrick to go outside. ‘’I’m fine here”, he would say, secretly eavesdropping on people’s conversations just to get the slightest idea of the magic outside those doors. He was fine actually, not leaving the library, it was a safe space for him. He was the type of person who wouldn’t let something go until he figured it out.  Fred was in his late fifties. Most of his years, he had spent with his grandfather in this same library. There was a room on the second floor, so he would wake up and read all day. When his grandfather got sick he would be the one greeting the customers with a warm smile, encouraging them to buy something. Frederick was caring, cheerful and warm. He also wasn’t one to back away from a challenge.   Recently he read a book suggesting that a pirate’s diary, about one hundred years old, was left collecting dust here in his own library and he had no idea. That’s what he’d been trying to find for the past few weeks. The problem was that he didn’t really know what he was looking for. He knew it was a diary but how it looked like he had no idea. He left that to his imagination: an old rusty notebook, its pages thickened because it had once been dropped in the ocean, a symbol on the cover, probably a pirate drawing. That’s as far as Frederick’s imagination would go, what was written inside was a complete mystery. He hoped it was instructions to a hidden treasure. He knew better than to get his hopes up but he couldn’t help it. For once Frederick wanted to know that he could buy a t-shirt and not worry if he would have enough money for food the following week. So he did get his hopes up because he found comfort in the idea of a treasure. That’s what kept him going.   The library was small, cozy, it had that old smell which gave you a sense of comfort. The kind of place you would go to escape the world. The books were neatly placed on the shelves in order A-Z and each book belonged to a different category: Fiction,Thriller, Romance, Literature, Poems…etc. Everything was so perfectly placed and there was a record of every book that was in this library. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find what someone is looking for.   Frederick searched through every shelf, went through every book that might have had even the tiniest resemblance as a pirate’s diary. But nothing. Not a single clue nor a trace of this book entering the library. He was so close and yet so far from actually finding it.     Every day was the same. He would wake up, just to find out that he had fallen asleep at the library once again. He would get dressed, make himself a sandwich and turn the sign from “Closed” to “Open”. The doorbell would ring and as each customer entered, they would all say ""You gotta fix that step, Fred.’’ he’s heard this so many times it doesn’t sound like a sentence to him anymore. He would say something under his nose and then bury himself researching all there was to know about pirates about one hundred years ago. Time flies fast when you’re stuck in a different world and before he knew the last person exited the door but as he was leaving he fell through the step. There was a loud sound of the wood breaking and Frederick ran to the front door to check what happened. “Are you ok?’’, he said, his voice showing his concern ‘’You’ll fix the step, right?’’, the customer said in a very serious tone. “I will,’’ Fred replied. “Then I’m fine” as he said that, he left.     Frederick was alone again, he was used to it by now, the books kept him company. He grabbed some tools and got to work fixing that step. When he removed the broken wood his whole body shivered. He was shocked. There was a book, old and rusty, something drawn on the cover. He couldn’t quite see because it was completely covered in dust. Could this be it? Has his search finally come to an end? He took the book, he started coughing as he was removing the dust. There it was, the pirate symbol. The thrill of what this book withheld consumed him. ‘’I’m about to get rich.’’ he yelled, then he went to sit down, putting his legs up on the table.    He opened the first page and he started reading. ‘’My name is Captain Hedwig. I think it is the start of November. It’s a cold and dangerous day, perhaps my last. The waves are crushing us. Each one is more intense than the other. We are listening to the sea’s final song. It is only a matter of time until it takes us. There is a great treasure on my ship which will soon sink. I will try to give you the cordinat…” That’s where it stopped. Confused, Frederick turned to the next page. It was blank…There was nothing written in any of the pages. He was right, there was a treasure but it was never going to be found. Disappointment. Anger. Frustration. He was feeling that all at once. A rush of fear went through his body. He was afraid he had to keep living like this. It was over, his dreams from the past three weeks were crushed in three seconds.    Frederick took his stuff, didn’t bother fixing the step, and changed the sign from ""Open” to “Closed. Then he left… ","August 17, 2023 17:48",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,fpnnii,Oh Brigita,Irene Cornwell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fpnnii/,/short-story/fpnnii/,Fiction,0,['Creative Nonfiction'],4 likes," This story contains sadness. Oh, Brigita. It has been a mere week and two days since you died. My daughter-in-law from heaven has actually gone to heaven. How I wish I could tell you our son Tim and I are talking everyday. As you would know, Tim is actually quite a silent soul. You, dear heart were the gatekeeper. You were the one with e-mail and face book posts and telephone calling. He needs to talk and I think it is very healthy. He is sharing every moment of these past three months. You didn't want to leave him or Jacob or Nora. He says this is why you were so quiet and so positive. He told me how very realistic doctor kept waiting for you to react to his diagnosis. And you didn't. It would be so like the Brigita I knew for you to reach toward treatment. When he canceled your chemo you found a way to continue. Tim told me last night how you wanted a root beer float and made a very small one. This little treat threw your fleeting system off. He told me how you would strive to gain weight and gain ground and then lose it again. I have learned of some magical moments. He told me how you and the children were looking for a relaxation spot ( before her illness ) and how you took a wrong turn and landed in a Provincial Park. You instantly feel in love with the landscape. A landscape of a small lake with white sandy beaches. It reminded you of your childhood home in Latvia. How you and Tim met is such a random happening. I actually take credit. I was manning a booth for our small family business at the World's Figure Skating Championships in Edmonton those over 30 years or so ago. I had made a serious mistake because people were only interested in the skating results. I could have had our booth on the ice surface and no one would have noticed our doll houses and toys. And so I talked Tim into manning the booth ""for just one day"". He wandered about and found the Latvian booth. Latvia had broken away from the Soviet Union and wanted the world to know they were open for private business. Tim is excellent with money and was buying stocks and bonds with an advisor. Curiosity about Latvia caused him to take a tract about Latvian young people wanting to honor their grandparents who had owned private businesses before the Soviet era. Wonderful Brigita. Your grandparents had owned a button factory. I always found that story visually pleasant. Tim was writing several people. Over time, the names dwindled down. To one name. Yours. And then their were the phone calls. You had learned English from an Irish teacher so you had an Irish accent. I remember at Christmas he went into a store while his dad and I waited in the car. He came out with a giant teddy bear to send to ""Brigita in Latvia"". One morning Tim announced he was flying to Latvia. Tim. Our very quiet son in his early twenties who had hardly been out of the Province of Alberta was crossing an ocean. And cross the ocean he did. You, dear heart, came to Canada. You met in Eastern Canada at Niagara Falls . Tim wasn't anxious for you to see our rural doll house building site and so he said ""Look at the time"". When you took a job in Sweden caring for children, he flew to Sweden. I still have the picture of you on a park swing in the Swedish city. The first picture I ever saw of you was on a Latvian beach. I had reached for it so quickly to see the face of this girl in our son's life. Lo and behold. It showed you bending down a great distance away on that sandy Latvian shore. I couldn't see your face. Such a lovely face your did have. A smiling, honest, pretty face. The tributes to you ( many, many tributes ) always mention your smile, your friendly ways and your love of your children. Jacob and Nora. It is so unfair that a sneaky, tip toe quiet, evil thnig called Pancreatic Cancer has taken your mother from you. I have a million memories of your mother telling me of your time together. Pictures of you walking to school with her by your side. Your horse-back riding lessons and ribbons you won. First day of school pictures. Trips to the Edmonton Science Center or to your small town parade on Canada Day. Tim told me how you didn't want an ambulance because you didn't want to see the realistic doctor. He told me how he carried you ""like a toddler"" into another hospital where a wonderful doctor let you believe there would be a ""tomorrow"". The doctor who let sleep in the hospital bed beside her. He described how your breathing changed and you slipped away. Do you know how proud I am of you both. You, Brigita for insisting on finding that ""tomorrow"" space and of Tim for listening to you. I understand. You didn't want to believe you were actually leaving. You wanted to beat the tiny little odds. Tim is being very open about the hard parts of losing you. Daily reminders of you everywhere. In every room. The forgetting for a moment you are gone. And finding the library keys. The keys to the library where you worked. The library you wouldn't leave five minutes before closing time. ""Someone might see me leaving my post early"". That is what the past three months were all about. My daughter-in-law from heaven who is now in heaven . You simply didn't want to leave. You crossed an ocean for love. You left your childhood home. You landed miles and miles away from the white sandy Latvian beach. You made new friends. You impressed your neighbors. You had just finished your training to be a teacher's aide. You wanted to close the library. ","August 17, 2023 18:01",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,24tq88,Book Bind Library,Leland Mesford,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/24tq88/,/short-story/24tq88/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Kids', 'Teens & Young Adult']",4 likes," Books towered above Ms. Pratipity on the shelves of the cozy aisle where she stood looking down at a little scrap of paper in her hand.  The phrase, ""Good luck,"" was followed by a little snicker, which caught and spread to the others. ""Yeah, good luck,"" was repeated from someplace behind Ms. Pratipity's knees. ""Yeah, good luck,"" was repeated again. This time from a spot in front of her, to her right.  Ms. Pratipity stepped to her right and put her hands on her sides, above her hips. ""Now, who said that?"", she asked. Then she stared at the row of books shelved directly in front of her. There was silence as she stared.  Several of the books at one side of the shelf laid flat. On the other side, a few stood straight. All the books in between leaned to the left in a long, crooked row of books. ""Yea, who said that?"", came from behind Ms. Pratipity's head somewhere to the left of her ear.  ""Yeah, who said that?"", came from up high farther to her right on the shelves in front of her. The remark was followed by a contagious snicker which spread quickly to several different places in the aisle.  Ms. Pratipity hardly even turned her body as she took a few swift steps towards the source of the remark. Her hands were still on her hips, and she lifted her chin to look up to the top of the shelves. ""Who's that?"", she asked as she continued to stare at the spot where the voice had come from. There, there were a handful of books sitting on a shelf, which was otherwise mostly empty. The books on the shelf answered her with silence. There were a few thick hardcover ones. One of which was taller than the other books it shared the shelf with. Several of the books were paperbacks. For the most part, those books were noticeably thinner than the hardcover books.  She staired at the silent books and waited for a response. ""Hmmm?"", she pressed when there was no answer.  After she persisted to stare for several seconds, two tiny eyes opened up on the spine of a tall slender paperback sandwiched between the tallest hard cover and a shorter one. The book said, ""It wasn't me,"" and its eyes shot two quick glances at the shorter hardcover book to its left. ""Hey, why look at me like that?"", the hardcover shot back. ""Well, it's you she's looking for."" The paper back retorted. The hardcover huffed aloud, and said, ""Well that's no excuse. It was Ms. Pratipity who started it after all! Wasn't it?"" At that, books all up and down the aisle chuckled and snickered. ""It was Ms. Pratipity,"" one said, and several others repeated, ""It was Ms. Pratipity,"" ""It was Ms. Pratipity."" ""Yeah, you started it, Ms. Pratipity,"" said one. ""Yeah, you did,"" said another. ""Oh, be serious you books,"" Ms. Pratipity said. ""I was only looking for the silly book who made the remark to begin with. Now, wasn't I?"" Then, she took the paper in her hand and waved it as a show, and said, ""Now, I have work to be getting on with. You silly books."" ""Which of us books are you looking for Ms. Pratipity?"", came a voice from somewhere farther down the aisle. There was a silence as the books waited for Ms. Pratipity to answer.  ""Oh, it's a nice book,"" said Ms. Pratipity.  Just then, a book behind her stifled a giggle. Ms. Pratipity turned around and said, ""What's this about? What's to giggle about?"" ""Oh, don't mind that book,"" said one book just in front of her. Another said, ""Yeah Ms. Pratipity. Tell us about the nice book you're looking for."" ""Yeah, what's so nice about it, Ms. Pratipity?"", asked another. ""The book I'm looking for teaches its readers about the wonders of the world,"" said Ms. Pratipity. ""That's nice,"" said a short white covered paperback just to the left of Ms. Pratipity's knees. ""Isn't it though?"", she said. ""Yeah, it's nice,"" said a book from somewhere behind her. ""I wish I knew about the wonders of the world,"" said a gruff voice a slight way to Ms. Pratipity's right. ""Oh, do you? Who's that there?"", said Ms. Pratipity, and peered closely at the books in that spot. She read the spine of a book out loud slowly, ""Lyman Cutler's Pig War,"" but the book said, ""No, it wasn't me,"" rather meekly. Then, with a scrunch of its little paperback lips and a nod of its little paperback face, the book notioned to the book it was beside, and quietly said, ""It was Theodore."" ""Yeah, Ms. Pratipity, it was me,"" the book said, in its gruff voice. Ms. Pratipity looked at the book's spine. ""Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders and the Spanish American War,"" she read aloud. ""You'd like to know about the wonders of the world, would you, Theodore?"", she asked. ""Yeah Ms. Pratipity. It's such a big world, and I don't know much about it,"" the book said. A voice from behind Ms. Pratipity said, ""Yeah, we're just books. We don't know much."" At that, a volley of laughter began. One book would laugh, and then, when it had finished, another would laugh. The volley of laughs moved from one spot to another, all over the aisle. Ms. Pratipity straightened and said, ""Now you books are teasing me."" ""Not me, Ms. Pratipity,"" said Theodore. ""I really don't know about the wonders of the world."" ""Me neither,"" came another voice from a long way down the aisle. ""Don't mind those books, Ms. Pratipity,"" came a voice very familiar to Ms. Pratipity. To her, the voice sounded like a cloud of big burgundy rubber bubbles. Of course, a voice couldn't sound like bubbles, but any time the book spoke, if she closed her eyes and listened, she dreamt of big rubber bubbles appearing with each word and then vanishing into an inky, black background. She turned around and walked to where she knew the set of books would be. ""Ah, Mr. Encyclopedia of the World's history. I see you're all together,"" she said. Often times, the eleven book encyclopedia set, with the voice that sounded like burgundy rubber bubbles, was not altogether. Throughout the day, students would take bits and pieces of him to the study area, where big heavy maple study desks and sturdy maple chairs were sorted on top of a burgundy carpet. There, they would search his books, through and through, for facts that they could use in their papers. ""Why yes, Ms. Pratipity, I am altogether here on my shelf at the moment. It seems world history has had a slow turn of events in classrooms this week,"" came his bubbly voice from out of thick brown lips that looked somewhat like leather stuffed full of cotton, though they were neither leather nor where they stuffed with cotton.  The encyclopedia set was only a few inches above Ms. Pratipity's eyes, and it was alone on its shelf. The shelf was nearly filled entirely, from left to right, with books belonging to the set. She looked at the long row of books, which she knew to be Mr. Encyclopedia of the World's history, and she said, ""Well aren't you a long row of books when your all together?"" Mr. Encyclopedia replied, ""Well the world has a long history, and I make every effort to make each and every significant detail available to the nice young students who come to me for facts."" ""And you do a fine job of it,"" said Ms. Pratipity. ""Yeah, he does,"" came a voice from the shelf beside Mr. Encyclopedia. ""He does,"" came another voice, one from somewhere behind Ms. Pratipity. ""Ms. Pratipity,"" Mr. Encyclopedia said, ""might you tell us more about the book you're looking for?"" ""The book I'm looking for is called The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World,"" said Ms. Pratipity. ""The Magical Wonders,"" came a deep voice from near Ms. Pratipity's waist. Then, ""Of Our Natural World,"" followed in a higher pitched voice from the same location.  Ms. Pratipity looked down at the shelf the books had spoken from and said, ""Mr. World War One and Mrs. World War Two, do the wonders of our world interest the pair of you?"" Mr. World War One said, in his deep voice, ""Magical Wonders of Our Natural World sounds absolutely wonderous."" Then, Mrs. World War Two said, in her higher pitched voice, ""It sounds absolutely magicalous, too."" Mr. Encyclopedia asked, ""Is it really a book about magic, Ms. Pratipity?"" ""Oh, no, it's not that,"" Ms. Pratipity answered. ""Its a book about the wonders of Earth that nature has created. There's really nothing magical about nature, now is there?"" ""Well then, why is it titled Magical Wonders, Ms. Pratipity?"", asked a book form farther down the aisle. ""I'm sure it's just meant to be an aw inspiring flourish of words,"" said Ms. Pratipity. ""There's nothing wrong with that in a title is there? Besides, the book explains the theory behind how the wonders of the world came to be. If the wonders at first appear to be magical, and then the book explains why they are not, well then, the title just makes sense then doesn't it?"" ""Why it certainly does, Ms. Pratipity,"" said Mr. Encyclopedia. ""It certainly does,"" chimed in Mr. World War One and Mrs. World War Two, in unison. Ms. Pratipity looked down at the piece of paper and said, ""The book should be at 97.9485 Ned, so if you books will excuse me, there is a student who will be along to pick the book up shortly."" Then, she walked down the aisle to the shelf where the book should be. After she had looked the shelf over for several long moments and not found the book, a hushed ""sshh"" came from somewhere on the shelves behind her. When Ms. Pratipity put her hands back on her sides and turned around to look for the sshh'ing book on that side of the aisle, another hushed ""sshh"" sound came from somewhere on the side of the aisle she'd just turned her back on. ""What's all this shushing about?"", she asked. ""And where on the shelves might The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World be, being that it's not in its catalogued location?"" ""The Magical Wonders isn't the only one,"" came a voice from a little way down the aisle. At that, books all over the aisle hushed the book who had spoken up. ""My, my, all you books! What is all this hushing about?"", Ms. Pratipity asked. Then, when she did, another series of hushes happened all over the aisle. One book said, ""Don't tell her,"" which was repeated by a few other books in different spots all over the aisle. ""Don't tell her,"" ""don't tell her,"" they whispered. Ms. Pratipity repeated the renegade book's words, ""The Magical Wonders isn't the only one."" Then she hmm'ed to herself while she examined the catalogue numbers of the books on the shelf in front of her. ""My, my,"" she said as she pulled a book from the shelf ""Just how did you get here, Adventures of Cavalier Carl? You most certainly belong on the fiction aisle."" ""Wherever I lay my head, I call home,"" said Cavalier Carl from where he was held in Ms. Pratipity's hand. Ms. Pratipity began examining the books on each shelf. There were many other fiction books on the aisle. There were adventure books, fairytale books, mystery books, and many more. ""My, you books are such a mess,"" said Ms. Pratipity. ""It's a shame I can't find The Magical Wonders. It's for such an especially nice young student."" At that, books began hushing one another all up and down the aisle. Mr. Encyclopedia's rubbery bubbly voice sounded above all the hushing though. He said, ""Whatever is so especially nice about this particular student, Ms. Pratipity?"" Ms. Pratipity said, ""Well, though all students are mostly very nice young men and women, and very well intentioned, this particular student is going to join the Peace Brigade after he graduates. Isn't that a nice thing to do?"" At that, books all up and down the aisle voiced their agreement. Ms. Pratipity said, ""It's too bad that I have to spend all this time straightening out you books in order to fill the nice young student's book hold. It may make things rather difficult for him before he graduates. Besides, there are still many other students who have holds on books they'll need in order to graduate."" ""Oh, but us books are such a mess,"" said a book just in font of Ms. Pratipity. ""Yeah, Ms. Pratipity, we're a mess,"" said the book just beside the first one. ""Well, if you books will help me fill the hold on The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World, and on all of the other holds I have for today,"" said Ms. Pratipity, ""I promise I'll come back and sort you mess of books out later."" Mr. Encyclopedia spoke up at that. He said, ""Well, since we need to be sorted, and Ms. Pratipity needs to fill student holds, why don't we books help Ms. Pratipity now. Then she can help us later. That way every one gets the help they need, us books, as well as all of Ms. Pratipity's students. Books all up and down the aisle debated the idea amongst themselves. Then eventually, after much whispering debate in small close groups, a general consensus was decided upon. ""Ok,"" declared small groups of books all over the aisle, one after another, as they confirmed agreement with each previous group's consent. ""Ok, sounds good,"" ""ok, brilliant idea,"" some said. ""Well fine then,"" said Mr. Encyclopedia. ""So, it's settled. We books will help Ms. Pratipity find The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World, then.""  ""Fine then,"" ""fine then,"" came agreement from each opposite end of the aisle. ""Ms. Pratipity, we books will accept your suggestion and help you find your books if you'll help us straighten ourselves out,"" said Mr. Encyclopedia. ""Thank you,"" said Ms. Pratipity, ""your help will be every welcomed."" ""Alright you books,"" said Mr. Encyclopedia, in his bubbly voice, ""let's help Ms. Pratipity find The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World."" Then, after a moment of silence all up and down the aisle of book shelves, Ms. Pratipity said, ""Well, dear, it must be a shy book since it hasn't spoken up yet. We'll have to help it."" At that, little book eyes opened on the spines of all of the books on the aisle. Their tiny eyes looked at the titles of the books beside them to search for the one with ""The Magical Wonders of Our Natural World"" printed on its spine.  It was hardly any time at all before a quiet voice said, in what was a feint whisper, ""It's here next to me on the end of my shelf."" ""It's next to a shy book,"" said Mr. Encyclopedia. ""Where is your shelf shy book?"" ""Over here with letter P,"" whispered the book. Ms. Pratipity followed its voice to a shelf that was at her knees about a quarter of the way from one end of the aisle. She looked at one end of the shelf, but it wasn't there. Then, she looked at the other end and found it there. ""Oh, you quiet book,"" she said, and pulled it off the shelf. ","August 17, 2023 22:24","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'Interesting take on the prompt. I like the jdea that books talk to the librarian, and that they have their own personalities. That was fun. Thanks.', 'time': '17:04 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Leland Mesford': 'Thank you. I enjoyed writing it, too.', 'time': '20:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Thank you. I enjoyed writing it, too.', 'time': '20:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,9sw1jg,A Proper Proposal (A Man Named Journey Side Story),Samuel Bowen,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9sw1jg/,/short-story/9sw1jg/,Fiction,0,['Fantasy'],4 likes,"   In the Land of Everdream, there lived a man by the name of Journey. On this particular afternoon, he stood barefoot in a library bouncing back and forth from foot to foot. The elderly librarian sighed as he put a leatherbound book back on the shelf. Every book had a different colored cover, but had the same golden letters embroidered to declare their contents. The librarian dusted his hands on his crimson scholar robes. “What was it you were looking for again?” Sage the librarian said turning as slow as a turtle on a summer’s day. He would have said ‘youngin’, but Journey’s silver hair and youthful face threw off his judgment of age. Journey frowned for a moment. “Well…” he said. “I’m not entirely sure.” Sage sighed again. 40 years of finding books for people did become exhausting.  “It’s for a lady,” Journey said. “Although I don't know what book she wants.” Sage nodded with an affirmative ‘ah’.  “The tradition is a bit new for me,” Journey said blushing. “I didn’t quite know where to start.” “Well, I can assure you,” Sage smiled kindly. “It would be much easier to find the right book when the options are narrowed down.” “Any chance of helping me narrow it down?” Journey asked with a pleading look. Sage scratched his chin and brushed tangles out of his long white beard.  “Well I can try,” he said. “But I must sit down first. I think it will take a while.”  Journey held out an arm, but the librarian waved him away. He might be old, but he did not need assistance quite yet. Sage sat down on a wooden rocking chair. Journey began to pace back and forth. He watched the fellow pace with a slight chuckle. The poor gentlemen had no idea where to start. After a minute of pacing, sitting, and a good lot of thinking, Sage spoke up.  “Let’s begin with what we know,” Sage said. Journey looked at him quizzically. “You’re intending to find a book that a lass likes, yes?” “Not just any book,” Journey said. “And not for just any woman either.” Sage nodded. “A particular young lady’s favorite book, perhaps?” Journey blushed. “Indeed. However, It was mentioned that I can’t ask her what it would be.”  Sage grinned. “Those are the rules of the tradition. So it’s to be an engagement book then?” Journey’s face somehow turned even redder than before, but he smiled and nodded. “You picked a good place to start,” Sage said. “Best place to find the proper book is where we keep all the books.” Journey went back to pacing. “I just didn’t realize how many books there are!” Sage chuckled at that. A full hour had gone by with the fellow deciding which section of the library to start with.  “First you got to know which genre the book would be,” Sage said. “Much harder than it seems,” Journey said. “I was asking all around to figure it out. Father said she grew up reading fairy tales. Mother said she loved history. She’s a smart one, loves learning all sorts of strange things. She’ll talk about anything from the Eversong and the keepers to things like herbs and plants. Not to mention in the same conversation she’ll tell a hundred tales straight out of history books.” Sage ran his hand through his beard. Maybe he should trim it when it got past his belly? Short enough to stay out of trouble, yet long enough to impress the youngsters. Journey stopped and stared at Sage expectantly. It was then that Sage realized he had stopped paying attention. He sat up and furrowed his brow.  “You mentioned quite a lot there,” Sage said. “But what’s her favorite?”  Journey blinked. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” “Oh,” Sage said. “Right you are… Well maybe go with something she talks about in a special sort of way.” Journey frowned in concentration. “She seems like a woman of many passions,” Sage said. “A jack of all trades, which I see is why you have trouble finding the right book.” Journey nodded in agreement. “Still!” Sage said with determination. “Even a collector of bits and bobbles has a favorite among them.” The pacing back and forth began again. Sage took this time to rock back and forth. After quite a long silence, the rocking stopped. Journey nearly jumped when the old man began snoring. Not wanting to startle the librarian, Journey decided to search the shelves again. Book after book he pulled from the shelves. He went through anything and everything he could find. From history such as The Archived Report of the First Dragon to the sciences like Lady Hilberry’s All Encompassing Herbology. From Fairy Tales like Elwood and the Forgotten Stone to Mysteries such as A Bloody Knight.  Journey went back and forth between what he thought lady Melody would appreciate. Practical or Fantastical? Journey panted for breath as time ticked by. Surely there had to be a book in here that would capture what she loved. Journey began to pace back and forth again. The sun rays drooped lower through the windows than Journey would have liked. He was running out of time if he intended to propose at Sunset! How long did he have? Hours? Minutes? Journey almost slapped himself, he still had to meet her before the sun set!  Out of time, he thought to himself. He had to find her favorite book. What would she choose? Something practical, but fantastical. Something artful, but historical. Something mysterious and thought provoking. As Journey paced, his toe caught on a book. With a stifled yelp, Journey looked down to see what he had stubbed his foot on. Sage snorted as he awoke and Journey picked up a small purple book. A broad grin spread across his face as he held it. The Epic of Aima by M. Hawenstone. Journey turned to face the librarian who was quite shocked. Journey held it out and Sage took it.  “This is the one!” Journey said. “Practical, historical and thought provoking, while being artful, fantastical and riddled with mystery! It has to be it!” Sage stared at the library floor that was now covered in books of all kinds. The Starlink Files were tumbled next to Sir Jerryton and the Great Oak which sat under Clouds or Stormlings?. Sage’s bones ached at the thought of having to pick them all up.  “Oh,” Journey said as he saw the pile.  “Oh indeed,” Sage said, leaning to pick up a book. “My good fellow,” Journey said. “I will help you pick all these up, I promise.” Sage smiled. “How kind of you.” “However,” Journey said. “I will have to be quick…” Sage looked at him and handed Journey the book.  “I can wait until after she says yes,” Sage said.  Journey grinned like a starry eyed fool. He said many thanks and began to rush out the door. Yet as the door began to close, Journey peaked back in as Sage picked up a book or two and placed them back in their proper places.  “I’ll help put them all back in order! I’ll come back as soon as I can!” he said. And as the door closed, Sage chuckled. “He’ll have to come back with payment too.” Sage smiled to himself as he worked. No longer minding the job as he reminisced on youth and remembered the eagerness of the man named Journey.  Journey himself ran down the street with book in hand to meet Lady Melody just in time for the sunset. ","August 18, 2023 04:08",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,ei27f3,"A Knight, a Toad, and a Cat, go into a Library",David B Fraser,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ei27f3/,/short-story/ei27f3/,Fiction,0,['Fantasy'],4 likes,"    Margaret steadied herself on the ladder. She held on with one hand as the other was pressed against her white blouse trying to calm her heart against the height she had climbed. She lifted the same hand to run a finger along the heavy tomes stored up here. Coats of Arms. Heraldry. Gwynn-Jones. Emblems. Black, Farrel, Howells, Rowlands, Ward.    Margaret looked down. At the foot the rolling library ladder was a knight, a toad, and a cat, looking up at her, expectantly. Of course, Margaret wasn’t sure it was a knight at all. It was a suit of armor certainly, that had appeared when she was closing up for the evening. It did not speak. She could not make out eyes in the slots of the knight’s helm, but she checked that the bottom edge of her skirt wasn’t riding up. Just to be sure. Margaret adjusted her winged glasses to try to get a look again at the design of the surcoat the knight was wearing. It showed some sort of red lion and a thistle, on a shield, over a fallen dragon, or the loch ness monster for all Margaret knew.    She removed a heavy oversized tome on Scottish Heraldry and juggled it down with her, until her feet were once again safe on the floor. She put it on an old long wooden table. The knight moved to the other side of the table. He held up a gauntlet pointing to his chest.    “Yes, I know.” Margaret snapped. “It might help if you talked. If you told me what you want. I’m trying to find out where you’re from. That might be a clue. Unless you have a clue for me?”    The knight shook its head. It held something in its right gauntlet which Margaret had not really looked at before now. It was a toad. The knight was holding a toad. A pudgy cat jumped up on a nearby chair and onto the wooden table. It marched across the table to the toad in the knight’s gauntlet. The knight was quick enough to hold the toad away before the cat could get it.    The cat gave up the prey and walked on Margaret’s now open book and sat himself on it. He started to clean himself, nonchalantly. Margaret grabbed the cat gently by the scruff and underneath the arms. “Yes, I remember you when he came in.” She said. She stopped for a moment noticing a collar around the cat. She inspected the tag. ‘Mr. Cuddles’.    Mr. Cuddles bit at her hand twice, holding the second time. They locked eyes. Mr. Cuddles had not broken her skin. He changed tactics and decided to lick her hand instead. Margaret rolled her eyes and removed him from the table, lowering him to the floor. He headbutted her ankles and did figure eights around them.    Margaret turned the pages of the tome with care. She looked up to see the knight shaking his head and tapping his chest. Only he wasn’t making any sound. She could see the gauntlet tapping the breast plate, but there wasn’t any sound. She closed the book.    “Look, this is a waste of time. All this information is available on computers out there in the main branch. We’re not even supposed to be in here. This area is closed to be renovated and restored when we can get the funding. Now, let me go out there and just put your… your symbols into the computer’s search engine and it will tell us who you are. Possibly.”    The knight stood his ground. He held the toad in one gauntlet, while pointing with other back and forth to the worn, dusty, shelves surrounding them. Mr. Cuddles had set himself down on the floor between them, licking his paws. Margaret folded her arms in a stand off.    The held their places until Mr. Cuddles got up and came over to Margaret and attacked her ankles.   “Alright!” she said, reaching down to push away Mr. Cuddles. “But you have to give me a clue.” She shouted at the knight.    The knight offered her the toad. After a moment she dug through her purse on the long table and found some tissues. She held up a hand covered in several tissues and the knight placed the toad on it. Mr. Cuddles cried for the toad, but she held it up from him. The knight bent and picked up Mr. Cuddles. Mr. Cuddles, despite his size, managed to turned about in midair, and run up the knight’s chain mail and arm guard, to perch on his shoulder plate.    The knight moved to the shelves, as if he and Mr. Cuddles often travelled this way.    The knight went to the far left of the three-storey room to begin his search of the book shelves. Mr. Cuddles wagged his tail to show he was unhappy with this choice. The knight moved along the shelves. The tail wagging got stronger. The knight did not tary, smoothly gliding further right. Finally, they came to a stop. Mr. Cuddles purred on the shoulder plate, brushing against the knight’s helm.    As Margaret approached, Mr. Cuddles pawed at the books on the shelf in front of the knight. Margaret looked.    “This is poetry. This is the poetry section. You want me to read to you?”    The knight tilted its helm as if aghast by the suggestion. Mr. Cuddles was thrown off balance and dropped to the floor. The knight gestured to the shelf.    Margaret began on the left of the shelf taking each book out and examining its title and author. This gave her no clues. She saw a book further down slightly pulled out from the rest. It had a tear on its spine. She looked down to see Mr. Cuddles chewing on one of his paws. A small thin patch of leather appeared to be stuck on one of his claws. She looked at the tear on book.    “Oh, you’re a terror, aren’t you.” She admonished. Mr. Cuddles stretched and ignored her.    Margaret looked at the knight who was nodding. She still held the toad in one tissued hand. She tried to leaf through the small book of poetry with the other. As awkward as it was, she got to the middle of the book to find a pressed flower inside. It may have lain there for centuries.    The knight reached over and took the withered petals. From these dry crumbled fragments, a fresh white flower bloomed in his gauntlet. He held it to his chest and then faded away. He was gone.    Mr. Cuddles broke the silence with a cry for food. Margaret held the toad closer to protect it. “So, he was pointing to his heart the whole time. I thought it was his shirt. His coat of arms. Well, he’s a knight, right?” She seemed to be talking to the toad. “How was I supposed to know that?”    She sat down at the long table with the toad. With her free hand she started rummaging through her purse. “Well, I don’t need a knight, anyway. And I don’t… I don’t think… I’m not going to need you, either. Sorry.” She pulled out more tissues. Nail clippers. A tiny travelling sewing kit. Glass cleaner and a little shammy. Two wrapped butterscotch hard candies. And finally, a slightly linty, wrapped chocolate kiss.    She unwrapped the chocolate kiss. “Here.” She offered the toad. The toad’s tongue shot out and pulled the kiss back into its mouth. After some swollen breathing, or some swollen swallowing motion, Margaret was unsure which, the toad disappeared and a doubletted prince appeared. The freckled faced youth looked about the room in confusion. He smiled shyly at Margaret.    “Yeah, I’m really, not looking for you, either. Sorry.”       Margaret led the young man to the front exit. She didn’t even question why he hadn’t disappeared as the knight had done. She left him on the stoop to go out and discover the new world while she returned to the oldest wing of the library to finish locking up.    When she got back, Mr. Cuddles was halfway into her purse, and scratching and burrowing his way deeper. “Mr. Cuddles!”    He stopped and stuck his head out above the purse. Margaret sat down and looked at him. “So, you’re the third one of this lonely trio. What are you looking for?”    Mr. Cuddles looked at her and sat back on his haunches, exposing his ample belly. He rolled onto his back completely and his eyes widened inviting her attention. She laughed, and started putting things back in her purse. She stopped when she reached the sewing kit. She unwound a length of thread from the kit and dangled it over Mr. Cuddles.    He batted at it, manically. Mr. Cuddles righted himself on his paws and chased the thread about. At times Margaret would dangle it above him, and at other times she would slowly draw it away from him across the table. He would crouch frequently into pounce mode before making his attempts to conquer the string.    As Margaret’s evening got even later, they played. ","August 14, 2023 23:55","[[{'S. A. McNaughton': 'That was fun! My favorite part was her giving the toad a ""kiss"" and then shooing him out of the library. How did you come up with this idea?', 'time': '19:57 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'David B Fraser': 'Thank you! I had the ghost of the knight in empty armor in my head, but then he leaves the librarian all alone. I thought of a frog prince for her, but then thought better of her falling for that. Mr. Cuddles I used in another story and really enjoy writing him.', 'time': '20:39 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'David B Fraser': 'Thank you! I had the ghost of the knight in empty armor in my head, but then he leaves the librarian all alone. I thought of a frog prince for her, but then thought better of her falling for that. Mr. Cuddles I used in another story and really enjoy writing him.', 'time': '20:39 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Kiss a toad you get a prince. A string is nothing but a plaything to a cat. The flower of long lost love.', 'time': '14:13 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,3st9o3,On My Recommendation,Sydney Crago,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3st9o3/,/short-story/3st9o3/,Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Friendship']",4 likes," The phone on the desk rang again. “Annabeth?” Lindsey called over her shoulder, “can you get that?” The phone’s ringer was interrupted mind tone as the library’s assistant lifted the dated receiver from its cradle, stretching the tangled spirals of its cord as she pressed it to the side of her face. Lindsey dragged her finger along the spines of the books marking her progress as she scanned the white, laminated labels for “GRE”. As she did, she heard her associate say, “Yes, we do have a copy, but I’m afraid you are the third person this morning to call about it. I could put your name on the hold list if you like?” Lindsey shook her head, What is going on today? She wondered. The woman tilted her head to read the spines of the books as she searched for the one she wanted: Sister Stardust, Paper Towns, Blame It on Paris. She shook her head with disbelief. There it was. The spine was just shy of an inch wide and made of solid navy blue cloth with silver letters inset: “That I Knew” by P. Greene. Lindsey touched her index finger to the top of the book and tilted it toward her. She noted the fine layer of dust atop its pages as she pulled it free from its place among the other tomes.  She clutched it in both her hands, staring at it cover, which bore only a single strand of ivy pressed in the same silver ink. The dust jacket must be missing, she thought, as she wove between the stacks of books without looking up, like a mouse trained to find its way through a maze by memory alone.  “You found it?” Annabeth looked up from the computer screen as Lindsey approached the desk. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard mid-stroke.  “I did,” Lindsey shook her head, clearing away the flood of questions trying to pour into her brain, letting only one remain. “Who requested it first?”  Annabeth looked back to the computer, pulling up a new tab of the library’s catalog and typed in the title. She pressed enter, and waited while the decade-old machine worked to pull up the name. “That last call also put in a hold for it.” The young woman shook her head. “That makes four this morning.”  “What has gotten into this town?” Lindsey asked, more to herself than to her assistant. She shook her head as she pulled a yellow Post-It note free from the stack on the desk and stuck it to the top of the desk. She unclipped the blue pen from the lanyard she wore draped around her neck and clicked it, preparing the scrawl the name of the book’s recipient.  “It’s not just our town.” Annabeth said, clicking the first name on the screen. “That last call was from Cleveland.” BROWN, CAMILLE S shown on the screen. Lindsey jotted the name down on the Post-It as she spoke, “Why would they be calling us?” “Inter-library loan request.” Annabeth said, taking the book from Lindsey’s outstretched hand. “Must be something in the water.” She placed it on the shelf behind the desk, next to three Bridgerton romances and the newest James Patterson novel, all of which bore a similar Post-It note label. “I’ll say. Four calls in an hour for a book that probably hasn’t been check out in ten years.” Lindsey slid her arms free from the oversized cardigan that she wore and draped it on the hook beside the holds shelf. Annabeth stood from the desk and crossed behind her boss as she made her way toward the overnight book drop. “I’ll send Camille Brown an email that it’s ready for her.” Lindsey said, already tapping away on the computer Annabeth hand momentarily abandoned.  When phone rang again at 12:02, just moments into the librarians’ afternoon, they both let out a sigh. Between the pre-school story hour, the senior citizen book club meeting, and a parade of homeschoolers on their weekly scour of the non-fiction section, they’d barely had time to breath on any Wednesday morning, but today’s persistent stream of phone calls and emails had them both dreaming of coffee drinks with extra espresso shots and the silence of their commutes home.  “Ten bucks it’s another hold request.” Annabeth said under her breath to Lindsey. Lindsey shook her head, “I know better than to take that bet today.” She answered as she reached for the phone. “Glenfield Public Library, Lindsey speaking.”  The chipper voice on the other end spoke, “Hi Lindsey, this is Nicole Arnold from the New York Times. I was hoping you might have a moment to talk.” “I’m sorry,” Lindsey waved her hand at Annabeth, trying to get her attention, as she said, “Did you say you were from the New York Times?” Annabeth’s eyes grew wide as she mouthed THE NEW YORK TIMES in a silent scream. The voice on the other end laughed, “I did! I actually get that response pretty often. Is now a good time to chat?”  Lindsey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the one not pressed to the phone’s receiver, as she spoke, “I- I’m really not sure how I can help you.” “I’m trying to locate a copy of ‘That I Knew’ by P. Greene, and I believe that the Glenfield Public Library has a copy. Can you confirm that?” “Yes, we do have a copy of the book. In fact, our phones have been ringing all morning about it.” Lindsey’s words travelled into the phone’s speaker, but she said them more to Annabeth than to the woman on the other end of the line. Annabeth’s mouth fell open. The book, she mouthed. Lindsey nodded as she listened. “Do you still have the copy in your possession? Has anyone checked it out yet?” The reporter spoke quickly, a sense of desperation in her voice. “For the moment, it’s still in the library, but we did notify the first person in line for it that it’s ready to pick up.”Annabeth watched as Lindsey wiggled the computer’s mouse, waking up the computer to display the library’s catalog that was still open to the book in question. “It looks like the waitlist is 12 people long now.” She added. The reporter sighed, “I know this is a long shot. But is there any way that I could have you overnight it to me instead?” “Overnight it to you?” Lindsey’s voice rang with shock. “I know, I know,” The reporter pleaded, “Call it unethical, atypical, whatever you want.” She sighed. “To be honest, I’m a little more desperate than I’d like to admit, but I think this could be huge. I’m willing to make you a deal of course, spin the story in a way that works for you, for small town libraries?”  Lindsey closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Nicole was it?” She asked. “Yes, Nicole Arnold.” “I’m having a very weird day, and it seems to be all about his book. Why is it suddenly so important?” “You haven’t seen the story yet?” “What story?” “What’s the best email for you?” Nicole asked. Lindsey could hear her typing away on a keyboard on the other end of the line.  “I have my library inbox open right now.” Lindsey clicked from the catalog management system to the email icon on her computer screen. She rattled off her email address.  A few moments later, Nicole spoke, “Sent.” “Our system is slow,” she sighed into the phone. “Can I call you back in 15 minutes.” “Just set the phone down, if you need to,” Nicole said. “I’ll wait.” “Iswear I’ll call you right back.” Lindsey shook her head. “Really,” Nicole insisted, “it’s no trouble. I’ll wait.” The computer chimed with a notification of a new email’s arrival. Lindsey set the phone down on the desk, and clicked on the message. It read,  Lindsey, Here’s the article link. Skip down to the sixth question. It will explain it all. -Nicole Lindsey clicked the link, opening a new page in her computer’s browser. At the top of the page there was a photo of a man wearing glasses and a black T-shirt bearing Alice Cooper’s face. The man was reclined on a green park bench, legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. His face bore a smirk. Even without the headline Lindsey would have recognized him: Herman Willis, the nation’s, perhaps the world’s best-selling and notoriously private author. The headline under the photo read, “What Willis Wants You To Know.” Lindsey scrolled through the in-depth article, counting the bolded questions as she went until she reached the sixth one: “What would you say was the moment that sparked your career as an author?” Willis’s answer was this, “I had a part time gig at a publishing house the summer after I graduated college. It was a small outfit, just a handful of literary agents working for a subsidiary of one of the big guys. I took the job mainly to see if I wanted to be in the industry, but secretly, I was hoping to be an author instead. I spent the entire summer reading through the slush pile, hunting for diamonds amongst all the slop. It made me see what other people were writing, namely a bunch of sad, disillusioned men dreaming up lives of behaving badly. I was so close to giving up on it all, not just being an author, but on the publishing industry. I kept thinking, this stuff is just the same thing over and over again, and I don’t want to write anything like this. “But then I tore open an envelope one Friday afternoon, and it changed everything. I started reading the manuscript and, my god, I’d never seen anything like it. I finished it the next day and had read it through again before I came back in on Monday morning. When I took it to the one agent’s office, I told him, if he only didn’t say yes to this one, I would quit on the spot. “I don’t know if that was really much of a threat, but they did print it. It didn’t chart well, granted I think that was marketing’s fault and not the author’s. I mean, the book had the best twist I had ever read. It’s out of print now, but if you even come across a copy of ‘That I Knew’ by P. Greene, drop everything else you’re doing and read it. Reading that book for is what made me want to spend my whole life trying to write something that would top it. I never have though, in my opinion no one has, and it’s possible no one ever will.” Lindsey stood from the the rolling desk chair and took the book down from the holds shelf. She reached for the phone and tucked it between her shoulder and her ear as she took her seat again and spoke. “Hi? Are you still there?” Nicole answered, “Still here! Did you read my article.” “You did the interview with Willis?” Lindsey blurted, setting the book down in front of her and cracked open the cover. “Sorry, I mean,” she tried to back track. “He never does interviews. How’d you get him to agree?” The woman on the other end of the line laughed, “A lot of begging, a well-timed proposal, and a mutual love of classic rock.” Nicole cleared her throat before she continued. “Listen, I didn’t think anything of that question when I wrote it up, but now the whole world wants to read the book Willis thinks is the best there is. The editor is begging for a follow-up on ‘That I Knew’, but I can’t find a copy anywhere.” “There isn’t one in New York City?” Lindsey raised her eyebrows and cast a glance at Annabeth, who was still trying to keep tabs on the conversation between helping the line of senior citizens returning books and checking out new ones following their book club meeting. “It’s been out of print for nearly 35 years. I’ve been making calls all morning. It seems that every library I can find either discarded their copies decades ago or has already loaned it out.” Lindsey flipped past the book’s flyleaf and front matter, as Nicole talked. Until she reached the front page, and sucked in a sharp, quick breath. “Lindsey?” Nicole asked. “You’re never going to believe this.” She whispered into the phone.  “What? Is, is the book gone?”  “No,” Lindsey reached across the space between her and Annabeth and tapped the other woman on the arm. “Our copy, it’s signed.” “You have a signed copy?” Nicole whispered.  “More than signed,” Lindsey shook her head. “It’s inscribed: To my local library, I’m honored to have my own book amongst your shelves.” “Don’t mail me the book.” Nicole said. “I’m coming to you instead.” The phone line clicked, leaving Lindsey listening to a dial tone. She set the phone back into its cradle. “You okay, Linds?” Annabeth cast glance at her. “I think,” Lindsey’s eyebrows raised. “She’s coming here.” “What? Why?” Annabeth dropped the book she was holding. The thump of it landing on the desk turned every head in the room.  “This book.” Lindsey held up the novel, still bearing the Post-It note with Camille’s name. “The author is local.” She shrugged. “Or at least was local at the time.”  “Huh,” Annabeth reached for the book she had dropped and held it under the red light of the scanner once again. “I don’t know any Greenes”  The man on the other side of the desk stared at the two women from underneath his untamed, white eyebrows. “You should ask the book club. They know everything about everyone, at least that’s what my wife says.” The man turned to look over his shoulder, “Margie, do you now any Greenes?” The man’s wife, Margie, was standing in the door frame with another woman, but turned to look at her husband. “Greenes?” She asked, shooting a glance to the woman next to her. “Penny, wasn’t your maiden name Greene?” Now it was the woman’s turn to look surprised. “It was.” She nodded. “Why do you need to know, Harold?”  “Any of your family write a book?” He asked. The woman’s cheeks colored red, standing out brightly against her pale skin and tastefully styled gray pixie-cut. “Why, yes.” She said, in nearly a whisper. “I did.” Annabeth and Lindsey rose from their seats. Annabeth’s mouth gaped open, while Lindsey found the words to speak. “What was it called, Penny?” “Oh no one’s ever heard of it, I’m sure.” She batted the air dismissively and rolled her eyes. “It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t very popular.” “Please, Penny.” Lindsey whispered.  “Well, if you must know,” she sighed. “It was called ‘That I Knew.” Penny had been shocked when she read the article, and even more shocked when Lindsey told her that a reporter for the New York Times was on her way to Glenfield. But, now as the four women sat in a diner booth, each one with a cup of coffee in front of them, (decaf for Lindsey and Penny, full caffeine for Nicole and Annabeth), the shock seemed to have worn off. Nicole’s phone sat out in the center of the table, the red button showing the conversation was being recorded. “So, tell me,” she said. “Tell me about your book.” “My first baby was a terrible sleeper.” Penny laughed. “And I was so nervous about it all, that when I did sleep, I had these wild, vivid dreams. And well,” she shrugged. “The only way I could make any sense out of them was to start writing them out and giving them different endings.” Nicole nodded, encouraging her to keep talking, which Penny did. “After a while, one of the dreams kept coming back, over and over. So, I kept giving it different endings, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually, I just, well, I just leaned in. I went dark with it. A whole book later, I was the one giving people nightmares.” Penny leaned forward, as if about to tell a secret. “Have you read it yet?” The three women shook their heads. Penny leaned back against the red vinyl of the booth. “Well, let’s just say then, that I wasn’t ready for the world to associate that story, with me, especially not in a small town like this.” She took a sip of her coffee then continued. “People always have so many opinions on each other. When I decided to submit it to a publisher, on a whim, I used my maiden name. I didn’t even tell my Bert, God rest his soul, never thought anything would come of it.” “So, your husband didn’t know you published a book?” Nicole asked. “No,” she shrugged. “He would have been supportive of course, but it was a different time, and I didn’t want to answer too many questions. It’s really got quite a bit of blood and vileness to it, you know, not what you’d expect from a young mom. I just used the advance to pay for a beach vacation, told him I got a bonus at work, and he never knew the difference. I was a bookkeeper for decades so I kept track of the family money too.” “What do you think of Willis calling out your book?” Nicole took a sip of her own coffee. “Honored, of course.” Penny smiled. “A bit shocked, I might add. He did always strike me as a man of good taste though.” She winked. Annabeth cleared her throat and gave Nicole a glance before speaking. Nicole nodded, giving her permission. “Did you stop writing just because the dreams were gone?” Penny laughed, “Who said I stopped writing?” ","August 18, 2023 21:23",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,r4pbc5,"Childhood Memories, Grownup Dreams",Revay Michael,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/r4pbc5/,/short-story/r4pbc5/,Fiction,0,"['Inspirational', 'Creative Nonfiction', 'Happy']",4 likes," My eyes filled with tears and worry while I desperately retraced my steps in the last hour. I wished so badly that the library was empty or that I could just be left alone, undisturbed for the next half hour.""Do you have a pen I can borrow?""My worried thoughts were interrupted by a freckled face teen. I patiently stopped my search and handed a pen with care and consideration to her and then walked away briskly to continue my search. My heart flooded with pain and anguish, my mind was already trying to figure out how I would or could move forward and comprehend such a loss. I felt my soul being crushed in agony and despair and I was filled with an overwhelming emotion in my chest and throat. I silently screamed and cried inside my broken body while having to display outward professionalism.""Excuse me, are you okay? Did you lose something?""Again, interrupted. I looked up to see a woman with warm brown eyes and a friendly wrinkly face looking around the floor as if she was eager to save the day. ""No, thank you,"" I replied, ""I'm just getting ready to close up the library for the evening. In a half hour we'll be closing and I am ensuring that nothing is left behind by anyone."" As the woman walked away, cane in hand, I glanced at my watch and felt the time crunch of having to announce to everyone to start finalizing their research, reading, writing, typing - all the studious activities because it was closing time. I knew that as soon as the library cleared, I had a mere forty minutes to tighten up, turn off the lights and lock up the bland historic building. The lack of time for the search was causing me to begin to feel nauseous and light-headed with worry and emotion. Matthew was the security guard who stayed every evening with me while I locked up so that he could escort me to my car that was parked the furthest from the main library doors under a light post with a flickering light.It was approximately three years ago that my Irish Twin brother, Elias, and I celebrated our birthdays together and shared a gift exchange. ""Happy 30th-31st birthday!"" We raised a toast of cranberry juice while our loved ones surrounded us in joy. Elias laid in his hospital bed in his last days of stage four lung cancer. All of our childhood, we turned to one another for advice, to be each other's confidant and best sibling friends. Never in a million years would we have thought that we would be saying good-bye as young as we were.Elias unwrapped his gift and was elated to receive a baseball autographed by an all time best Yankee shortstop, Derek Jeter. I knew that Elias would regift this to his son, Eli, before his heavenly journey. Eli was a handsome and energetic ten year old who loved playing baseball and loved watching his favorite baseball team play even more. I knew the joy this would bring to Elias' heart, just to see the excitement in Eli's face as he received the baseball from Elias' hand into his son's hands, was priceless.""For me! Thank you dad! You're the best!"", Eli exclaimed as his eyes met with Jeter's signature.It was my turn to unwrap my birthday gift. I glanced at Elias as I carefully opened a blue jewelry box with a soft painting of a magnolia, my favorite flower. With a smile cheek to cheek and a joyful expression, I ever so gently lifted the white gold necklace and oval pendant. It was engraved with a sentimental message that read,""A sister shares childhood memories and grown up dreams."" In this moment a whirlwind of memories flooded my thoughts and I couldn't help but cry and feel all the love and connection that we shared as children and grown ups. I put the necklace on and in a shaken voice said, ""Elias, I will always wear this beautiful gift and always know that you're with me everywhere I go. You'll always be in and close to my heart"" and squeezed the pendant tightly in my fingers. Elias reached his hand over to mine and in a faint voice said, ""You're the best sis. Always. Love you.""I quickly sorted the books by genre. Horror placed here, Drama placed there, Science in the cart, computers turned off and disinfected. Romance accidently thrown in the Science cart, trash collected and other duties that were half done. All I could think about was finding my pendant. I was so upset with myself that I didn't realize when my necklace clasp broke and the pendant slipped off.""What's wrong with you this evening Samaris?"", Matthew asked with a concerned look. I couldn't speak, I just broke out sobbing. I was finally letting out what I was holding inside for the last hour or so. Matthew walked closer to me and placed his hand on my shoulder saying, ""Hey, come on now, whatever it is - it'll be okay. Can I help? I've never seen you this way."" I choked up and replied, ""Matthew, my pendant that Elias gave me before he passed away, it's gone. I'm so scared that it's lost for good Matthew. We have to lock up the library soon and I just have to stay and find it."" Matthew reassured me that he would stay with me to help me find the pendant. I was so grateful to Matthew and both of us began to search for the lost pendant.Elias and I stood outside behind our house where a section of dirt defied the growth of grass. Elias grabbed a crooked stick and drew a large circle in the dirt and then pulled from his Levi's jean pocket a beige marble sack that held ten regular marbles and two large marbles. At nine and ten years old, playing Ringy, a marbles game, was the thing to do. I recalled observing Elias' hand. How he bent them to affix to the size of the marble and flung his thumb to create a powerful toss to knock a smaller marble out of the circle. He was so talented and so much better at aiming and controlling the marble than I ever was. Whoever lost this game would have to pull weeds later that day. Although I always recall losing to Elias, Elias would still help me with weed pulling or any other grueling loss.Oh, those childhood memories.Elias was a hard worker and decided that college wasn't for him. I always wanted to be a librarian because I enjoy reading and research. As we both entered adulthood and went to live in different states to create our own lives, we always made sure to visit one another at least three times a year. As Elias and I got married and had children of our own, our children grew up close to one another despite the distance. Elias became a general manager with his company and was financially successful. I was so proud of him. He had done so well for himself and his family and I was able to be a part of every milestone in his life. I became a librarian and loved teaching children and assisting my community. Every opportunity to vacation meant a trip to visit Elias and his family. For years, we traveled back and forth with our families to visit one another and to continue to create more memories and share grown up dreams.Thirty minutes had passed after closing time. I felt so defeated and Matthew kept trying to reassure me that my pendant would be found. It was nearing the time to have to set the building alarm for the monitoring company. Wiping the tears from my face, I said, ""Matthew, it's okay. I just have to accept that my pendant is lost for good. I just want to go home now and crawl into bed. I need to cry freely and just let my heart feel the break and loss."" Matthew felt awful, but knew that I was right, the library alarm needed to be set.I arrived home and pulled into the garage. I sat in my car in disbelief. I had to prepare myself to walk into my home and function for my family. I didn't know how I could even utter the words to my family that I had lost the one sentimental item that was given to me, my last gift ever from Elias. My heart was torn, bleeding inside as I hugged and greeted my children and husband. I tucked my head low as if I was preoccupied and exhausted at the same time. I ended my night early and walked into my bedroom and sobbed quietly.""Beep, beep, beep"", the most annoying sound ever - the alarm clock. Today, I felt like a zombie, disconnected from reality, still in disbelief of losing my precious pendant.In a daze, I was snapped back to reality with the sounds of a toddler crying at story time. Anna was a librarian assistant who worked with me for six months. Anna was always so animated when she read books to toddlers. Bottles were abandoned by their waddling owners because they were so fascinated by Anna's quick reactions and raised voice when reading in character. Sometimes Anna would drastically range from one pitch to another that she would startle a toddler or two. Then the entire library would echo with the toddlers piercing cries. Mamas would quickly try to console their child and race out of the library bringing back the peace and quiet to the environment. Anna and my eyes would connect and Anna knew exactly what I was communicating, just the look alone was a thousand words. Anna could tell that something was bothering me, I wasn't the same. Anna noticed that I was looking down often, moving books around for no good reason, and shuffling items on the desk.After book reading time, Anna, Matthew, and I circled up to chat as we normally did when there was down time. Anna learned about me losing a white gold pendant and why it had so much sentimental value. Throughout the day, all three of us kept our eyes open and shuffled books around here and there, scooted chairs and tables over slightly to take a peak underneath and we did that over again as if the pendant would magically appear.I looked at my watch and saw that it was time for my lunch break. I grabbed my lunch bag and threw it around my neck like a side bag and walked to the break room. As I sat down to unpack my plain, boring salad and bottled water, I reached in the side pocket to grab my utensils. As I felt around to take out my fork, I felt something familiar, smaller and immediately abandoned the fork to pull out the oval metal object.Elias ran into my bedroom and shouted, ""Samaris! Why are you still asleep? Get up, you're going to miss the school bus!"" I jumped out of bed confused and still half asleep exclaiming, ""Elias help me, please help me find my shoes, hurry!"" Elias broke out in laughter, ""It's Saturday! Got you!""Oh, the childhood memories and grown up dreams. ","August 15, 2023 04:41","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:57 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Charles Corkery': 'Good story. Well done', 'time': '05:20 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,q0t0p0,The Little Man. ,North Sitters,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q0t0p0/,/short-story/q0t0p0/,Fiction,0,"['Christmas', 'Fiction', 'Sad']",4 likes," Disclaimer: This story contains implications of suicide, PTSD and death. Please take this story seriously, it is based on true events. The shelves of books had toppled over and the books themselves were hugged tightly with debris. The lingering scent of charred smoke tingled in his nostrils, and the black charcoal remnants of the last hour covered the poor, skinny man head to toe. His rosy cheeks stained a dark and gloomy gray, and his frail hands shook uncontrollably as the little man stood in what was left of his small library. Contaminated tears strolled down his face, his thin lips quivering and he let out quiet sobs. ""Why me?"" he cried out, sinking to the floor in despair, ""What did I do to deserve this?"" His voice wavered and his head dropped to his chest. His thoughts sunk with his heart, while the memories, still fresh in his mind, started to replay themselves. The wild and turbulent fire raging through his shelves, swallowing everything in its monstrous path of doom. The jingling bells and feathery voices of a children's choir looped through the charred, wooden door. His thoughts strayed from his poor library, and to his long gone wife. Esmeralda. She had long, lustrous hair that swayed perfectly in the wind, and her eyes, those beautiful bright green eyes. They were so welcoming, and kind. She welcomed him to her library, and he never wanted to leave. Something did that for him, though. His fragile frame could have snapped in half at how quickly the little man rose to his feet, while his rawboned legs wobbled hard, he forced them to dash forward. The sole of his left shoe, while already peeling off, was wiped clean off from the speed the little man was running at. The library, once cozy and familiar, had become a maze of darkness, debris and unrecognizable damage. His only daughter had her mother's eyes. Peony was only a child, young and innocent and undeserving of this tragedy. While his daughter had his unruly ginger hair, she had her mother's eyes: Bright emerald, wide and playful. The memory of his wife had turned to terror for his daughter, he could soon hear her wails of fear, but they seemed to be playing over and over, from everywhere all at once. Running in circles, shelves of his once beloved books flying past him, the fear for his daughter's life and his wife's memory merged in to one. The little man turned a corner, to a dead end, a large pile of books pooling on the ground, and in the corner: A small body. His boring, dark eyes widened at the sight of her. She had his bright orange hair, curly and reaching just past her shoulders. Her pale skin charred and black. Her eyes closed, her face still. The little man held her in his arms, she was so small, just like him, and her body so limp he could hold her like Esmeralda used to when she was just a baby. He silently begged her to open her eyes, praying for another look into the memory of his wife. However, soon enough, he would search again for another look into some green eyes, to look for the memory of his daughter. He limped out of the burnt building and into the street, the civilians so full of joy and excitement for the holidays. He looked around, but no one stopped to look at the little body in his arms, no one stopped to look at the distraught expression on his little face. The uncontrollable sobs choked out of his mouth again, he screamed into the street, begging for mercy on his haunted soul. He found none. Half A Year Later. The little man stood atop a modern building that snaked high into the sky, and he found himself wondering how such luxurious structures could exist while their are people who have never seen or dreamt of one. The building held perhaps a hundred people, they were possibly sleeping, eating, or watching TV or something else, most likely not thinking about how fortunate they are for their lavish lives. The sky held a thousand stars and he heard the crash of something somewhere below him, and a sequence of cursing that followed. A single tear dropped from his eyes as he looked at the wide street below, so oblivious of the world beyond it, so unaware of the issues in society. The little man's eyes trace the illuminated paths of cars weaving through the labyrinthine streets, like shimmering threads stitching together the fabric of the night. His feelings were at ease as the dark sky loomed over him. He felt, for the first time, not so small. The heartache, the constant pain, the overwhelming emotions and questions he was asked came to a halt on this rooftop. He knew why, but he didn't say it. That would make it true. The little man couldn't say that his hands weren't shaking again, even under the excessive sweaters and jackets he wore over his freezing body. Beside him, the semi-transparent outline of a little girl. She slipped her slim, glowy hand into his. The little man peered over the edge, and then back at her. A small smile appeared on his somber face, however, his eyes still drooped with a hollow sorrow. ""I miss you."" The little girl whispered, her bright green eyes blinking innocently. The little man lowered his frame to his knees, looking fondly into her eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened again but no words came out. Instead, he looked away and over the city. He stared at a tall, creamy coloured building somewhere far away and watched as multiple lights flickered out. He gazed at the distant building for a couple of moments before returning to the rooftop he knelt on. He was alone. The little man looked around worriedly, his thoughts churning, where did his daughter disappear to? The warmth of her hand had vanished, leaving his body cold and empty. A small sigh of breathe into the cold air, and he rose to his feet once again. His legs trembled, bottom lip quivered, but he did not make a sound. Instead, he stepped up to the very edge, his dusty shoes leaning over the edge. The little man was no longer afraid, or in fact, so little. This little man did not feel little at all, he felt, well, he didn't feel at all. The little man could feel the rush of the air carry him down. The little man could not hear the wailing sirens approaching. The little man was gone. ","August 15, 2023 08:08",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,83yu6u,An Eyre of Mischief,J Hublick,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/83yu6u/,/short-story/83yu6u/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Fantasy']",4 likes," A spider walked on spindly legs toward a filthy corner underneath the desk of Marsha M. Willard. Marsha watched it as she pressed her cheek hard against the cold floor and felt her body respond with fresh goosebumps. There was an alarming amount of dust and she made a mental note to do a thorough and rigorous sweep first thing tomorrow. She sighed. Other than her eight-legged squatter, there was nothing else under there. She pushed herself up to a cross-legged seat and thought of where else she could look.  Circulation desk, card catalogue, fiction, nonfiction, children’s shelves. She mentally checked off her list. Even the bathrooms! Where else could that dial be?  She narrowed her eyes to squints as if that would help her zero in on her prize. When it didn’t, she started to make her way up off the floor. But before she could get solidly to her feet, she felt a rude push from behind. It was just enough to knock her wobbly and she palmed her hands hard into the desktop. Almost instantly, another push came and a curse sat ready on her tongue as she braced against her arms, baffled. It was then she realized what had happened: her office door hadn’t completely shut behind her. They had all gotten in.  Keeping the chaos outside of her office was paramount for her to be able to focus and remain sensible. If she was to effectively retrace her steps, find the library dial, and get home at a reasonable hour, she needed to remain calm. Unfortunately, her office was now a flurry of activity which threatened her inner peace – and her footing. It was going to be almost impossible to search for the dial. “Is literally every author in here?!” Marsha cried out, exasperated. “This is a fire hazard and you all know it!” She felt like a hawk being swarmed by an army of sparrows. Her irritation grew and a headache started to bloom in her temple. When she felt a third, rough push against her back, she had reached the limit of her patience. Her previously contained curse finally grew so large it burst from her mouth and she spun around wildly with her arms flapping about like ungraceful wings.  “Everyone GET OUT!” she directed to all corners of the room at once.  There was a flurry of commotion as she shoo’d and shoo’d, and the mass exodus left behind torn pages, bits of paper, and forgotten bookmarks everywhere. Her hair and clothes were effectively mussed and her glasses askew, but Marsha was pleased to see that she had mostly succeeded in clearing the room. It was a relief. But she’d soon find herself in the same position if she didn’t manage to get the door closed properly. She hastened over, but before she got to the handle she felt another inquiry behind her — a single, gentle and familiar prod between her shoulder blades. “Why must you be so persistent?” She sighed, eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I’m a bit preoccupied and you know I have to get through a massive backlist before I can read you again anyway.”  A copy of Jane Eyre floated around to her side and gently rested its cover on her shoulder, eliciting a fond smile from the librarian.  “You can carry on like this all you like,” she gave the cover a pat, “but you’re still going to stay at the back of the queue.” Marsha’s tone was not unlike someone talking to their pesky but cherished cat.  The book’s pages sagged in defeat and for a moment, Marsha considered abandoning her current mess in favor of the beloved Brontë, but a loud crash snapped her head back to her desk. Her lamp had been knocked to the floor and the bulb lay cracked open, its tiny shards glinting up at her.  “Great. As if I’m not already up to my ears in-” but before she could finish her thought, The Two Towers came tearing up from the crime scene and turned a few masterful circles overhead. She sighed aloud and watched as the book flew gleefully out of the room. “Going to cause more trouble, no doubt.” She imagined two mischievous Hobbits having a great laugh at her expense. “Well, I might as well go and face the chaos head-on. Care to be part of my fellowship?”  Jane Eyre spiraled upward, making Marsha laugh with its affirmative response. “Then onward!” Outside of Marsha’s office was sheer pandemonium. The place was filled with books of all sizes dancing up by the ceiling, flocking around corners like birds, and flitting in and out of the shelves. She had never seen the books in this state before. They were unencumbered. Some careening recklessly, others drifting lazily. They were pushing at the walls and windows. Marsha thought about how the library must look from the outside — like it was expanding, turning blue from holding its breath. Ready to explode and release the books that have come to life. All of the library's novels and comics, textbooks and encyclopedias, short stories and works of poetry, were straining to bust through the walls and soar out into the night. It was sheer madness. It was sheer wonder. It took Marsha’s breath away.  And she knew. She’d have to find the dial fast.  Using the dial was actually very simple in theory. Since it manipulated the amount of agency the books had, during the day, it was only to be kept at its very lowest setting. If the library happened to be teeming with already voracious readers and studious patrons, it was completely turned off. The dial’s true purpose was when the library felt listless, and when people were found wandering aimlessly through the stacks, nothing catching their eye, an air of defeat hanging about.  The dial could be used to provide wanderers with a tiny amount of unsuspected magic as the perfect book happened to come into their view. Shakespeare was likely to tip on its spine just a bit precariously for a struggling English Major to notice. Octavia E Butler would tremor a little, catching the gaze of a science fiction reader who’s been lacking something captivating and devastating. Neil Gaimen would gently clap both covers, drawing in someone needing to be transported elsewhere for a while. And Toni Morrison, well, Toni Morrison just tumbles forward for any and every passerby, as well she should.   The dial allows readers to end up leaving with a book they might never have grabbed and the warm sensation that, somehow, their lives were about to be enriched. It’s subtle, but powerful. Just a slight nudge of the dial and the books know just where they are needed and where they will be able to pass on a little pleasure to the next page voyager’s heart and mind.  By some means, the dial had been turned up to its highest level and the books had been given all of their own agency. And they wanted out. They could sense readers everywhere and wanted into their hands. They wanted to swarm like honeybees to the teachers, students, mothers, fathers, and caregivers of all kinds. They wanted to pollinate accountants, cashiers, mail carriers, and the staff at the animal shelter. There were bedrooms and kitchen tables and living rooms to overrun. Parks and stores. Restaurants and schools. The books wanted them all.  Marsha wasn’t sure if the dial had ever been turned up to full power. She feared she was in the midst of a catastrophe. She needed to find that dial and make sure everything was put right before the library could open tomorrow, and Marsha wouldn’t stand to see the day that the library couldn’t open.  She raced out of her office and into the giant mass of raging books making a break toward the circulation desk. Several books descended from their heights and chased Marsha, causing her to wildly swing her arms to bat them away. She was sure she saw The War of the Worlds at the helm. “Ow!” she gasped in pain. “Paper cut!” Sucking her finger, she plunged herself underneath the half-moon shaped desk for refuge, nearly knocking over an enormous recently returned pile. She poked her head out to see if any books still followed her. Flinching as one book stopped daringly a mere inch in front of her face, she saw the faded black print on the cover and read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. Marsha finally felt some hope.  Jane Eyre circled triumphantly over and over in front of Marsha, then darted off toward the main entrance as if beckoning. Then suddenly it clicked. “The foyer. Of course. I watched the rain this afternoon.” She knew where she needed to go. Marsha took a deep breath from the very bottom of her abdomen. She thought about the great courage of the authors whose books were now tearing through the building. Each one with a unique voice. Each one just hoping to leave a lasting mark on this earth. She hoped their inspiration would carry her.  She stood.  She ran.  She jumped over a trilogy of books hovering just above the floor. She ducked under a threat of swooping paperbacks and plunging hardcovers. She felt like a speeding arrow. She felt like a rushing current. She was a pioneer on the moon and an explorer of the deep. She was going to make it. At the last second she threw herself forward into the very heart of the foyer, knocking out all of her breath with one ungraceful plop.  “Adventurers must be in better shape,” she conceded, rubbing her aching back. She looked through the dark foyer windows in front of her and suddenly feared that all of her verve had been spent. Head rattled and heart racing, she could do nothing but sit there, dazed. Then Jane Eyre appeared.  Its cover opened like a hand extended and as Marsha rose, deriving strength from the battered book in front of her, Jane Eyre drifted backwards, dream-like, and stopped directly over the sought-after object. The dial. In the farthest corner of the foyer. - - - - - -  Once the dial was safely tucked away in its hidden carriage and all the books were, dormant, back in their rightful places on the shelves, Marsha leaned back in her office chair, exhausted. She allowed for a very long sigh of relief and enjoyed the sweet quiet of the finally empty room. But she couldn’t quite relax fully. Something nagged at her in the back of her skull. “How did that dial get turned up all the way?” she mused. “I’m sure I hadn’t noticed it was missing until we were already closed.” Circulation desk cleared, stacks reorganized, dial – taken care of. She mentally checked off her list. Even the bathrooms are clean! She sat up quickly. Mouth open. Eyes wide.  She looked down.  Next to her feet on the floor, the copy of Jane Eyre sat quiet and unassuming — but decidedly not back in its proper place in the stacks. She couldn’t believe it. “It was you.” she said aloud. “You messed with the dial. I mean, how would you even do that, how did you – ” but she cut herself off and just stared down at the cover. Finally, she bent over and lifted up the book, being careful to mind her still throbbing paper cut. She thought she should stand up, take it back to its spot, and put it to bed for the night once and for all. She hesitated. “Well,” she said looking fondly down at the book in her hands, “what’s a couple hours longer?”  She ran her hand over the cover and opened the first page.  “Alright, my dear,” Marsha said. “Take me home.” ","August 19, 2023 00:11",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,p35p99,The Library of Meadow Sea,Darius Vinesar,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p35p99/,/short-story/p35p99/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Happy', 'Fiction']",3 likes," After days of traveling through the endless grass and flowers of the Meadow Sea, the two travelers finally arrived at their destination: the Library of All Things.  The brothers had spotted it a few days ago, and from a dark smudge on the horizon it had grown into the gigantic structure that stood before them now. The Library seemed to stretch now to the sky and beyond, its very towers raking the drifting clouds. To the boys’ eyes, it looked like mountain, shaped into being by the very gods themselves. The oracle had told them the Library contained the combined knowledge of all things, so a massive construction such as this seemed able enough. The brothers approached the Library of All Things, the meadowland going right up to the doors of the building without so much as a path or a plaza. Two doors were set into the stone, taller than the tallest trees the brothers had ever encountered. Huge stained glass windows were set into the building higher up, depicting scenes the brothers could make no sense of. “Should we knock?” asked the younger brother, poising his fist in the air in front of the ancient wood. “Wait!” cautioned the older, pushing his brother’s eager fist down. “Maybe there’s some kind of bell to announce ourselves?”  The two brothers agreed to head in opposite directions, looking for some form of chain or lever they could pull. Finding nothing but door and stone, the brothers reconvened in the middle again. “Now can I knock?” asked the younger. “I’m bigger, so I should do it,” said the older. He raised his knuckles and rapped them politely on the right door. It seemed ineffectual, as if the sound couldn’t reach even a few inches past its point of origin. They waited for a few moments as the wind raced through the miles of grass and flowers behind them. That and the sound of their breathing was the only thing they could hear. No resounding footsteps on the other side, no creak of chain from whatever mechanism was strong enough to pull the ancient doors open. Nothing. Scoffing in frustration, the younger raised both fists and hammered them on the Library doors. “Hello? Open the doors!” he shouted. “Hey! Knock it off!” shouted the older as he grabbed the younger’s wrists and they began to struggle. “You can’t just knock like this is Old Blod’s tavern! This is the Library of All Things! Built by beings of unknowable-” The doors suddenly began to creak open, freezing the brothers in their moment of struggle. The older had the younger’s neck in an arm lock, keeping him from touching the door, but they both saw as a head popped into view from around the door. It was the head of someone who indeed looked like the owner of a tiny village tavern. The old man had a set of wild white hair, frizzy and reaching to all directions. His wrinkly skin was dark and splotched with liver spots, the clothes he wore were somewhat rumpled. He was short too, somewhere between the brothers in height. “Yes?” asked the old man as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the two boys. “Um,” started the older brother, uncertain of the proper protocols in a situation such as this. He was expecting someone or something else to open the doors, perhaps an armed and armored guardian of epic proportions, a creature of terrible strength that could protect the Library of All Things from those who wished to do it harm. Was this old man the Library’s protector? It seemed that a strong enough wind can knock him on his bottom. Should the older ask for someone else? Should he- “We’re here for answers,” said the younger confidently and to the point. “Is that right? Well, you certainly got past the Flowers of Ill Intent and the Library Dragon just fine.” “Dragon?” asked the brothers at the same time. The only living things they had encountered in the Meadow Sea besides were crickets. Certainly no fire-breathing dragon in the skies. “Yeah, my dragon. The flowers sniff out the bad ones, and the dragon takes care of them.” “We didn’t see a dragon,” pointed out the younger.  “That’s cause he’s invisible. The last of his species in fact. They make for perfect guard dogs.” “So how do you know they even exist?” asked the younger. “Because of their victims. And the smell. The Library Dragon has quite a stink to it. Now, do you want to come in or not? I’m in the middle of something and hardly have the time to stand around and twiddle my thumbs discussing whether this or that exists or not.” “We thank you,” said the older, hesitantly bending his body forward in a bow. He wasn’t quite sure the procedure upon meeting what seemed the… butler of the Library of All Things? Some form of servant for the powerful being that ruled this sacred place? “Please, none of that. Come in, come in,” said the old man, gesturing for the boy to stand up straight. The older stood there for a few moments, embarrassed, while his brother brushed past him to follow the old man into the dark opening of the grand doors.  All thoughts of bad smells, unseen dragons, and correct protocol soon dissipated when the boys beheld the sight of the Library of All Things before them.  They were standing in the foyer of the massive building, which was made entirely of marble the likes of which the brothers had never seen. It was almost as if the floor itself was made of ice, so clear was the stone that the boys were able to see a few inches past where their boots ended and the floor began. The foyer itself was as big as the village they had hailed from. The only thing on the entire length of the floor was a statue, larger than even their village chief’s house. It depicted a man sitting on a log, listening to a young girl who seemed to be telling him something, arms raised earnestly. The brothers were able to read the plaque as they drew near it. It all starts with a story remembered. Something about the phrase filled the older with a feeling he couldn’t quite place, unlike any excitement the boys had faced on their journey so far. At a gasp from his brother, the older looked up from the plaque to take in the rest of the library beyond, which extended into an unfathomable distance beyond the foyer. For almost as far as the eye could see, shelves of books crisscrossed the entire length of the building. There were other floors on the sides of the Library, supported by gigantic columns that held up the angled roof of the building. The middle space of Library was left open, with the occasional crystalline chandeliers dropping from the ceiling. Colored rays of sunlight illuminated this space through the hundreds of tinted windows, falling on the chandeliers and splaying every shade of rainbow on surfaces.  The older felt his knees begin to buckle at the grand scale of it all. He had already been struggling to understand how such a structure could have been built by anyone but the gods. The thousands, no, millions of books that lined the shelves of the Library was simply too difficult a concept to wrap his mind around. How will they ever find the answers they came here to seek? It would take the lifetimes of their entire village to even put a dent in the wealth of knowledge here, let alone the few weeks the boys had left to complete their quest. The older felt his heart drop heavily in his chest, the darkness that had begun growing spreading even further despite how close they’d come to their goal. “Come, come,” said the older man, not even sparing a second glance at the grand space before them as lead them past the foyer. The younger followed, his gaze glued to the upper heights of the Library. The older fell into step behind his brother, his thoughts swirling anxiously. They let the old man guide them onto an aisle that seemed to run down the entire length of the Library, with countless corridors of books to either side. It took several minutes of walking pass between the columns. Upon closer inspection, the older saw that the columns were wrapped around by spiraling staircases, like the ribbons they used to put up around wooden beams for village celebrations. As far as the older brother could tell, there didn’t seem to be any particular way the Library of All Things was organized. He didn’t see any signs that indicated what category of books they were walking by. The books on the shelves didn’t seem to share much similarity either, as they were all kinds of shapes, sizes, and colors. There were even scrolls as well, rolled up and stacked upon each other. The older also noticed with some dismay that there were many chaotic stacks of books on the floor, some precariously leaning towers even taller than the old man. Others were loaded onto carts, clearly with the intent of being taken to other parts of the Library. Perhaps there was some form of organization to this vast wealth of knowledge, but as to what it was exactly the older couldn’t tell. Though, it appeared the old man leading them deeper into the building seemed to know his way around. He barely casted a glance to any of the aisles they passed by, intent on his heading.  There were other things in the Library besides books. There were sections where the endless book shelves ended and made way for areas for sitting, writing, or contemplation of statues and other exhibits. There were items on display that excited the younger’s attention especially, things like swords and spears and shields of ancient heroes. There were also taxidermied remains of frightening animals, creatures that could have only come from mythical tales. At one point, the younger thought he spied some movement in one of the creatures, but they had moved past it too quickly for him to take a second glance.  It seemed that for the most part they were the only living souls in the entire Library, a thought that sent chills through the older’s body. Surrounded by the work of living people, people that were nowhere to be seen, perhaps dead by hundreds and hundreds of years, the only legacy of theirs left being words on a page. The old man suddenly slowed to a halt as they approached an aisle that looked no different than the dozens they had already passed. He stepped into the corridor of books, scanning some on the shelves. There were just as many unmarked books as there were ones with names on the spine, with many in languages unfamiliar to the brothers. The old man spent some time taking down books from the shelves and looking at the pages, muttering incoherently to himself. The boys watched as their guide cursed under his breath and let one book fall to the floor, and placed another on a stack of writings nearby. He abruptly left and continued on the main path they had been traveling so far. The younger had picked up a book that the old man had dropped to have a look, but the older grabbed him by his arm and pulled him away. The older didn’t want to lose sight of the old man, lest they were lost to the endless work of long gone, long dead writers. The old man stopped again a few aisles later, repeating the process of taking down books, scanning them, and either putting them back or building towers out of them. It made the older brother feel that the man was in reality some kind of assistant, attending to his duties of organizing the Library in some kind of fashion that was lost to the boys. After several instances of this process, the older made his frustrations known to the old man. “Look, good sir. I’m sure what you’re doing is of the utmost importance, but we are in a bit of a rush. Can you please take us to the Librarian so that-” uncertain of who or what the Librarian would be in such a place as this, the older said, “it could take us to the answers we’ve come to seek?” “The Librarian?” said the old man, not even glancing from the dusty tome he’d cracked open to read. “You met him already,” he said, throwing the book over his shoulder. It landed perfectly on a stack of books behind him, which swayed haphazardly without falling.  “Met him already? But we’ve only been introduced to you,” said the older.  “That statue of the man at the entrance. That was the Librarian. The first, but certainly not the greatest. We’re still trying the organize the mess he left us with.” “We?” asked the younger. “Yes. Me, a librarian. And others before me,” said the old man. He promptly shut the book he’d been scanning and put it back on the shelf. “Aha! We’re in the wrong section!” he shouted, holding up a wrinkled finger. “Up! We must go up!” And with that, the librarian headed for the nearest column and staircase before the boys could offer any protest or questions. The brothers followed, surprised that they had to nearly jog to keep up with the old man as he continued with a renewed energy.  The older felt his frustration return, growing into anger. He felt as if they were being dragged along on a fool’s errand, their questions ignored or vaguely answered as the librarian pursued his own unfathomable goal. The older wasn’t even certain the old man still retained all his faculties, cooped up for so long in the Library alone. He wondered if he and his brother would have just as much luck setting out on their own in the Library to seek the answers they had been told were here. The older deliberated with his brother in whispers as to their next moves, even as they passed one floor, and then another. They were dozens of feet from the ground level of the Library, a height that made the older’s head spin, before the old man finally left the stairs to follow the aisle that ran the entire length of the balcony.  When the older brother finally worked up the courage to announce that they would strike out on their own, the librarian rounded on an aisle of books and disappeared. “I’m sorry to say, mister librarian sir, but my brother and I will seek answers elsewhere,” announced the older to the librarian, who was running a hand down the spines of books on the shelves and muttering to himself. We don’t have the time to-” “Here! Here it is!” shrieked the old man in celebration, taking down an inconspicuous leather-bound tome from a shelf above his head. He thumbed through the pages as he approached the boys, his eyes alight with his own personal goal reached. “Sir, we seek a remedy or cure for-” “Your mother’s illness, I know,” said the librarian turning the open book towards the brothers to show them something within its pages. On the left-hand side there was an illustration of a strange plant, star shaped but not wholly unfamiliar. Across from it was a description of the plant, where it could be found, and a listing of its healing properties and uses, including that which ailed their mother. “How… how did you…” began the older, at a loss for words as the book was shoved into his hands. “I believe we have these growing here, I could take you to it. They also grow higher up in the mountains, near your region I believe,” said the librarian, clapping the dust from his hands in pride. “Brew it in a tea, and have your mother drink it. She should be in tip-top shape in no time.” The boys stared at the picture and accompanying words in mute apprehension, as if this book was a figment of their imagination. Perhaps the Library of All Things was just that, some kind of hallucination brought on by the many strange flowers of the Meadow Sea. “Of course, you could take the book with you. But we have a strict return policy here, alright? If you fail to return in your life time, the responsibility shall fall to your next of kin, and so on and so forth.” The younger suddenly hugged the librarian, surprising the old man. The older followed suit, certain that this wasn’t proper. “There, there now,” said the old man with mock grumpiness, a smile spreading on his face. He patted the brothers’ backs and then gently pushed them back to hold them at arm’s length. “I will await your return. I could use some help around here. Going up and down these blasted stairs does quite a number on these old knees of mine.” The boys laughed through the tears that had begun to tumble from their eyes. “You’ll need to fill this library with your story after all.” ","August 19, 2023 01:23",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,uflgjh,Inspiration's Tome,Veritas E.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uflgjh/,/short-story/uflgjh/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction']",3 likes," A thin haze of dust sent golden sunbeams dappling the walls as Ashton riffed through the worn wooden shelves of the castle library. Wordlessly he ran a hand across leather spines, savoring the soft texture beneath his fingers. A musty smell lingered in the air – the telltale scent of old books waiting to be cracked open and discovered. From the very first time he stepped into this vast library ten years ago, this smell had always been there to greet him. It was like an old friend – always welcoming, always patient, always kind. When Ashton wanted to escape the bustle of his duties as the organization’s division commander he would retrace his steps here first and foremost. He would stop at the entrance and draw in a deep breath as he did now, letting the cool air fill his lungs and wash away all his worries. For a brief moment Ashton’s gaze landed on a green tome – the words so faded he could barely make them out – and he paused. The book had a golden clasp on its cover, as if it were hiding a secret within. The sight only piqued Ashton’s curiosity further – already his fingers were reaching for it, pressing gently on the cracked spine. “Have you found the book you seek, Sir Ashton?” A large bird with storm-gray plumage alighted on the rungs of a nearby ladder. His round, orange eyes swept the vast rows of shelves, as if in quiet admiration. The creature’s name was Orthrus, and he was a strix – an owl-like avian guardian of the night, one of the sixteen great Guardians of the world, and Ashton’s closest partner. The Guardian’s question was met with silence as Ashton continued to study the book. Slowly he tugged it from its place on the shelf and hefted it in his hands. A momentary glance at Orthrus and Ashton nodded in satisfaction. “Yes. This looks to be the one.” “Good.” Orthrus took to the air with a flap of his great wings, leaving a few stray feathers to drift to the ground below. Ashton followed his Guardian with a small smile. The soft gold light from the grand chandelier above stirred Ashton’s senses as he sat at one of many long wooden tables. Smooth and worn was the surface, glinting and warmed by the dappled sunlight pouring in through the windows. Carefully undoing the clasp, Ashton opened it to a small cloud of dust. The musty perfume grew yet stronger, and Ashton instinctively drew in a deep breath, allowing it to permeate every fiber of his being. Brushing it off, Ashton began to read, scanning the words meticulously. The only sounds were the scuff of leather, the rustle of paper, and steady, whispered breaths. Hesitant peace settled over the man and his Guardian as they lost themselves in the pages. From his youth, Ashton had always been an avid reader. Though he spent his childhood on the streets, scraping worn cobblestones and digging in piles of bones and vegetable peels for scraps to eat, he always found himself drawn to words. It didn’t take a genius to realize that reading was essential to survival, especially in a city where words were everywhere he looked. Eventually Ashton was taken in by a local gang who properly taught him to read and write – though said teachings were limited to things related to their code. From that day a new world opened up, and Ashton often escaped into the world of books when reality’s vice had tightened its grip too much for him to bear. Fantasies of old, technical manuals, mathematical proofs – he read through everything the gang’s library had to offer, then set out to steal more. His amassed wealth of knowledge combined with his ruthlessness allowed Ashton to soar through the gang’s ranks – and ironically, aided him in becoming the Champion he was today. A series of wingflaps that rustled the pages of his book pulled Ashton’s attention. He glanced up just in time for Orthrus to land next to him, carefully setting a steaming mug of tea on the table. “Here you are,” Orthrus said. “Lady Sumia insisted on delivering this to you.” Ashton blinked in surprise, then dipped his head in a slight nod. Sumia was one of his fellow commander-in-arms – and the one who was most concerned about his well-being, often chiding him for cooping himself up in the library for hours on end. Yet it was precisely because of her concern that she would bring him small refreshments like this every now and then. Slowly Ashton took a sip of the tea, frissons running down his spine at its warmth. He gave Orthrus a rare, small smile. “Please tell Sumia I said thank you.” Turning back to the book, Ashton paused at the end of a paragraph, his fingers already itching to turn the page. But as he did, something gave him pause. His gaze flitted over the words, and something leapt out at him. “This is…” A few paragraphs below there was an intricate drawing that took up much of the page. It depicted a person wielding a staff while courageously facing off against a horde of monsters. Part of the wielder’s arms seemed to have melded into the staff itself, as if the staff had become a literal extension of their body. Ashton studied the drawing intently, his heart skipping a beat as inspiration struck like lightning. It looked like something that would’ve come straight out of a fairy tale. The warrior resembled the heroes of old, those who once saved the world in the distant past. Ashton had always admired those heroes and strove to be like them. Never had he imagined that one day he would stand in their shoes and become a hero in his own time. The hours whiled by, with Ashton losing himself in his book and his tea. As tended to happen while reading, ideas began to stir in his mind. Halfway through the book Ashton pulled out a notepad and a pencil and began jotting down thoughts as they came to him, many of them born from the book’s pages. Familiar excitement warmed his chest – an old companion he hadn’t seen in ages. Orthrus read over Ashton’s shoulder all the while, noting his Champion’s ideas with quiet wonder. Gradually scribbled margins and hastily jotted notes shaped into a story all their own. Buoyed by inspiration Ashton read and wrote on, once-empty pages now bursting with fantastical characters and storylines. His mug of tea emptied as his notepad filled, the book reaching ever closer to its end. At one point Orthrus brought Ashton a brisket sandwich (his favorite) – though said sandwich went untouched for the time being, so absorbed was Ashton in his own world. Finally Ashton sat back with a weary, yet satisfied sigh. Stretching out, he took a large bite of his still-warm sandwich, letting the familiar savory flavors dance on his tongue. There was nothing like hearty comfort food after a long writing session to fill the stomach and soul. “Seems like you’re finally done,” Orthrus remarked. Ashton nodded. “Indeed. It’s been a long time since I last was able to indulge in reading and writing.” “Do you plan to share your ideas with the other Champions?” The question was met with a frown as Ashton contemplated the notion. Often the ideas he wrote were things he kept close to his heart, secrets only he trusted Orthrus to know. But rereading his notes now, something stirred within him. Perhaps this was something he could share with them after all, for the betterment of the organization. Standing, Ashton nodded at Orthrus. “Yes. I think I will this time.” Orthrus canted his head, then dipped it in approval. “You have fine ideas. I believe the others will be more than willing to listen.” His bright orange eyes almost seemed to sparkle – whether it simply be the reflection of the chandelier or the first hints of amusement, Ashton could not tell. Ashton closed the book and went to place it back on its shelf. “Shall we get going?” “Right behind you,” Orthrus replied with a flap of his wings. A smile flitted across Ashton’s face as he held his notepad close. From those ideas sprang not only a new story, but a new proposal. As he and Orthrus stepped out of the library into the sun-soaked halls, a ghostly whisper slipped from his lips. “May a new era of inspiration grace us all.” ","August 19, 2023 03:16",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,w5fcmi,Uncanny Adventures,Jermaine Packer,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/w5fcmi/,/short-story/w5fcmi/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Suspense']",3 likes," “Have you seen the librarian?” Isaiah asked a fellow visitor in the library. After a brief inspection, the other guest shook his head indicating he agreed that the librarian was M.I.A. That was until a blur was seen running across the back of the library. “Wait, I think I see her,” Isaiah said as he started his way toward the anomaly. “Excuse me, are you the librarian?” he asks to the lady standing in the corner. She turns and flashes Isaiah a brilliant smile. “Why yes I am. You can call me Ana. How are you today?” “I’m great. I was wondering if I could get a suggestion on a new book. I finished this one and I needed a new adventure.” “A new adventure?” Her elevated excitement could be seen from ear to ear. “Well, this is the place to find one! What was your last adventure like?” Isaiah looked at the book in his hand to remember all the details of the book. “I know it was historical fiction. But I really loved the meticulous backgrounds of the characters.” He then hands the librarian the book. She glances it over and then places it down on the table. “I loved that one too. Follow me. I have a few you may like.” Isaiah smiled and started walking behind the librarian. The library wasn’t too excessive, but it wasn’t minuscule either. There were two rooms in the back for private studying or meetings. Then there was one giant-sized conference room that ran along the west wall. In the middle where Isaiah and his new library friend were there was a circulation desk that only held one librarian. Or, it was supposed to hold one librarian, but she was leading Isaiah threw an aisle on the east side of the library. A slight sensation of guilt entered Isaiah's mind as he kept the solo librarian from doing her duties. “Alright we are almost there,” she says as she slows down to what appears to be her destination. “This is it! You have to check this epic section out,” the librarian said as her eyes lit up at the multitude of books. Isaiah chuckles at her excitement. “I’m sorry. I just love getting lost in a good book,” she says as she blushes in embarrassment “No, no. Don’t apologize. I want to experience the same type of excitement.” “Really?” she says as she bends down to retrieve a book. ”Well I believe this is the best story to start with.” “It’s kind of long don’t you think?” “It looks that way. But once you start reading it, I guarantee you will blow through it and be back here within a day. I’ll make a guarantee. If you don’t like it, or if you find yourself reading this longer than a few days, I’ll buy you coffee,” she says with a smile. “Ok. And if I do read it, I’ll buy you coffee,” Isaiah said as he shoots his shot. “Deal. I guess we are having coffee one way or another.” They both enjoy a mirroring smile as they shake hands. When Isaiah returned home, he placed the book on the table. He did desire to take the cute librarian out for coffee, but it wasn’t a high priority right now. The new season of his favorite show just came out and he wanted to check out a few episodes on his day off. But, after a disappointing 30 minutes, he decided to maybe flip through a couple of pages. He did promise himself that he would strive to read more, and there was no time like the present. “Let’s see,” he says to himself as he looks at the table of contents with the intent to skip to a chapter that sounded exciting. He finally settled for the beginning since he probably needed to understand the first chapter if he was going to be talking about it on his date. At least that was his initial plan. Soon he found himself captivated by the waves of the words that detailed the thrashing sea as the boat battled the ocean and its inhabitants within. Though he had planned an engaging day, it had dissipated as he completed three-quarters of the book, only stopping for a quick snack and the bathroom. As the words started to be buried in the dark shadows, the illumination of a clock knocked at his eyelids so they could inform him of the disappearing seconds. “Oh, crap. It’s late. I’ll just finish this tomorrow,” he said as he placed the book on the table and went to bed. After he finally relaxed enough to close the windows of his soul, he was awakened by the intense shout of the lighting that slammed outside of his door. “What the hell?” he says as he runs to the door to inspect the damage on his rented house. “What the hell?” he yells as he repeats the same phrase but with more fear as there was no rental house behind the door. Only a few wooden planks on what was perceived as a swaying boat lay in front of his door. The upset lightning provided spurts of illumination to the scene as raindrops reacted as chandeliers before shattering on the wood. His breath was snatched by the singing wind that dashed over the darkened boat and into the sea. Before Isaiah could lose his mind, it concluded that the scene had to be a dream. But the brief acceptance of the scene being unreal was heaved overboard as a silhouette was spotted at the bow of the ship. Isaiah quickly slammed the door, because even though it was a dream, nightmares are still not worth living in. He ran back to his bed like a toddler to hide under his covers. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he said to himself as a knock came upon his door. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream!” he yells louder as the knock alters into a creaking door. The howling wind enters first, followed by the screaming lighting. Isaiah tries to comfort himself with his assuring sentence, but nothing was allowed from his mouth as the screams and howls proved too much for any voice, real or unreal. He closes his eyes and attempts to scream himself awake as he feels his cover disengage. A quick coolness flows over his body, followed by complete silence. He opens his eyes and sees the legs of the silhouette standing by his bed. “I can’t believe you didn’t finish the book yet.” Isaiah quickly looks up to view a familiar smile as the dream transitions into the fog that is blown away by reality. The raindrops were not in this version of reality, but Isaiah’s bed was still soaked with a form of water. His breath slowly returned as he viewed his room, bed, and door. Yes, he may be a grown man, but this night he decided he should sleep with the light on if he was going to sleep at all. As he sat staring at the rotating ceiling fan, he thought about the book. He had read books before, but never had they given him such vivid dreams. Maybe if he read the rest of the book he could at least calm his imagination on what could happen. After an internal vote, he decided to just read until he fall asleep. After locking his room door for some added fabricated security, he walked to his desk to pick up the book before laying back down.  As he came upon the last chapter of the book, he started comparing the scene of his dream to the scene in the book. It wasn’t too different. There was a crazy storm with destructive winds and booming lighting. And there was also a silhouette on the bow that the captain saw that made him go crazy and kill his entire crew. But then, in the end, the silhouette was just a blind spot he had developed on the sea. Isaiah thought it was all crazy, but it was a really good ending. It was good enough to allow him to attempt to sleep. As he closed his eyes, he anticipated a possible storm brewing on the other side, but it was only sweet darkness through the night. The library smelled like coffee as the door dinged indicating a returning patron. “I knew you would be back!” The librarian yelled once she saw Isaiah enter the room. “Aren’t libraries supposed to be quiet?” Isaiah asked while chuckling at the excited, but cute, librarian. “Maybe, but it’s just me and you this afternoon, so we're good to yell and scream all we want. And I made coffee.” “You made coffee? But I thought I’m supposed to take you to coffee if I came back?” She laughs and walks around the desk toward Isaiah with two cups in her hand. “Yeah, I know. But I rather stay indoors and go through some books.” “I guess we can do that. But next time I’m taking you out.” She hands him a cup. “I’ll consider it.” Isaiah looks at the cup. “So did you put your finger in it?” “Eww, why?” She asks. “Because I need some sweetness in it.” The librarian rolls her eyes and walks off while sipping on her drink. “I’m just playing,” Isaiah says as he follows behind her. “And if I wiped my butt before, what then?” Isaiah stopped to inspect the cup. The librarian pauses and shakes her head. “Just sit down here silly. I have to go get this book for you,” she says as she continues to walk down the aisle.  Isaiah sat down and took the risk of drinking the coffee. It was surprisingly delectable to his tastebuds. Usually, he has to repair his concoction, but this one was perfect as is. “This coffee is pretty good,” he yells. “I know it is because it has all the right juices,” she yells back. “Umm, ok. So how come the library is so empty today?” he asks as he continues to risk it all with the coffee. She returns with two books in her hand. “I’m not sure. I usually have it all to myself. Which is fine by me because I can go on a journey through all the books without any distractions.” “That sounds like a wonderful time.” “Yep. it sure is. So tell me, what did you think about this book?” She points at the book Isaiah read the previous night. “It was actually really good. To be honest, I had a crazy dream about it, but it kind of motivated me to finish it early this morning. So it was all good.” “Crazy dream?” “Yeah. Honestly, I swear you were in it.” She smiles. “Well, a good book should stimulate your brain so much that it spawns a vivid simulation amongst every one of your senses.” “What?” Ana chuckles as she picks up one of the books. “Here, take this one tonight.” “It isn’t going to give me nightmares again is it?” “Naw. But just read it all.” “And this time, if I do, I’m taking you out.” “We’ll see,” she chuckles. When Isaiah returned home, he was kind of excited to read the new book Ana suggested. This book was set in a dystopian future. Isaiah hadn’t read many science fiction books, but the excerpt of this one seemed fascinating. And since Ana’s last suggestion was pretty good, this one had to be at least decent. And as the pages flipped back to back, he had to acknowledge Ana knew her books. This one was filled with multiple twists that had Isaiah constantly guessing and debating. He didn’t stop until the last page was turned. “Wow,” he said as he stood up and walked to his bed pondering on the lesson of the book. He couldn’t wait to discuss this book with Ana. There was plenty to debate. Maybe he could debate it over coffee.As he closed his eyes, he wondered if he would be transported to another world like the previous night. But he did finish this one, so maybe he wouldn’t. But as his eyes re-opened, he received his answer. “Aw, crap.” He was in his room, but the wall with his window was not present. He could see across the war-torn landscape. “I guess I can’t hide this time. But it’s just a dream.” “Yes. Just a dream.” The sound of another person behind him startled him greater than the armageddon in front. He tried to turn and look, but his body did not respond like in reality. A blurred figure entered his peripheral as they both stared at the destruction. “What a crazy thing your senses have simulated.” “Ana?” The sound that he heard was familiar, but without being able to turn his head, the identity couldn’t be confirmed. “Ana? Tell me that is you.” The figure walked forward where Isaiah could at least make out an intricate figure of a lady. “Or, is it just time in the middle of a ripple effect, and we just happen to be in the perfect spot to see a refraction of the future.” “What is happening?” Isaiah yells. Ana turns around. “Exactly!”  Isaiah sat up in his bed, once again dripping in sweat. His sheets weren’t wet this time, but they did discharge a scent of smoke. “What the hell?” The next day, Isaiah was supposed to head to work, but he needed answers for the second vivid dream. As he entered the library, he noticed a different person at the desk. He started to walk toward it until he heard someone trying to get his attention down one of the aisles. “Ana?” he asked as she ushered him to her. “What are doing?” “Sorry? I can’t talk too much this morning because my co-worker likes to snitch.” “I have to ask you about these books you keep giving me. That’s twice I had an extremely vivid dream. And I swear you were in both of them.” “That’s crazy,” she whispers. “But take this one, and we can talk about both of them tomorrow.” She takes the book Isaiah brought and hands him another. “Is this about to be another?” “I promise we’ll talk,” she says as she walks to the back of the library.Isaiah, who had already called in sick, goes back to his house with the new book. He contemplates if he should really read it, or just ignore it. He sighs as he picks up the book and opens it. This setting was in ancient Egypt. The descriptions of the city are what really stood out to Isaiah. He would have absolutely loved to see it in all its glory. He closes the book and wonders if maybe he could. He closes his eyes, and just like the day before, he was transferred to a different place. “I have to see the city before this turns crazy.” He says to himself as he opens the door to the splendor of ancient Memphis. “Wow. Amazing!” Isaiah said as he stood in awe. “It really is.” The same figure from the previous dreams said. But this time, Ana’s beauty stood clearly in front of Isaiah. She was dressed like she was from the time period, but it was her. “So are you really here, or are you a figment of my imagination?” Isaiah asks as he was allowed to view her this time. She smiles. “I’ll let you figure that out. But how about we just explore before you determine that.” She offers her hand to Isaiah. He smiles. “Okay. I did say I would take you out.” After what seemed like a few days of exploring, Isaiah woke up. It was a few hours later, but he was still in his house, sitting in the same chair. He had to know if Ana was somehow playing tricks on him, or if books could be that powerful. So he traveled back to the library. When he arrived, he couldn’t find Ana anywhere, but the librarian he saw earlier was still sitting at the desk. “Excuse me, I was wondering if Ana was in?” She looked over her glasses. “Who?” “Ana? She was working earlier.” The lady shook her head. “Oh, Anansi. I thought I saw her walking around here again.” She then looked at the book in Isaiah’s hand. “It looks like you already found her.” ","August 19, 2023 03:54",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,fxv7ce,Stormed In,Alexandria Lund-Coppage,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fxv7ce/,/short-story/fxv7ce/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Gay']",3 likes," “What the…? Ugh, where are they?!” The young woman pulled out the heavy drawer and set it on the desk. The flashlight on her phone cast stark shadows upon its contents. After rummaging around some more, she let out another groan and dumped the drawer out onto the desktop. “Any luck?” Another young woman around the same age walked up behind her, peering over her shoulder. She had a heavy wool blanket wrapped around her and she began wrapping a second blanket around the first woman. The second blanket smelled old and dusty: a quilt left over by the first librarian before they left.  The first woman stopped rummaging for a moment to throw a look back at the other. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Cas. These were the only blankets I could find! We’re lucky there was even this much.” Cas sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “I can’t find it, Viri. I don’t know what Josh did with all the lighters, but we officially have none.” “Let me see.” Viri gently nudged Cas aside and held out her hand for the phone. “You really have to learn to charge your phone more often.” Phone light in-hand, Viri began to meticulously pick through the mound of junk. She pulled out a small square book of cardboard. “Ah ha!” Cas, who had turned her back so she could lean on the desk, whipped around and eyed the little box. “Matches? They have to be at least a decade old. Will they even work?” “There’s only one way to find out.” Viri walked the matches out of the back room and to the checkout counter where an assortment of candles had been laid. She ripped one of the matches out of the book and struck it along the phosphorus strip. It sparked, but nothing more. She tried again with the same result. “Here, let me try.” Viri handed the matchbook and the slightly bent match over to Cas. Cas pinched her fingers right below the green head and moved to strike it. “What are you doing? You’re going to burn your fingers!” Before Viri could stop her, Cas struck the match and it flared to life. She formed a cup around the flame to protect it from the drafts that randomly blew through the library. Cas urgently motioned to the candles and Viri moved to grab one. After the first one was lit, the rest of the work was easy.  After a few short minutes, the women were surrounded by 14 glowing candles, all different shapes and sizes. “We should spread them out around the library. That way we can at least get in a few more hours of work before going home. It won’t be safe to drive anytime soon, anyways.” Cas had one hand on her hip and the other resting on her bottom lip. She scanned along the books stacked in several piles on and around the counter. “We need a map.” Viri let out a short burst of laughter. “A map? What do we need a map for?” “So we can determine the optimal placement for the candles. That way we can easily shelve the newly cataloged books — clearly we won’t be able to finish cataloging the others while the computers are down.” Cas’s tone and demeanor gave the impression she felt that all of this was obvious.  Viri stared at Cas, dumbstruck. “You know, you-you really are…,” Viri stuttered. She sighed and gave a small smile. “You’re amazing. You know that?”  “I may have been told this once or twice,” Cas drawled, though she was visibly blushing. Viri picked up two candles: one was large and fat with three wicks and the other was long and slender, stuck into a cheap imitation gothic candlestick. She had found that one in a box of last year’s Halloween decorations, before her phone died and she had been thrown into darkness. Viri moved towards the shelves at the back. Cas’s head whipped up. “Wait, where are you going?”  Viri turned just enough to reply in a sly voice, “to find a book,” before continuing towards the darkness.  “What? But we need to… oh whatever,” Cas sighed, remembering that trying to understand or reason with Viri only ever led to more headaches. She continued rifling through the drawers until she pulled out a large sheet of paper that had been laminated and drawn on with erasable marker. When Cas had first started working under Mx. Emerson Reed before they retired and passed down the library, there had been no rhyme or reason to anything in the place. There had been no legitimate cataloging system (Emerson had the back room filled with mid twentieth century filing cabinets that made sense to them, and them only), there had been no blueprints or maps of the building’s layout more recent than 1978, and you would find random books in every nook and cranny of the library. She was still finding books every now and again in little spaces she hadn’t discovered yet. Viri had helped Cas draw a crude blueprint of the building's layout and Cas had had it laminated.  As Cas stood there looking at her ‘map,’ a low rumble bellowed through the building. It was odd. She hadn’t noticed any lightning. Grabbing a small glass candle, Cas zig-zagged through the bookshelves towards the front door. Though it was late afternoon, it looked dark outside. Heavy rain pelted the windows, sounding like pebbles thrown at a tin roof.  Suddenly, everything went bright. Though it lasted only a fraction of a second, Cas caught a good glace at the carnage the storm had caused outside. A couple of small felled trees, debris strewn about the road, even the nearest traffic light appeared dark. Cas shivered.  Another bright flash lit up the street followed immediately by a loud crack. Cas felt something grab her shoulders and she let out a scream. “Geez, Cas,” Viri exclaimed. “You okay? I didn’t realize storms got to you this badly.” Cas took a moment to catch her breath. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. “Yeah, sorry.” Cas let out a long, shaky breath and looked up at Viri. “I’m fine, really.” Viri raised an eyebrow. “If you say so…” She paused a moment before the uncertainty on her face was quickly replaced by an excited smile. “Come with me.” Viri grabbed Cas’s wrist and began dragging her through the shelves towards the back of the library. “What is it? What do you want to show me?” Viri remained silent and smiling as she continued to drag Cas through what seemed like a maze in the darkness. Their candles flickered wildly, almost extinguishing.  Ahead, bright candlelight began to glow through the shelves. They rounded the corner and arrived. Several stools had been pulled over and books stacked to various lengths piled atop them. On each of these stacks were the candles. On the ground at the center were several couch cushions and blankets. Several books lay in front of them, a couple that Cas recognized as her favorites. “I thought you said these were the only blankets you could find,” Cas smirked, gesturing to their makeshift shawls.  “Yeah, well… I might’ve fibbed a bit.” Viri plopped down onto one of the cushions and patted the one next to her. Cas looked down, raising her eyebrows. “Oh come on, just one day won’t hurt.” Cas sighed and followed Viri to the floor. She couldn’t hide the smile on her face so she didn’t try to. “Okay, what now?” Viri looked up through heavy lashes, one brow raised. “Now? Now we read.”  ","August 19, 2023 03:57",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,vkotyj,Morris's Code,Veronica Madell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vkotyj/,/short-story/vkotyj/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Kids']",3 likes," “I need to learn Morris’s code,” demands a voice that sounds far too young to be demanding things.Sheila looks up from her desk, surprised to see an eight-year-old face barely reaching over the library counter. The boy has the worst case of bedhead she has ever seen and he is still in his pajamas. Forty years at Bridgeview library has lulled Sheila into its patterns. Saturday morning means a few people her age quietly shuffling through the shelves and some morning joggers returning books. Young boys without their parents on missions to learn old military communications is, if anything, a Wednesday after school activity. “Do you mean Morse code?” she asks while pushing her glasses up her nose and accidentally smudging ink all over her face. “Is that the one with the lights?” he responds, slightly less sure of himself. “Or sounds, it is quite versatile. One of the reasons it’s still used today. Sometimes old things still work,” Sheila says, gesturing at her own mission of sorts. The boy runs around the counter to see a machine he has only heard about in movies and seen once at his grandfather’s house.“Woah, what is that?” he asks. She smiles and rubs her forehead, worsening the ink problem. Before she can answer, her coworker Bob pops around the counter.“That is a piece of junk. We work at the library with the best technology in a hundred mile radius and Sheila messes with this thing every week, trying to get it to work. Only thing she does is spread ink all over herself.”“I think it’s cool,” the boy says, standing by Sheila. For the first time in years, she feels a little less obsolete. She grabs a tissue and looks this boy in the eyes. “What’s your name?”“David.”“Alright David, let’s go learn Morse code,” she says. Without a word to Bob, she whisks David further into the library. Bob would need the computer to find the Morse code book. Her search will be short. She knows the exact shelf and color of the book, a horrid military green. “What are you doing with the old machine?” the boy asks and Sheila realizes with a laugh that he is talking about the typewriter on her desk. She really is that old. The question takes her back in time to when that typewriter was the newest technology in a hundred mile radius. She got that typewriter as a gift from Henry on their first anniversary. He put the big wooden box right on her desk. He was never one to wrap gifts or write letters. He never got the details in life quite right. He painted the walls of their living room burgundy instead of brown. He got her tulips when she asked for roses. But he always got the big things right. Written in black marker on the box was a mission she carried with her everyday, “For your dreams to become stories.” He believed in her far more than she did herself.Which is why the typewriter sat as unused as her dreams. After Henry died, she put it back in that same box and put it facedown in the garage, his words of encouragement a whisper unheard. Until a few months ago when for reasons unknown to herself, she wrestled it out of the garage and onto her desk at the library. Every day, to the annoyance of Bob, she loudly fought the typewriter back into life. She couldn’t explain it. Unlike all the days she spent sitting in front of the typewriter blinded by the white paper in front of her, she didn’t feel the pressure to tell a story. Usually when she wanted to write, the story sat on her chest refusing to let her get a full breath in until she let it out. This time, she didn’t have a story in her chest. Instead, she couldn’t stop this feeling in her heart that someone else did. “I’m getting it all ready so someone can tell a story, David,” she replied, bringing herself back to reality at row 19 in Bridgeview library, “It’s a typewriter. They are much better for writing than a computer. You never get distracted and you can’t doubt yourself and erase everything you’re writing. Instead, you have to commit to telling a story and just keep going.”“That’s cool. It looks like a time machine,” David says as he finally starts to comb back his bed head. Sheila smiles as she pulls out the Morse code book that was tucked into the exact spot she thought it was. Before handing him the book, she has some questions.“Now, I need to know why you need this book. Are you on a secret military mission?” She smiles but suddenly David looks a lot less animated than before. “I don’t know if I should tell you,” he says while biting his tongue and looking out the window, “No one believes me.”“Well, I certainly wouldn’t tell Bob. Because he definitely won’t believe you. His imagination doesn’t stretch very far.”“But you will?” he asks, reaching for the book.“Most certainly,” Sheila says, feeling more alive than she has in years. She knows that in all likelihood she is about to hear an outlandish tale that has no business being true, but she isn’t lying. She wants to believe him.“There is a streetlight right outside my bedroom window. Five nights ago it started flickering in these strange patterns. Sometimes it blinks on for one second, sometimes longer. It goes on all night. Then, in the morning, instead of turning off with all the other ones, it shines all day. So the lightbulb isn’t dead. Someone is trying to tell me something. I’m sure of it. But my parents won’t believe me. They won’t even let me use their phones to look up Morris’s code. My grandpa always used to say you could find anything at the library, that’s why I came here.”Sheila nods along and despite common sense, she is highly invested in this story. “So who do you think it is? Who would be communicating with you?” she asks and David starts to look nervous. “Well this is the part that my parents won’t believe. Actually, no one does,” he shrugs and crosses his arms. Sheila gets down to his level and looks him in the eyes.“You’re in the library, David. This is where all stories are true.”“Well, the thing is that I have an imaginary friend named Morris. I'm serious! That is what makes this all so interesting. You see, he is only imaginary because no one else can see him. But he’s real. He goes with me to school, helps me with my homework, and then at night we go on adventures together.”“Where do you go?” Sheila asks, motioning for him to continue. “He can do this really cool thing. Any pattern that you see, he can make it come to life. You know when you look at the clouds and see animals and houses and dragons? Well when I look at the sky with Morris we look so closely at the patterns we go into their world. One time, we looked at the sky and saw a bunny and a spaceship. Then, he took me into the clouds and we rode on the spaceship catching bunnies all day. Look at the carpet,” David says, lying on the ground and spreading his hand over green and beige checkers.“I’m looking at the carpet,” Sheila says while looking down but refusing to lie down. There are some limits to being 83, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. “What do you see?” he asks. Sheila sees beige and green checkers. Her imagination doesn’t work like a child’s anymore. She doesn’t look at the sky and see bunnies and spaceships. But, she pushes harder, not wanting to admit she is too old to dream. “I see an endless chess board with giant balls of dust perilously rolling around,” she says and David’s face lights up.“And do you see this,” he says, pointing at a divot in the carpet from when the shelves moved last month, “this is a ditch that travelers have to cross. In order to make it safely from one side to the other, you can only step on the green. The beige sends you into a never-ending pit.”“I see what you mean,” Sheila says smiling.“If Morris were here, we would be in that world right now, balancing on the green squares.”“He sounds like a great friend.”“He is. And he went missing five days ago– exactly when the light started flickering. I think he got trapped in a world and needs me to get him out. I have to help him. He is my only friend,” David says, starting to tear up a little. Sheila puts an arm around his shoulder and the book in his hands. Just as she is about to suggest they read it together, a woman races around the corner shouting, “David? David! Thank god you are alive.”She pulls David out of Sheila’s arms and into hers. She looks more disheveled than David. No make up and a sweatshirt pulled over pajamas, she is a mom recovering from full panic mode. “I am so sorry. He just wandered out of the house all by himself. I don’t even know how he knew where the library was. We only moved here a few months ago and he's lonely. Thank you so much for keeping him safe,” she says to Sheila before turning to her son, “You can never do that again. I was so scared. We are going home. Give the book to the nice lady.”David looks at Shiela in panic and her heart fills. “Oh this is the library, you can take books home.”“We don’t even have a library card. I don’t have the time or all the paperwork to set one up. I’m so sorry. David, the book,” his mom says, grabbing for the book. “Books are meant to be read. He can keep the book,” Sheila says and the mom thanks her as she grabs David’s hand and pulls him out of the library with her. He waves to Sheila and puts his index finger to his mouth. Sheila nods, his secret is safe with her. A week later David shuffles back into the library. His hair is combed and he is wearing an adorable crew neck sweater, but he has never looked sadder. “What happened David?” Sheila says, immediately leaving her desk to meet him at the door. Ever since meeting David, worry and wonder have been fighting for space in her head. She spent all week using the dumb computer to fix her typewriter, inspired to finish a mission of her own. “It didn’t work. My parent’s called the village and they permanently turned off the street lamp. Now he’s stuck! I’ll never be able to see Morris again,” David says, barely able to say the last part before he breaks down. Sheila wraps her arms around him. She can’t help feeling sad herself because a small, illogical yet hopeful part of her believed in Morris too, “He’s not gone, David. We can save him,” she says. She moves into action by grabbing two tissues, one for his tears and one the ink ever-present on her face.“But how? I’ll do anything,” he says, sniffling. Sheila pulls him around to her desk.“Remember how you called my typewriter a time machine? Well it's working again. And while it cannot take us back in time. It can do magic. It can turn dreams into stories. And, remember what I said? In libraries, stories are always true.” “So Morris isn’t dead?”“Nope. He just needs us to help him come to life.” ","August 18, 2023 07:44","[[{'Joe Sweeney': 'This is a very interesting story! Such a great idea.', 'time': '03:05 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Veronica Madell': 'Thank you!! It was fun to write!', 'time': '04:22 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Veronica Madell': 'Thank you!! It was fun to write!', 'time': '04:22 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,sod5oe,Dearest Father. Stories and Other Writings,Caroline Jenner,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sod5oe/,/short-story/sod5oe/,Fiction,0,['Fiction'],3 likes," Glancing at the book in her hand Maisie sighed and considered the merits of reading the section ‘Letter to his Father’ from Franz Kafka’s 'Dearest Father, and other stories'. She opened a random page: “Sometimes I imagine the map of the world spread out and you stretched diagonally across it.” What did that even mean? Through the tiny window above her head Maisie could see the darkening sky where shimmering raindrops fragmented the glow from the streetlamps. Settling back against the bookcase she wondered if anyone in the library had noticed she was missing. How long before they sent out a search party? Would anyone remember the errand she’d been sent on? As the newest recruit, not really beyond probation, she had found herself sent all over the building, often on a wild goose chase. Just a joke, they said, when she’d been sent to find ‘Dehydrated Water’ by Davy Jones. This errand hadn’t been a joke. The young man who’d come into the library, hair plastered to his head, dripping all over the wooden floor, had looked flustered, anxiety oozing from every pore. His eyes, small black marbles, seemed to jerk around the room looking desperately for help. “I need this book, I really need this book. It’s essential for my research. I’ve got a deadline.” The words tumbled out in a disorderly flurry of disjointed phrases. “Maisie will help you,” Mrs Grant had waved the man towards Maisie at the information desk and returned to cataloging the new additions to the detective fiction section. Maisie had been covertly watching. She’d seen the latest Dennis Fisher had arrived and had hoped to disappear off into a corner and skim read it. Dennis Fisher was an unlikely detective, but had won Maisie’s heart with his slightly bulging tummy and home knitted jumpers. At the end of ‘Dennis Fisher and the Mystery of the Rubber Truncheon’ he was in hospital and there was the suggestion of a love interest from a nurse. Maisie was hoping that that story line went nowhere, it was difficult to fantasise about a character if the author had married him off. Outside the rain bounced from the roof of the building next door, its temporary sheeting vibrating as the water pulsed against the plastic. She wondered idly if it would hold and what was stored in the loft of the artisan bakery that the building accommodated. “What I would have needed was a little encouragement, a little friendliness, a little keeping open of my road, instead of which you blocked it for me.” Maisie certainly agreed with Kafka on that point, wondering whether the book was still available to buy, these were things that her father needed to understand. Certainly if it was then the flustered man could have just downloaded it and saved himself the bother of coming to the library in the pouring rain. Which in turn would mean that Maisie wouldn’t have been sent on an errand to find the book and wouldn’t have accidentally locked herself in the basement storage section for authors K – O. Kafka clearly had a father who thought along the same lines as hers did – categorically announcing that a life on the stage was no way for a girl to make anything of herself and an internship in the library was by far and away the best thing for a girl like Maisie, who spent most of her time with her head in a book living in a fantasy world of someone else’s making. Maisie had relished her drama classes – the build up to a production; the rehearsal camaraderie; the costumes and make up. She’d loved all of those things and wanted her chance to give it a go. Drama was one road that her father had definitely blocked for her. “In a way, I was safe writing” just like Maisie, sneaking round the library reading books, safe from her father’s watchful gaze. She wondered what the man dripping water around the library needed the book for, was he writing about Kafka or maybe fathers. Perhaps he too had a really irritating parent like her. The hot water pipe that ran alongside the wall was warm and the storeroom had heated up to a level that was causing Maisie to find it difficult to keep her eyes open. Suddenly there was the sound of the door opening and Mrs Grant’s voice annoyed asking her what she thought she was doing sitting on the floor – the man was waiting for the book. Taking it from her hand she swept upstairs leaving Maisie to gather herself together and follow her. She arrived back at the information desk to hear Mrs Grant announce in no uncertain terms that the book was not to be loaned out. “You have thirty five minutes before closing time and then you’ll have to leave,” and then as if remembering that this was a member of the public coming in to use the library service she added slightly more kindly, “if you give me your coat I’ll hang it on the staff coat rack – it’s by a radiator and should dry out before you need to leave. The study desks are through that door on the left.” She held her hand out. Maisie wished she had that level of confidence. It was so much easier, she thought, when she could stand on a stage and pretend to be someone else rather than mousey Maisie Grey.  Thirty five minutes later Maisie was standing outside the library under an umbrella with her hood pulled up - waiting. She wondered if she was going slightly crazy, what would Dennis Fisher have done in her situation? She needed to know who the man was and why he was studying the Kafka book. She’d slipped away from the desk and hidden in the staff toilets Googling  Kafka to discover that his work fused reality and fantasy, something that Maisie’s father had said she did in her own life. You need to grow up, he’d told her, take some responsibility. You can’t live in a fantasy world forever. Maisie had skimmed through Wikipedia: “Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old. By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it.” Which means, Maisie thought, that logically if you repeated the mantra “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do, I do” then it stands to reason that Fairies would come into existence. Maisie had taken out two books by Kafka and tucked them deep into the side pocket of bag. ‘Metamorphosis’ and ‘The Trial’ which Google informed her were essential reading for the Kafka scholar.  She spotted her prey exiting the building and leaving an appropriate two person gap between them she scuttled along the street, past the artisan bakery and round the corner into Robertson Street. There were fewer people heading this way and Maisie tried to pull her umbrella further forward so that her face was less visible, although her quarry did not seem in the slightest bit interested in anything around him.  The time was 5.45pm and he was clearly heading for the park, marching purposefully on towards the gates, which were locked at 6.00pm on the dot. Maisie watched him go through. If she followed him she’d have to eventually turn around and come back as her own home was in the opposite direction, if the park gates were locked it would mean a twenty minute detour and her mother would have tea on the table at 6.30, with the expectation that the whole family would be washed up and ready to eat. Reluctantly Maisie turned around and headed back down Robertson Street. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he hadn’t finished with ‘Letter to his Father’, maybe he might come back in to the library and Maisie allowed her imagination to wander through scenario after scenario, each one ending with Maisie and the Kafka scholar sharing tea and comparing notes on tyrannical parents! ","August 18, 2023 07:46",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,db4z6z,At Whit's End,Lindy Guidry,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/db4z6z/,/short-story/db4z6z/,Fiction,0,['Fiction'],3 likes,"    “George, the new book donations are piling up in the back storeroom. I just haven’t had the time or the inclination to catalogue them. No matter how hard I look for it, I can’t find enough time for anything.”     I nodded, never looking up from the tedious task she had assigned me earlier in the day.    “The president of the Library Board of Trustees is coming by  in the morning. Can you give me a hand?  George? Give me some attention, George! I’m at my wit’s end.”     “What did you say?” I looked at my boss, the chief librarian with the wrinkled brow and the perpetually etched frown lines protruding from her lips.         “My wit’s end, George. My wit’s end. I thought you were well read. Aren’t you familiar with the work of William Langland? He was a 14th century poet who.... Oh never mind! Haven't you ever heard that old expression? Being at your Wit’s End?        My back stiffened; my hands began to shake.  “Yeah, Ms. Hardy. Right. I’ve heard of it.”   I tried to go back to repairing the binding on the book I was working on, but the harder I struggled, with the strips of leather and the bottle of Aleen’s Leather and Suede Adhesive. the more distracted I became. It was futile.        “Sorry, Ms. Hardy. I can't work on these repairs any more tonight.""  I pushed the stack of tattered books across the desk and tapped nervously on the torn cover of  a copy of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Children of Time.’      “I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to go.”   I picked up my briefcase, grabbed my coat, and walked out the door, leaving the cranky head librarian  glaring angrily at my back, rubbing her chin in distaste.       As I climbed into the cab, at the corner of Main and Schooner Streets, the memories of Whit's Inn came flooding back. It had been a while since I'd thought about it, but it hadn’t been long enough.  Not nearly long enough. I knew that this time I couldn't simply go home.      “You got that damn kid with you, Maggie?” Whitney O’Hara stood behind the bar drying glasses with a ragged cloth. “OK, he can stay, but make sure he doesn't get in the way.”     “Thanks, Whit.” My mother shooed me behind the bar, and sat me on the cold floor with my G.I. Joe and a Flintstones coloring book. “I won't forget this.”     Mom smiled down at me as she handed me a box of broken crayons. “Now, Georgie, you keep real quiet, and keep your eyes to yourself.”     I was six that first time I spent an evening at Whit’s Inn. My mother was a barmaid in the waterfront tavern and she worked long hours trying to make enough money to keep the rent paid.     “Hey, Maggie, we need some attention over here!” I watched as my mother smiled and delivered a round to the corner table. A bald, round faced customer patted her bottom and tossed her a single bill. She tucked it into her blouse and the room echoed with drunken laughter. It danced on the stagnant air and wrapped around me like a cold wind.     “Play it again, Sam!” Someone shouted at the little man sitting at the piano, and he began to play. I didn't understand then why they called him Sam. His name was Billy. I watched and listened; his trembling hands lumbered over the ivories, and every now and then, he paused to gulp down another swig of straight Jack Daniels.   ""Left on Marlin Road, then right on Atlantic Avenue,” I directed the cabbie as I stared out the window. Some things down at the docks had changed, yet somehow, it all remained the same…the old tuna cannery stood cold and dismal in the shadow of the neon lights that reflected off the wet sidewalks. The smell of rotting fish and rock gut whiskey permeated the air. The cheap whores stood under the streetlights on the corners near the pubs; their broken-toothed smiles seemed all too familiar.      ""Drink ‘em down, boys!”  Whit called out as a tall man in a longshoreman’s jacket took a swing at a guy who had been sitting at the bar. I watched as his bottle of Budweiser flew across the floor and shattered into sharp-edged splinters. It sent smelly brew over my coloring book, ruining the picture I had just finished.      The wind was brisk on Atlantic Avenue as I stepped out of the cab. I wrapped my coat more tightly around me and flipped up my collar against the chill.     “Last call for alcohol!” Whit’s voice rang out in the dimly lit room. The last of the customers bellied up to the bar for one final shot. They guzzled their poisons, and made their final propositions. The most convincing fast talkers walked off slowly in pairs. I watched as my mother picked up her coat, took a wad of bills from inside her blouse and tucked them into her pocket .     “Come on, Georgie,” her speech was slurred. She grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the door. I looked back over my shoulder. My colored picture lay on the floor soaked in beer and covered in grime from Whit’s dirty shoes.     I pushed open the door and walked into the inn. Not much had changed in 27 years. A vacant-eyed clone of Whitney O’Hara stood behind the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey into an ice filled tumbler.       There were only a few patrons in the smoky barroom.  I stared into the same kinds of faces, the same lost souls, all looking for answers but never really understanding what the questions are.     I sat down on a barstool, ordered a bottle of Jamison’s Irish Whiskey and a glass, and stared at my reflection in the mirror above the bar. My eyes looked almost as vacant as the bartender’s and I couldn’t help but wonder what his story might be. I watched as deadbeats pinched painted ladies who bought them round after round of booze, knowing that they wouldn't remember each other’s names in the morning. A buxom redhead in tight jeans sat down next to me. I was at my wit's end. I motioned to the bartender, “On second thought, I'll take that bottle to go.”      A Nor’easter was blowing in as I walked out the barroom door and down along the Atlantic Avenue dock. Sitting down on the weatherbeaten boards of the dock, I pulled the fifth from under my coat, and broke the seal. I took a long slow swig. It burned my throat with the callous sting of reality. I was the product of old Billy the shaky-handed piano player, and the bartender who had pity on a drunken waitress and her bastard son. I was my father’s one night indiscretion, my mother’s little problem. I was one of those Children of Time. I was Ms. Hardy’s s flunkey, and no matter how I tried to escape, I was who I was because of where I’d been.  I was me, George Mahoney.     I paused for a moment, listening to the sounds of the ocean. I could hear the buoy bell ringing in the distance, but it was almost too dark to see beyond this place where the pathetic past met the undecided future. I was looking for answers, but I'd never truly understood the questions. Not until now…     It was my choice. My life. My last chance to put it all into the proper perspective.     I raised my arm and threw the glass bottle into the ocean’s receding foamy waters.  I pulled out my cell phone and called for a cab.  It was time to move on. ","August 18, 2023 17:09",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,0xv1zj,Miss Claireborns book,Mille Lo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0xv1zj/,/short-story/0xv1zj/,Fiction,0,"['Mystery', 'Friendship', 'Fiction']",3 likes," His gloved finger ran over the spines of book after book, nearing the end of yet another row in yet another bookcase. “No, no, no…” Assuming the fake identity of Mr. Caldwell, literature major and library scientist, had been the easy part. Getting the job at the library in the town of Maple Hills was slightly more difficult, but a doctored transcript from Oxford and some fake glowing references made sure he stood out from the limited competition. It wasn’t like Maple Hills attracted the biggest and brightest anyway. Far away from the excitement of any big or even medium sized city, Maple Hills, nestled amid rolling hills and perfectly clad in red and golden autumn hues, looked more like a postcard than a place people actually lived. It was sleepy, full of people who seemed too friendly and overly involved in each other’s lives, and frankly, boring. Besides, he preferred the anonymity of the larger cities, where the shadows of concrete buildings swallowed up his own. But for now, he was Mr. Caldwell. For now, he fit decently into the local community, with its Sunday farmers markets, maple lined high street and cobblestone historic city center. At least until he found the book. And it had to be somewhere in the library. As much as he hated to admit it, the library had a timeless elegance to it. Outside it was grand, composed of white brick with two large maples standing guard at the wooden door. Inside, the arched windows filtered the autumn sunlight, casting a soft glow on the rows upon rows of well-worn bookshelves and plush chairs. It was seemingly left in impeccable order by the previous librarian, a Miss Claireborn, whose movements from town to town Caldwell had painstakingly tracked down through old census records and word of mouth. It was in her own personal collection of old, and in some cases rare books, the object of Caldwells search was. The book was a rare first edition of the classic Justice under Maples, but not only that, it had an inscription from the famously reclusive author Allan Everhart. More importantly, Caldwell had a buyer. A big one. The stuff that wasn’t for sale always had the biggest paydays. Stealing the book from a little old lady would have been no feat at all, but sadly the old bat had kicked it before Caldwell found her. The local paper had an entire midsection dedicated to her, and from this he learned that her book collection had been donated to the library she loved so much, and since the town was now down a librarian, he had known exactly where to find the book and how to gain access. However, the organization of the library had apparently not extended to this rare piece, at least it seemed that way, as Caldwell was unable to find it anywhere. “Hi.” Caldwell looked up from the stack of books on the desk in front of him, to see a boy around eight, freckled and a chestnut mop of hair pushing down into his eyes. “Hello.” he said curtly, not even pretending to be polite. The adults of Maple Hills had to be charmed just enough they’d leave him alone and not get suspicious, but he had no patience for grubby little kids. “I’m Oliver.” “Okay then.” Caldwell said, a strained, obviously fake smile on his face. “Wat’cha doing?” “Looking.” “For what?” Caldwell sighed. “A book.” “Looks like you found a lot.” They boy opened one of the many books and started rifling through the pages. Caldwell raised an eyebrow, an emotion akin to amusement flickering across his face. “Well, yes, but these aren’t the right books. I’m looking for… a special book.” “Did someone forget to return it?” “What?” Caldwell said, brows furrowed, grabbing the old book from the kids greasy hands. “You’re the new librarian, right? Mr. Caldwell? So, I’m guessing someone forgot to return the book and now you’re looking for it and that’s how come you’re so grumpy looking.” “What are you… grumpy… I’m not…” Caldwell was taken aback by how brazen this kid was. “What do you want anyway, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” The boy shrugged. “Miss Claireborn let me hang out with her and help with the books. She said I was really good at helping.” “Well why don’t you go play with your friends instead.” Caldwell looked back to the stacks of books in front of him, but Oliver didn’t move. “What, you don’t have any friends?” It was meant to a callous joke, but Caldwell could see he had hurt the boy. “Oh.” Oliver hung his head, sniffled, and started slowly walking away from the desk. Something in Caldwells chest felt bruised, and it caused him to speak again. “Wait.” He looked to the books in front of him. “Maybe you can put these back for me. You think you can manage that?” Oliver wiped his nose and looked up. “Uh huh” he smiled. “If I can use the cart.” “Just don’t break anything.” Caldwell sighed. From that day, Oliver became a regular fixture in the library after school, his boundless energy and irrepressible curiosity making it almost enjoyable being stuck in Maple Hills. The strangest thing was that Caldwell didn’t even have to put on a mask with Oliver. With the other people in town, Caldwell was an entirely different person, but with Oliver the only difference was the fake name. One day, as Caldwell sat over another stack of books, removing the dust jackets to check the actual titles, Oliver piped up, ”Can I help you find the book?” “Uh, it’s not really that easy.” Oliver’s eyes twinkled with determination. “Come on! It’s not hard. Plus, I’m really good at finding stuff. You’d be surprised.” Caldwell found a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Very well then. But it’s old, you have to be really careful.” “Is that why you’re wearing those gloves?” Wearing gloves was a habit. After all, he didn’t want to leave fingerprints, in case anyone ever realized something had been stolen. “Uh, sure. Yes. To protect some of the… older books.” “Miss Claireborn did that as well. Not as much as you though, only with the really important stuff.” “Oh?” instinctively, Caldwell knew this might be something. “She wouldn’t happen to have had one book that was extra special, would she?” Oliver widened his eyes. “She did! She showed it to me. It’s really old, I guess.” Caldwell dropped the book in his hand on the floor and got up, “Please tell me you know where she kept this book!” “She told me it’s a secret.” Oliver suddenly looked uncomfortable, like he wished he could take the words back. “And I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Caldwell did his best to keep his cool, and not push the boy too far. “Well, I’m not just anyone, right? I mean, we’re friends, right?” Olivers eyes twinkled at this. “We are?” “Well, sure we are!” Caldwell felt a surprising lump of guilt in his throat, but Oliver smiled at him, the freckles on his nose crinkling. “Okay! I’ll get it, but you have to close your eyes.” “Okay, I’ll close my eyes, and you’ll get the book and give it to me.” And then I can be out of here, he thought, be out of here and get paid. Like I planned. Caldwell shut his eyes, and he heard the boys feet patter across the hardwood, behind him and towards the back, making Caldwell instinctively turn his head slightly. “No peaking!” Caldwell whipped his head back around. “Oh, sorry!” He kept his eyes closed, even when he heard Oliver come closer again, panting slightly. “Put your hands out and still. no. peaking!” He put out both hands, and Oliver gently lowered the book into them, causing Caldwells throat to form yet another lump. “Okay, now look.” Caldwells eyes blinked open, and there it was, in the palm of his hands. Its dustjacket was in almost pristine condition, the title Justice under Maples still glistening with gold foil. Caldwell opened it gently. The inscription was written in blue ink. To Laura Claireborn, Sometimes the most unexpected friendships can blossom amidst differences. Yours, Allan E. “Wow, Oliver… this is… this is really special.” “I know. The gold is super pretty.” “It is. It really is.” Caldwells gaze shifted from the pages to the boy, his expression filled with pride. “Thank you, Oliver.” “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help my friend.” Suddenly the book became heavy, the weight of a choice that seemed impossible to make. He looked at his young friend, who hadn’t only found this valuable piece of literary history, but also found a part of Caldwell he didn’t even know existed. There wasn’t a choice, was there? He finally got what he came for, and now it was time to disappear. It wasn’t like he could just actually become Mr. Caldwell, could he? “Can you read it to me?” Oliver asked, blissfully unaware of the turmoil happening inside his friend. Slowly but resolutely Caldwell answered. “Yes. Yes, we can.” With those words, not only did the lump in Caldwells throat disappear, but he also began to rewrite his own story. And when he later locked up the doors to the library without the gloves on, he no longer longed to be swallowed by the shadows, but stepped lightly into the golden light of the crisp autumn afternoon. ","August 18, 2023 18:01",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,f3g438,The Old Man's Tale ,Amelia Sek,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f3g438/,/short-story/f3g438/,Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Adventure', 'Fiction']",3 likes," It was way past midnight and unquestionably way past Mr Belleville’s bedtime. But the old man, however, had always been iron-willed and did not plan to leave until he found what he was looking for, so he paid no heed to the dull ache in his knees and the heaviness of his eyelids.  He was sure that his wife was going to be disgruntled and say something about his tendency of acting half his age or searching for adventures that weren’t meant for a man with a sore back and grey hair.  He couldn’t help it! The old man spent day after day in a building that held over a thousand stories, and so it was only natural that he had begun to crave at least a fraction of the excitement that he read about in novels. ‘I should’ve never proposed that you get that job as a librarian! Page by page, those books are turning you into an entirely unhinged man!” His wife had told him. He remembered thinking that her reaction was entirely unwarranted and highly exaggerated, for he had only done what any hero of a fictitious tale would’ve done. Very well, perhaps he had crossed the line by spending the fairly small amount of money he had saved on a beautiful horse, that he knew, very, very deep down he would not even be able to ride. But it was truly magnificent, and the man that had sold it to him at the auction was very persuasive, seeming to know exactly what to say. He had painted a lovely picture for the old man; him galloping on a meadow, with the wind in his hair, though he did not have much, feeling as free as ever.  Mr Belleville visited the auction the next day, at the command of his wife, downhearted and frustrated, thankfully managing to return the horse, because she had told him that he either give it back or find himself and his pet a new home.  She loved him really. He was in the place he treasured most- the library, searching for… Well, in all honesty, he had not the slightest clue about what it was exactly that he so desperately wanted to find. Mr Belleville just hoped that once his eyes would land on the item, he would know that it was the mystery object of his desire.  It had all started when Mr Belleville was about to close up the library for the day. He had gotten out his bronze key, turned it two times, and pivoted towards his car, balancing a new stack of books that he had checked out for himself with one hand.  And then it hit him! Oh, it would have been a truly disastrous thing if he had forgotten his spectacles. They were small, brittle things, held together by tape and string and things that the old man had found lying around just as they had begun to fall apart again. But they did the job, and he couldn’t imagine a single day without them!  And so, he had placed the stack of books atop his car roof, and hobbled back to the library, muttering about what a wasted night it would’ve been if he wasn’t able to read because he had left them at work.  He turned the key two times again, but in the opposite direction, and once he stepped into the library, he almost ran back out again!  It was winter and the night came quicker, shrouding the whole city with its dark blanket. Mr Belleville could hardly see a thing, but he could have sworn that something in the shadows had moved. And it was not just his wild imagination.  He was about to reach for his cell phone, scrambling and turning his pockets inside out to find it, and call the cops! The old man was convinced that in his library, there was a wicked thief, about to place their grubby hands on his books. Now, most would probably think slightly more pragmatically, asking themselves what kind of thief breaks into an old and dust-filled library. But not Mr Belleville; to him, literature was worth far more than gold, and so he did not question the thief's incentive. It was when the troublesome stranger stepped out of the shadows, that the old man started to question what their actual motivation was.   The odd individual had on himself a cloak. And it was not one of those modern ones that Mr Belleville had seen in a shopping mall with his wife, but one that belonged to a villain! It was dark and looked like it was made from the night itself, concealing the stranger's entire face in what seemed to be a black fog.  And dare he say it, It almost looked magical! The old man wondered how the cloaked figure even managed to step foot into his library, for there were no signs of break-ins and he was indisputably sure that he had locked the door.  He waited by a bookshelf, either unnoticed by the stranger or just ignored, and watched as they took out an item from beneath the secret confines of their cloak, and placed it on a shelf.  ‘This is the opposite of a thief!’  He had thought. ‘Perhaps it is just someone that had forgotten to return one of my books, deciding that a late trip to the library was just what they needed.’ He grimaced- thinking rationally was certainly not made for him.  Something peculiar was going on, and this time, he was confident that it was not just inside his head.  The stranger then seemed to pause for a moment, and tilt their head, ever so slightly, in the old man's direction. Mr Belleville had thought that was it, staring wide-eyed and helplessly just like a deer in headlights, unsure whether he should try to run or call for help or plead with the cloaked figure for mercy. But just as he was getting ready to do none of those things, but throw a punch or something of the sort, the stranger stepped back, and it almost looked as if they had dissolved into the shadows. The cloaked figure seemed to be gone, almost as if they hadn’t even been there in the first place. But just to be sure, Mr Belleville walked back to his car, which was parked right outside of the library, and waited very patiently until his watch told him it was midnight.  He aimed to make sure that once he’d begun his search for whatever the stranger left behind, he would not run into them again!  But now, seeming to have rummaged through the whole library, he had begun to wonder if it was a bad idea.  The old man felt as if he were looking for a needle in a haystack, or worse, looking for something that wasn’t even there. What if whilst he had been waiting in his car, the stranger had returned, and taken the item back? Or what if it was just his old mind playing tricks on him? He began to feel foolish, thinking himself nonsensical for spending so many hours on such an unavailing task.  But then it hit him. He had been doing this all wrong, for if he wanted to find the item, he needed to recreate the situation from before!  With a newfound sense of hope that seemed to add a bounce to his steps, he tottered over to the light switch and flicked it.  Darkness enveloped him and it took a while before his eyes adjusted so that he could roughly make out where everything was.  Just as before, he stood behind a bookshelf, recalling in his slightly foggy and tired mind where precisely the cloaked figure had stood.  Mr Belleville wanted to kick himself for not thinking of this sooner, because there, lying ever so innocently on the shelf, was a book that he had not seen until now. He wasn’t about to dive into the science behind how on earth it had just appeared out of no where, because he had never been someone who believed that there had to be a logical explanation for everything, but someone that didn’t run to seek elucidation for things his mind simply couldn’t comprehend.  The old man walked towards it, a little hesitantly, half-expecting a basilisk, or Kraken or dragon or something equally terrifying to leap out of it and swallow him whole.  He felt a sense of relief because the book was without a doubt not one of the libraries, which meant that it was indeed the mystery item that the stranger had left.  In the darkness, an unearthly glow emanated from the book, bathing the old man's face in rich gold.  “What is this?” He mumbled to himself, eyes glued to it, unable to look anywhere else, simultaneously mesmerized and frightened.  He couldn’t help it. His fingers brushed the cover and felt a warm and leathery material.  It was as if he were under a spell. ‘What use is it stopping now?’ He thought to himself, or perhaps he said the words out loud. ‘I might as well see what is inside.’ With exceedingly great caution, he picked up the book and opened it so that he was on the very first page. His eyes scanned over the singular sentence- no, title.  The Old Man’s Tale He furrowed his brows, dumbfounded. Aiming to put together the puzzle of this abnormally uncanny night, he flipped the page, but there was nothing. Not a single word or drawing or number. He flipped to the other page. Nothing.  Mr Belleville skimmed through the whole book, hoping to find anything at all, but his effort was fruitless. Suddenly, he felt as if all the air had been vacuumed from his lungs. In fact, he felt as if he were being vacuumed. It was as if someone or something was squeezing him on all sides, and he wondered if this was a heart attack or something of the sort.  A high-pitch-ringing sound filled the old man’s ears, rendering his hearing useless. Next was his sight; it started with white spots flashing in and out of his vision, but then all he could see was blinding light until he could not discern or hear or feel anything at all.  Mr Belleville had already made his peace with whatever tragic thing had happened to him, ready to climb up the white stairs to heaven, though he hoped he’d get a lift because any more walking and his knees would collapse!  But the old man had always been a little too dramatic, for his end did not come.  He opened one eye first, and then the other, not knowing what to expect.  In his hands, he was still clutching the book that the stranger had left behind.  It was green.  That was all that his still slightly overwhelmed mind could comprehend.  After a while of staring at the sky, wondering what had happened and what his wife was going to say, he gasped: “I’m in a forest!” Mr Belleville scrambled to his feet, looking around so that perhaps he may find a road sign or anything that could hint at where he was.  He could already imagine his wife at home, walking back and forth in front of the hearth, thinking of detailed ways to punish Mr Belleville for being away for so long. Perhaps she would make him his least favourite meal for a month straight. Or- “Excuse me,”  The old man spun around so quickly that he needed to blink a couple of times so that his surroundings would stop swirling around.  Before him was a small girl, with two plaits of chestnut hair covered by a red hood, swinging a basket back and forth.  She looked at him as if he were the crazy one, and then shook her head, as if she had gotten lost in thought. “Do you happen to know where the village on the other side of the forest is? I’m terribly lost and my-” Mr Belleville cackled, not noticing that the girl had jumped from his sudden change of mood. “What and your grandmother is waiting for you?” This had to be an elaborate joke!  “Well, yes, actually. How-” He laughs again, ready to go along with the joke. “You be on your way, Little Red Riding Hood. And steer clear of any big bad wolves!”  The little girl walks away, giving the old man an odd look.  Perhaps he could’ve asked her for directions too, for he had no idea where on earth he was.  But what was the point in standing around and waiting, he was not growing any younger, though he wished that were the case- Mr Belleville stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding.  He was shrinking.  The old man looked at his hands, and was horrified! They were smooth! Without wrinkles!  “Stop!” He called out to no one in particular, his voice boyish and young, just as it had been years and years ago.  To his surprise, whatever or whoever did this to him must have listened. And now, he just had to figure out how to grow fifty years in the span of five minutes, so that when his wife would see him, she wouldn’t get a heart attack.  Now, he had always been fairly open-minded, but the things that were going on here were too much, even for him.  He walked on and on, not seeming to get anywhere because the forest was so dense with trees that it felt like it was neverending.  Beads of sweat collected at his temple and tickled his chin as they crawled down his face. This was the adventure he had always longed for, so why was the only thing that he cared about going back to his wife? The old man’s hands and legs were shaking, likely from exhaustion and distress. He wondered if this whole thing was a trap. If the cloaked figure that left the book behind had meant for him to find it. Oh, how he wished he could give them a piece of his mind!  A sudden darkness flashed before his eyes, and the stranger materialised, right in front of him, at his command. “You did this to me!” He yelled even though it did not sound threatening coming from a man that looked and sounded like an eight-year-old boy.  “This is your story, and you are its master. Do not fault me for your own doings.” The stranger said, their voice, unlike anything Mr Belleville had heard.  But before he could question the cloaked figure or ask them what on earth they meant, they disappeared.  Suddenly, the old man had an epiphany and if he were a character in a cartoon then a lightbulb would’ve surely appeared above his head. He was the story's master. He was in a story. His story.  The old man could make it anything he wanted it to be. He had spent so long living lives that weren’t his, living vicariously through characters, that he had forgotten to live his own life. To live by his own set of rules, and by what he truly wanted to do.  So he wished with all his being, that he could go back home to his wife and rid himself of this troublesome book, though it did reveal to him that he had been going about life the wrong way.  But above all, he promised himself, that he would live his own story. And surely, after the unpleasantries (the whole case of the high-pitched ringing in his ear and sight loss, his eyes were met with his front door, but this time, he was empty-handed, the book gone.  The old man laughed with delight, glad to be back home, and ran to his wife, who was half asleep on the couch.  “Oh, Elsie! You will never guess what happened!” He cried.  His wife stirred, mumbling something in her sleep.  “Well, there was a weird hooded stranger, and then this glowing book and I got transported to a forest, Elsie, a forest!” He paces back and forth, unable to contain his excitement. “Okay look, I know how it all sounds-” Elsie sighs, placing a pillow over her head. “My husband has finally lost it.” ","August 18, 2023 18:10",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,rlx1f9,The King's Library,Jay DeBurgh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rlx1f9/,/short-story/rlx1f9/,Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Happy']",3 likes," When I was a teenager studying for my A-levels, I went to my favourite library. It was known as Charlton House library and loomed in a grand way at the end of the village. With elegant wrought-iron black gates, through which I imagined a large carriage and its occupant, a powdered nose looked out at the peasants scything the lawns. Looking up close to the carved masonry and stained glass windows, it was clear to me that it was something special before it was an ordinary village library, tea rooms and meeting rooms. During the years of living locally near the Royal Library, I had taken tours of each of the rooms. Each had a high ceiling and windows that bathed seventy people in glorious summer afternoon light. Sadly, hideous modern plastic ones replaced the original glass chandeliers. So one morning, before continuing my research in the reference library upstairs, I asked about the heritage of my favourite library. ""Good morning, do you have books on the history of this library please?"" I asked the elderly silver-haired lady, whom I easily considered my grandmother's age. ""What would you like to know dear? I have seen you in the reference library every Saturday for a while, beavering away."" ""I wondered why this grand building does not look like a traditional library, but part of something more special. Was it?"" ""This used to be the hunting lodge for King Henry the eighth, and where the bowling green tea room is, there were stables. Come back up to the reference library and look out, and you'll see a fine prospect. Some original stained glass remains over in that part of the gallery."" ""Why is it called a gallery?"" I asked, trying not to be a nuisance, and failing. ""There were paintings up there, and King Henry would sleep where we now hold our knitting circle on a Tuesday."" Chuckled the patient older lady with an amiable smile. ""I will find an old map for you, hang on a minute. It is only a photograph, as the original is stored away, but every area of the buildings is marked."" Off she went up into the reference section, and I didn't see her again that day. After ten minutes or so of waiting at the librarian's desk, I continued my essay. The next day I returned, and a middle-aged woman with a brown neat bun and ugly sensible shoes looked at me as I went upstairs to the reference library section. She followed me and waited for me to get out my sociology books and folder. ""No eating up here. ""No problem."" ""No drinking either, there's the coffee shop next door if you want a drink,"" snapped the sour-mouthed middle-aged woman.  She glared at me, expecting me to be rude and talk back so she could ask me to leave. ""Thanks, but I am fine."" I wanted her to go away so I could continue writing my draft essay. It was Sunday today, and the library shut at five, but I had to leave at four-thirty as dinner was at five. ""Excuse me, but is the nice lady librarian here yesterday still here today?"" ""The library didn't have a librarian yesterday, as I was on a course,"" the brown-haired librarian turned on her heels and went back downstairs to her desk. Brisque in her tone and mannerisms to show me that she did not intend to help my young happy self. How odd, I muttered and wrote the draft of my essay.  I took out a square of cut-up sandwich from my pocket and enjoyed the fresh ham mum had put in the fridge for me the evening before. The sharp pickle crunched and burst onto my tongue. I wanted to eat crisps with my ham and pickle sandwich, but knew that would put me in trouble and I had to stay. After finishing my draft sociology essay, I took a pleasure stroll around the gallery. It was part of the top floor of the library and was a square walkway where all the rare reference books were kept. The gallery on one side had an open planned section in which three tables, each with four chairs on the dark polished wooden floor, waited to be inhabited. Looking across the gallery, I saw the floor below. The gallery reminded me of the spectators area of a large London court I had seen in a Miss Marple programme one Sunday after dinner. Of course, the layout below consisted of cases of books and chairs, not the judge in his peruke. Walking around the square gallery along the length of the library to the narrow set of display tables, I found the map of Carlton House. I took a piece of paper and copied every detail. Then, using my drawn map, I went for an hour's walk to investigate the opulence of the once regal building. When I arrived at the entrance gate, I turned around to absorb the size of the hunting lodge. In my opinion, it is far too big to have as a shed for your horses and your fresh hanging game. But then I am not the King of England. White masonry trimmed leaded windows set in red brick were repeated in style for three floors. On each of the two Christopher Wren domes, there were flagpoles to show when royalty was at home. Fluted chimneys thrust towards the sky. What a magnificent estate. Cleaning the moist grass from my boot heels, I stepped right to get back on the path leading to the library. Inside, I looked up at the ceiling and gasped with delight. White intricate detailing on rich dark royal blue called me back to the original use of Charlton House Estate. Another look outside the stained glass window overlooking the back gardens, then I would have to go home. After dinner, I would write up my draft essay, ready for submission on Monday. The creaking steps felt like an old friend to me, while I hummed a favourite song while I turned back into the upper gallery. The kind amiable old librarian was by the map of Charlton House and greeted me. “Here is the map of the estate I mentioned to you.” “Thank you, I found it earlier and have returned from exploring the grounds.” “Yes, they are really lovely this time of year. The blooms are out in the gardens, and the gleam of the sun bounces on the polished library floors.” “When were you a librarian here?” I asked, trying to be as delicate about her not being staff, as much as possible. She smiled and welcomed me to the librarian's room for tea. I felt awkward, because that nasty librarian would get this sweet lady into trouble. After a cup of tea in a proper china cup and saucer, I felt sleepy and reluctantly nodded off to sleep. “Jane, wake up, his highness asks for you.”Reams of fabric from a full-length gown rustled near me as the lady lent over me to wake me up. Pushing on the arm of the chair to rise, thick skirts of my own swirled around my legs. Okay, this is a nice dream, I guess I thought as I followed the woman back to the main library. Wide U-shaped chairs gathered around a large lit hearth, and a rich, bearded man smiled at me. ""Jane, are you awake? Did the hunt tire you this morning? I warned Martha to take care of your needs."" Because I had just finished looking through Google Photos of King Henry the vii, I knew who I was talking to. ""Yes, your Majesty, I'm used to the quiet leisure of the beautiful gardens to draw in. My horse is often for a slow side saddle ride to the foals and back. So no, I am not used to rushing about for a fox or peasant."" He let out a huge laugh and took my hand with a soft kiss. “Jane, I love your humour.” I curtseyed while having a mischievous glint in my eyes. “Your Majesty, you asked for the boar to be brought once her grace was awake?” “Yes Brown, bring it now. I will feast our day’s hunt with my Jane by me.” The brown-coat older man bowed and returned, with staff struggling to carry huge silver platters of steaming succulent meat. Goodness, I thought all this extravagance for two people? “Your Majesty, should I take a moving feast for each of the guests in their rooms while they rest?” “Yes, yes carry on brown.” His Majesty wanted to sit down and feast with me, his Jane. It felt nice to be wanted, because as a poor busy student, I had no time for men or their flattery usually. After feeling rather full, His Majesty bid me good night with a wink in his eye, and my Lady took me up to my huge room. A four-poster bed with dark blue and white fabric welcomed me to bed. Jolting awake, I found the nasty librarian prodding my rib with her bony finger.  “Who said you could drink from my special periwinkle tea service set or sleep in my cosy chair? How did you get into this locked room? I bet you were coming to steal something, didn't you, young hooligan?” She hissed unpleasant in her tone and manner. “Stop that right now she is my guest Mavis.” The sweet librarian appeared from behind a heavy dark blue velvet dusty curtain to admonish the grumpy brown-haired woman. ""Head Librarian, I didn't know you were on site."" The woman stammered in a fluster tone. “Clearly, now leave this pretty young Lady alone. She is so pretty, I think she is good enough for the King himself.” She winked at me and smiled. “I wouldn’t go that far looking at her tatty shoes and pickle on the side of her mouth. Flouting rules left, right and centre, that's what the young do these days.” “Be quiet.” The kind old lady allowed her spectacles to slide down her nose while raising an eyebrow to Mavis, the grumpy librarian. “Fine, have your tea party, but do not chip my periwinkle set. It was a very special gift from you more than thirty years ago. Just my luck that on my day of retirement, it will get ruined.” ""All is well, Mavis, go and take a nap in my upstairs room while I talk to Jane Seymour here."" ","August 14, 2023 16:21","[[{'Jay DeBurgh': 'Thanks so much Charles the library does exist as well.', 'time': '18:23 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Charles Corkery': 'Liked this fantasy past/present mix. Well done', 'time': '05:16 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]" prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,8cq3nv,Jessica the Librarian,Ralph Emery Barhydt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8cq3nv/,/short-story/8cq3nv/,Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Horror']",3 likes," Jessica the Librarian By Ralph Barhydt Jessica was such a beautiful, warm, well-meaning young woman. If I had been a lot younger and if she weren’t engaged, I might have asked her out. What I did ask her to do is find this ancient text of witchcraft that focused on spells. I had solid evidence that it was resting in this particular library. Of course, with a book like this there is always talk that “oh, ooh, ah, the book is alive.” Right. Makes it a lot more interesting. “Jessica, I am looking for an old book, maybe ancient actually, called “Spells for Witches. I know, I know, it sounds silly and probably is. But, I have researched it and it is real. Well, at least several knowledgeable people and institutions believe it’s real. And. Many of them believe it some how gets around. Furthermore, they believe that it is resting in this library. What do you think?” “Wait. What do I think? Sounds crazy to me. But, we have lots of books on witchcraft. I just have not seen that one. I have heard of it but doubt its existence.  Still, it would be exciting if I found it; so, I will take on the search.” “Thank you Jessica. Very kind. You should know that I have also looked on the shelves where your witchcraft books live and could not find it.  If it’s alive, as some people say, maybe it’s hiding. Of course, maybe it is not here. I have no idea what makes people think it is here. Having said that, I do recognize that your collection of witchcraft books is phenomenal, best in the country.” “Well, thank you sir. Very kind. I happily accept the challenge but I don’t hold out much hope for success. I really do know our collection well. But, hey…” She gave Greg a big smile which he returned. Great. My name is Greg Hanson and I am from Oxford. You may, or may not, have hear of me. But, thank you. I’ll be back tomorrow.” I was an expert in the occult. I had been looking for “Spells for Witches” for many years. It had kind of become my “raison d’etre.” I thought about the exchange with Jessica and the two times when I felt a strange tingling during the conversation. I could think of no other explanation than that the book was there and knew I was in the building. Irrational to be sure, but I was positive. “Well, wait and see. I could tell that Jessica really will look for and I will come back tomorrow,” I thought as I got back to my hotel room. The room was elegant and bright but a complete mess. I had books, papers, scrolls and odd objects spread all over the floor and the bed. I laughed as I looked at the bed. “Gonna take me awhile just to get in bed, and lord knows I am tired.” I stood at the window and looked out over the nearby river. It was flowing gently by, serene and beautiful A dark shadow formed over the river facing my hotel. It resembled a human form but wasn’t quite. Softly, slowly a cackling laugh grew in my ears. I shook my head and stuck my fingers in my ears like cleaning out some ear wax. The sound got louder and louder until I thought I was getting a headache. Abruptly it quit. Then, very quietly, a voice whispered “Jessica.” “Oh God!” I ran to the door, out to hall, and since I was on only the second floor, as fast as I could down the stairs. Out onto the street where I quickly found a cab, jumped and yelled “Linden library as fast as you can.” I was so nervous and upset I could hardly sit still. I sent thoughts to the driver, “Hurry, hurry, hurry.” By that time, it was early evening and when we arrived, the library was closed. I went to the front door and pounded on the heavy glass. If anyone heard me, they ignored me. I ran to the side door. Pounding loudly, as loudly as I could, nothing happened. “Oh God,” I uttered again. A warm breeze had sprung up. It was sharp at first, then it turned into a howling wind. The most forlorn sound I had ever heard rode wildly in the air. I ran to the back. There was a form by a Dempsey dumpster. It was the janitor, an older man emptying trash cans. I ran to him. The man jumped about a foot in surprise. “What…” “Sir, sir, please listen. Do you know Jessica, one of the librarians here?” “Of course I do. Let go of my arm. Who are you?” “I am a professor from the University of Oxford in England. My name is Dr. Greg Hanson. Please, please let’s get inside and try to find her. My special field is witchcraft and you have the most extensive collection in American here. Jessica is looking for something for me and I know that she is in trouble.” “You aren’t crazy are you? I can see it in your eyes. My god, c’mon, I’ll take you inside. Don’t be messin’ with me now. We have two night guards inside. We all are very fond of Jessica so I am taking a risk.” “That’s great! Thank you, “ I exhaled. We ran through the old, squeaky door into a cavernous room with more books than Greg even thought existed. Racks and stacks. Just books and books and books. There was an older man just inside with a guard uniform on. “Hey Oscar. How are you? And who is this?” He was looking at me and talking to the janitor. “Dan, I am not entirely sure who this is. He says he is a professor from Oxford—you know, in England. Says he is a doctor. I don’t know whether to believe him or not but he also says that somehow Jessica Barnes is in real trouble right now. So, I am concerned. Maybe you can help.” I was standing stock still, transfixed.  “Welcome, Greg.” A soft, scornful voice followed by a long, long laugh. Only I heard it and it terrified me. When the laughing stopped, I resumed breathing and looked around. “Here, she is here, somewhere,” I said fearfully. “We must find her quickly or we will lose her.” “What are you talking about?” asked Dan. “Lose her? What do you mean, ‘lose her?’ Just who are you anyway? What do you have to do with Jessica?” Oscar spoke, “Dan, no time for that now. This guy has convinced me that we must find Jessica and find her now. Let’s get to it.” “Good thinking,” I said. “I am so sorry that I sound crazy, but I am not. Jessica is somewhere in this enormous room. I am sure of it, I just don’t know where. Do you know if the books in this area are categorized like they might be on the shelves?? Are there various sections like Science, Math, Biographies, etc.?” “Ha!” Dan laughed and turned to Oscar. “So, this is the right man to help you there. We guards know the building pretty well, but, Oscar? Oscar knows every nook and cranny, especially of this giant storage room. He hangs here and he simply explores and reads all the time—even when he should be working. Right, Oscar?” “Well…” A low, aching moan poured out from the books. Then a muffled scream. “Good grief,” exclaimed Oscar, “that was Jessica.” They all started running down an aisle towards the direction of the sound. We came to a crossing aisle. Across that aisle were more rows of both shelves and stacks of books. To the right of the aisle we were in were aisles of shelves and to the left were aisles of stacks and stacks of books. Greg noticed that the space had an overwhelming smell of old, dusty books. The other two were used to it and didn’t notice it at all. “Oooooh,” an elongated moan from somewhere to the left. “Split up,” said the guard. I’ll take the third aisle, Doctor, you take the second aisle and Dan, you do the first. Let’s go.” I turned down the second aisle. I didn’t know whether to run or walk; so, I sort of trotted along. I crossed another row and then saw it. I had to rub his eyes, shake my head and yell, “Hey, here! Quickly.” Down the aisle I saw two legs ending in high heel shoes sticking out from the books about five feet off the floor. “Oh no,” I screamed running to the legs. Both Oscar and Dan came right behind me. We reached the legs that were hanging down at the knee caps, but the thighs were somehow buried in the pages of a book and the edge of a skirt was just showing at about mid thigh. It was obvious that the body was on its back. Oscar fainted, slumped to the floor. Dan let out some strange undefinable sound and I grabbed a thigh, the right one. “C’mon, Dan, no time. Help me!” I actually had a grip on both thighs and was pulling without much success. Dan grabbed the left thigh with both hands and I got both of my hands on the right thigh. They both were pulling hard and more of the skirt started to appear. The body was coming out. As it came out it started angling down toward the floor and both of us had to move our grips to the hips and mid-section of the body. We both felt very awkward as we knew the body was Jessica’s. We kept pulling. Two hands appeared followed by wrists. We kept pulling. We saw a waistline, then we had strong grip on the arms and then elbows appeared. A modest, small bodice covered by the top of the dress which ended closed around the neck. Shoulders. We grabbed her shoulders. Dan was sweating with a terrified look on his face. Oscar was trying to get to his feet. I was so intense, my face looked and felt like it was frozen. Then, Jessica’s head popped out and her body almost fell to the floor, but Dan and I held her up. She was limp and her eyes were closed. Oscar was staring out with a wide open mouth. I looked quickly at the book. It disappeared. The stack of books that were on top of it fell down to the book below. “That book must have been two feet thick. It was enormous. Was it the book of spells? “Yes,” moaned Jessica. “I found it.” Her eyes fluttered open and she started laughing hysterically. Dan slapped her face hard. The laughing changed to crying. Tears were pouring down Jessica’s face. Then, like the book, she disappeared, vanished. Dan and I found ourselves staring at each other. Oscar simply went hysterical. A strange cackling filled the room. Then, we heard Jessica’s voice, “Thank you, Greg, this is where I belong. You should know, it will bother you the rest of your life, for I am Baba Yaga and you have led me home.” The three men sat on the floor and stared at each other. Oscar had calmed down but was still quietly sobbing. Dan and I were just in shock. Finally, Dan spoke up. “You know, we have to report this to the police, but what are we going to tell them? They will never believe any of it and we will be charged with murder.” Dan was partially right. We bravely called the police who came quickly and started questioning us rather roughly. The head librarian had been called and had hurried to the library. When the questioning officer explained the situation to Agnes Bolden, the head librarian, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t understand. We do not have an employee named Jessica. Are you men drunk?” ","August 18, 2023 23:49",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,z4x1hi,7/22/74,Dan D,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/z4x1hi/,/short-story/z4x1hi/,Fiction,0,"['Drama', 'Friendship']",2 likes," Alan pushed the rickety cart of returned books down the narrow aisle, his eyes scanning and searching the endless spines and stickers of text to find the right spot for his next return. His eye sight hadn't been what it used to be and the arthritis in his hand caught up to him faster than he would have expected, 'that was for old people' he thought as a teenager. The repetitive organization of finding the specific spot for a specific book so the next soul could find it and experience a journey of their own lying beneath a hard or soft cover was one of many extremely rewarding tasks Alan looked forward to everyday. Steering someone in the right direction of a quality piece of literature or film offered a compensation that no monetary sum could rival. Many have come, many have gone, many have stayed, many have left, Alan was still here, one book at a time. He had been searching for this one spot for this book he couldn't quite find the location of. It had to be here. It didn't make sense. His eyes went across the rows of books trying to find where exactly it was supposed to go. Just then, his entranced observation had been abruptly interrupted. ""Hey, man."" A voice said from the end of the aisle. Out of the vortex and back into reality, Alan steered his vision away from the spines and upon a twenty something, hippie looking boy with a brown satchel around his shoulder. Wavy hair past the shoulders, denim blue jacket, pants that went past the tongue of his shoes, looked like he walked right from Woodstock. ""Do you know where I can find Alan Myers?"" This random boy knowing his name took Alan back a bit. His eyebrows angled, his mind raced with questions but his mouth was faster. ""That's..me"" he replied, putting the book back down on the cart. ""I'm sorry, do I know you?"" The young man gave a warm smile, a smile of familiarity as he walked closer to Alan. ""Didn't know if you'd even still be here. Had a good hunch passing through. Turns out I was right."" He had a warm voice, not like a stereotypical stoner. There was a comfort behind the tone of the way he said those words. Alan's befuddlement only increased the more the boy continued talking. ""I knew we'd eventually cross paths again."" ""Again?"" The boy was now only mere feet from Alan. The smile, which hadn't been large enough to seem unhinged but noticeable enough for it to provoke a warmth never dissipated. Alan was still unphased, ""I'm sorry, young man. I-I don't-."" The smile persisted. ""Max.. Francis' kid."" There was a pause between names. Suddenly, it was all clear. Alan was thrust back to a time of him when Francis was sitting on his living room floor watching infant Max play with the over sized colored rings from his toy set. He remembered how he started to chew on one and how it made both of them laugh, Francis putting the ring back down. Another flash, baby Max sitting on Francis' lap as they went down the slide at the park. Another flash, jumping around in his rocker, the jangling sounds of the plastic animals attached bouncing in rhythm. Alan had been transformed to those memories subconsciously in just a few seconds. He didn't know how to react to Max being here, he didn't know what to say after all this time. ""Oh my god, Maxy"" he said as he gave the young man a warm hug. Max put his arms around Alan as well and let out a hearty laugh. ""It's great to see you too, man."" Alan unhooked himself and put his hands on Max's shoulders. Now it was he who couldn't get the smile off of his face, this one more grinning and pressing into his cheeks. ""How are you?"" A generic question after all that time but the first one that came to Alan's mind. ""I've been very good, man. Thank you. I'm just passing through town today. I didn't know how to contact you so dropping by was my only resort."" Alan realized the two had been talking softly. ""Let's go talk someplace not as quiet."" The office door unlocked and Max followed right behind Alan. The door shut just as the two entered. The interiors of the office were practically no different than the library itself. Shelves of books lining the walls, papers scattered in an organized disarray, an outdated desktop computer on Alan's desk much like the outdated computers for public use. ""Please, take a seat"" said Alan, pointing to one of the two wide sunken in faux-vinyl recliners. Max sat while Alan eagerly went to the other side of the desk. ""Could I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee? I think I have a soda in one of the fridges out there."" ""Nah, that's okay. Thank you."" Alan excitedly plopped himself down in his office chair. He usually maintained his steady and cool demeanor, it was the simple pleasures that made his day but this time was something different and he could hardly contain himself. ""I have so much to ask about Francis. My God, I have so much to ask about you. How's he doing? Are you two still in Georgia? Oh, that reminds me, I mailed a package a long time ago and never heard back. Did you receive it?"" As Alan rattled off questions one after another like a kid clicking through the slides on a viewfinder, Max's smile had faded. It had turned to a somber one, one that brought along an unfortunate wake up call. Alan showed no signs of slowing down on the questions and with a deep breath, Max had to jump in like a car being forced to switch lanes. ""Dad died three years ago."" The statement halted Alan and brought the room to an even more present silence, his line of questions abruptly halted. Alan didn't know how to respond. Of all his questions he freely snapped out, he didn't know which one to follow that up with. He sat back in his seat, mouth shut and body relaxed as if he'd just given blood. ""Yeah"" whispered Max subtly nodding his head. ""He was sick for a while, didn't want anyone to know. Didn't want people to feel bad for him or whatever. Towards the end it-"" he cut himself off to process his next select choice of words. The two sat in the unmistakably loud silence, Max's words slicing the silent air. ""-it wasn't how he wanted to be remembered."" Alan felt weightless, he didn't know whether to stand up and get fresh air let his eyes fill with water that he had now had been fighting back. ""Why didn't he tell me? Did he tell anyone he was sick?"" ""No"" replied Max with no space between question and answer. ""He especially didn't want you to know. After-"" Max took a deep inhale through his nose. ""Man, can I smoke in here?"" ""I'd rather you didn't."" ""Right. Right. After what happened to mom..dude, you meant the world to him. I remember him always talking about coming back here and seeing you, catching up and the three of us sharing a drink or something. Life just got in the way then he got sick and..and he just ran out of time."" Alan didn't have a response, his eyes looked down at the desk in front of him. The flashes had come back to him again. The sunny days at the beach with him, Francis, Melissa and Max. Max's second birthday and his cake too big for any of them to finish. Two lit candles, the words ""HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAX"" with a smiling firetruck beside. Francis and Melissa blowing out the candles and Melissa giving Max an affectionate kiss on the side of his bald head. These thoughts that came back to him were ones that were always present but in this moment became an inundation of overwhelming nostalgia. ""I actually remember the last time that I saw him"" said Alan who still was focused on the desk in front of him. ""It was many, many years ago, I don't remember how old you were. One of the only things left in the house was the crib, Francis said he was gonna pack that in the morning. We were talking about our days back in school, there was this girl we both had a crush on, well-two girls. We both thought they were beautiful but we didn't want to step on each others toes. Neither of us would just make the decision to who we wanted to ask out, we could never decide on anything for anything. We'd be starving and still spend twenty minutes deciding where to eat."" Alan let out a light chuckle with that last remark. His eyes lifted to Max across the desk. ""He thought we should flip a coin. Heads he'd ask out girl A, tails I would. He flipped it and I called tails in the air. I got girl B. Girl B, her name was Sam or Sammy or something, she was nice and all but this was just a high school fling. Didn't work out. He asked the first girl out.."" a brief but lingering silence filled the room ""..and eventually got married to her and had you."" Alan could no longer resist his eyes pushing out the water. They become glassy and a single tear ran down his face. ""And here you are."" The two smiled at each other. Max didn't feel it to be appropriate to reply with a generic sentiment so instead, the two men almost simultaneously arose from their seats and walked around the desk to embrace in one more hug. Alan closed his eyes and felt the heartbeat behind his eyes as the tears tried push their way through. They enveloped each other for what felt like minutes but had actually been a few seconds. The two let loose of each other's grip and Alan used his now free arm to wipe his eyes. ""Do you want to get something to eat tonight? Catch up?"" ""Thank you, man but I'm on my way. I'm just passing through. I've got to get on my way"" ""What do you mean?"" ""Me and my girl are moving out East. Seeing the country along the way. She's across the street getting a burger or something. This was out of our way but I told her we had to."" ""Can I get your phone number or something? I-I have so many questions."" ""It's all right here"" Max said as he pulled a brown bag out of his satchel and handed it to Alan. It was solid, had some good weight to it. ""All my information's in there. I'll be back, I don't know when but I promise."" The two looked into each other's eyes. Alan's had been red from the water, Max's red for other reasons. Without saying anything, Alan put his hand out that had usually been stiff from the arthritis but had now been warm and inviting. Max gave a firm handshake back and the two smiled at one another knowing this was the start to something new. Alan sat in his chair for a some time after Max had left. He'd been lost in his own head replaying memories one after the other, so entranced he forgot where he even was. When he finally came to being, he realized something important, the bag. He hadn't even thought about what was inside. Pulling the open, crumpled bag towards him, he had no expectations. A small silver film canister with a piece of masking tape on top. The label said ""7/22/74."" He opened the film can and inside was what he should've expected, an 8mm film neatly wrapped up with a folded piece of paper inside.. 'I've never owned a film camera, what is this?' He thought to himself. Looking for an answer, he unwrapped the note and read it. ""Alan, if you're reading this then I met you in person and now you know what happened to Dad. He loved you like a brother and didn't want your memory of him to be him in his final years. He asked me to find you at some point and give this to you (he said he knows the library has a projector in the basement.) Dad wanted me to write 'how I want you to remember me. Remember us.' Attached is my phone number. We've got catching up to do. Thanks for everything. - Max"" Nightfall, the library was empty. The customers all gone with their new discoveries of literature and cinema. The doors locked, the building silent but not making a difference if it had been filled with people. The basement hadn't been as maintained as the rest of the interiors. Boxes of books, papers, assorted materials sagged around unorganized. After extensive online help, the aging Alan managed to set up the small film projector Francis knew was still there The film threaded and ready to be watched on the brick wall across from him, he stood next to the contraption in anticipation. His finger on the switch ready for it to unroll these pictures in motion. One deep breath in, one out, his brain did the remainder and..flick. The crackling of film unspooling through the light onto the screen brick wall screen. The first few moments had been foggy, out of focus, Alan didn't have a clue what he was looking at. Then, the camera panned up and when it did it, his brain made him smile. It was his confidant, his best friend, the man who he shared many cold beverages and long nights with. It was Francis in the water at the beach, just him on screen in the grainy and rough 8mm footage. Alan watched but after a few moments, he flicked the switch off of the projector. He remembered when this was, he remembered he was there but as importantly, he remembered what was playing. Alan took his phone out and opened his music app. When it was all ready, he put the phone down, pressed play against the silent footage and so went the song he remembered playing when this was shot. Train rolls on On down the line, won't you Please take me far away? The footage unrolled, the music played its beautiful harmonies. The footage was grainy but it had been as if Alan was transported back to that day in clear high definition. Him, Francis and Melissa all south side on the beach, before she had become pregnant with Max. He remembered the three of them drinking all day, the hot sun beating down on them and the cool water was a breath of fresh air. The film cut with Francis and Alan splashing around in the water, dunking on one another, goofing around, reveling in the times knowing they'd never be that young again. Life was changing, the world was changing but in this film reel, in these moments, it could forever stand still. The film jumped around, sometimes it was just Francis on screen, sometimes Francis and Melissa, sometimes Alan, sometimes the three of them. This triggered a memory that had been buried in the back of his brain. These days, these moments seemingly insignificant or simple petty amusements were now the stuff that would forever hold their legacies. Melissa was long gone, Francis was gone too. Alan and Max were the sole survivors. As he watched the footage of the three of them swimming, drinking beer, hanging out and laughing with the music playing from his phone, it made Alan weep uncontrollably but he wasn't sad. He saw his friends up on that screen, people who had gone but had made such an impact on his life of which he couldn't them away. On screen was Alan and Francis clinking a Heineken beer together and drinking. There was no sound but Francis must have said something funny because it made Alan laugh so hard he spat up his drink. He laughed and dangled off to the side when suddenly...the reel ended. Alan was brought back to the contemporary. The projection rolling the film and clicking again and again while Alan stood in the darkness, the music still playing from his telephone. He didn't want to sit, he didn't want to pause the song. He just stared at the brick wall with the light projected onto it. He was smiling, almost laughing as the tears fell. Francis, Melissa and him were at one again. Time stood still, the song faded, and the room filled with near silence. Only ghosts remained now. The ghosts of those departed and the ghosts on screen. In a strange way, in a strange, unexplainable feeling, they were right there in the room with him. He wasn't alone. The next day, Alan returned his books on his cart. He was still left with the enigma of this final book of which he couldn't find a spot for. His eyebrows became sharp as looked on the shelf, no place to put it. His eyes scanned the shelf once more, it had to be here. As he looked through, one title after another, one author after another, it suddenly became as clear as day to him. There were three books placed incorrectly. He couldn't believe he missed such an obvious mistake. He changed the order and after that, it was like putting the last piece on a puzzle. He had finally found the location for Tuck Everlasting. Every book had its place, every person was meant to live for some reason or for someone. He knew how long it took and how obvious it seemed, everything and everyone would eventually find its place. Goodbye to you, babe Goodbye to you yeah Oh train ","August 18, 2023 15:50",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,x8mm3u,The Ring,Rene' Rinaldi,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x8mm3u/,/short-story/x8mm3u/,Fiction,0,"['Sad', 'Drama']",2 likes," Present Day Conor O’Sullivan searched every room in the massive house in County Cork, Ireland to no avail. He’d been at it for 5 straight days. He had barely slept nor ate. He was running out of time. He went back into the study and stared at the massive collection of books scattered on the shelves. If the circumstances were different, as a librarian turned bookstore owner, he’d appreciate the impressive collection. But the circumstances were not different. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only—to find the ring. Seven days ago Conor was at his bookstore, located in a small town outside Boston, Massachusetts, when he got the phone call. Cilian McGregor phoned to let him know that his mother had died, and her estate and all her assets were being sold off per her will since she had no remaining family. The fact that she didn’t acknowledge Conor as family, despite him being her only son, didn’t faze Conor at all. In fact, he would have been angry if she did, as her final act. However, it greatly vexed poor Cilian. Conor knew Cilian from the time he was a child growing up with his Mom and Dad in a small town outside Dublin, Ireland. Cilian was the only family friend who remained close with both his mother and father after they split. “Why are you phoning Cilian?” Conor asked the attorney appointed to handle the affairs, after he delivered the news. “I am not named in the will as you stated, and you know that my mother and I have had little to no contact for 40 years.” “She still has the ring Conor,” Cilian said. Conor stopped, frozen in his bookstore. She still has the ring. “Conor, are you there? Did you hear me?” he heard Cilian on the other end of the phone, but he couldn’t move; he couldn’t speak. “I know this is drudging up very bad memories and wounds,” Cilian went on, “but you have very limited time if you want to retrieve the ring.” “What!?” Conor snapped out of it. “What do you mean retrieve the ring?” He never thought he’d see it again. “Conor, I know what that ring means to you,” Cilian said barely above a whisper. “And to your father.” It was then that Conor realized, Cilian could get into a lot of hot water as his mother’s attorney. This phone call; the revelation about the ring; all of this was Cilian being a friend to his father one last time. “So, retrieve the ring…how?” Conor asked. “The estate will go to auction in a little over a week,” Cilian said. “I am executioner of the estate. If someone removed something from the estate before it went to auction and I wasn’t aware…. well, there’s nothing I can do about that…” “Where is it?” Conor asked. “I don’t know,” Cilian admitted. “But I know she kept it. She’d occasionally make reference to it over the years. She kept it to spite you and your father, knowing if she kept it, then you could never have it.” “She was a vindictive, manipulative human being,” Conor said flatly.  “She could care less about that ring, but she kept it all these years only because she knew how badly I wanted it.” “Conor, listen,” Cilian said quietly, “I cannot help you search. But that ring belonged to your father and rightfully belongs to you. If you can find it before the estate goes to auction, it is yours.” A few minutes later, Conor hung up the phone with Cilian and was booking a flight to Ireland. Conor’s flight departed from Logan International airport in Boston the next evening. As most of the passengers switched off their reading lights to sleep, Conor was wide awake. The last 24 hours had been a whirlwind. He hung up the phone with Cilian and immediately started making plans. No one would understand why he had to get to Ireland. No one except his father. He was doing this for his father. He had to find that ring. Conor laid his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. He thoughts drifted to the story; a story he hadn’t thought about in years but was the one that had him on this plane heading to Ireland. The Story Finn O’Sullivan came from nothing. He grew up in a small fishing village in County Cork, Ireland. He was the worst kind of thing a small Irish boy could be in the day—a bastard; his mother and his father were not married. In fact, they were not even a couple. When he was born, his mother immediately gave him to his father and declared him dead in her eyes. Evidently a trait that would continue in the O’Sullivan family. Finn’s father worked tirelessly on the docks as a fisherman, saving every penny he could to provide Finn a decent home. Finn’s grandmother, his father’s mother, was the only family member that even acknowledged his existence. His grandmother was the best. She would cook the most delicious meals and play games with Finn when his Dad was at work. His Nana didn’t care what others thought; she wanted to be a part of her son and grandchild’s life which was a very unpopular characteristic. She lost many friends because all she wanted to do was love her grandchild. Finn was around 5 years old the first time he asked his Nana about her ring. She didn’t wear any jewelry except one single ring on her right ring finger. It was a Claddagh ring and as the saying goes – the hands are for friendship, the heart is for love and loyalty is shown with the crown up above. His grandmother spoke about the ring with such pride and awe that Finn couldn’t help but be fascinated with the ring from that day forward. As he become older, he learned the significance of the ring and how it had been passed down in his family for generations. Nowadays a Claddagh ring is well known to millions; but back then, this ring was not as common, and it was special. When Finn was 15 years old his grandmother passed away. He remembered crying with his father as she was laid to rest. The only comfort at the time was his Dad took her Claddagh ring off her hand before the casket went into the ground. “This ring belonged to someone who loved unconditionally,” his father would say. “Without your Nana I am not sure we could have been a family. It will always symbolize the strength and resilience of this family.” Finn’s father kept the ring locked away in their house, only taking it out once a year on the anniversary of his grandmothers’ death. They’d bring it with them to the graveyard, place it on the headstone, and talk to her about their lives. When Finn was 25, he met Carrie York. He’d been working on the docks with his Dad for about 8 years by this point. She was a local girl from a farming family. Finn was smitten right away and after 6 weeks he was ready to propose. He asked permission from his Dad to give Carrie his Nana’s ring. He knew the ring symbolized unconditional love which is what he thought he shared with Carrie. But also, Finn couldn’t afford any other ring. Less than a year after Finn met Carrie, they were married in a small ceremony on her family’s farm. One year after that, Conor O’Sullivan was born. Ironically, it was also around 5 years old that Conor recalled first noticing the Claddagh ring on his mother’s hand. Unlike, his great grandmother however, his mother did not speak about the ring in awe. In fact, even at that young age, Conor recognized his mother’s had disdain for the ring. But Conor loved that ring. He especially loved listening to his father, Finn, tell the story of the ring and all the amazing memories his father had with his grandmother. Finn still went to his grandmothers gravesite every year on the anniversary of her death and brought the ring and placed it on her headstone. When Conor turned 6, his father started taking him with him on these annual trips. It was also around that time that Conor started to notice that his mother wasn’t the happiest or nicest of people. He recalled on more than one occasion asking his father why his Mom was so mean to his father. His father always laughed it off, excusing the behavior but as Conor got older it was hard to ignore. Conor had years now to analyze it all. But at the time he didn’t understand how two people could see the world so completely differently. His father was so loving and giving. His mother hated everyone, including him and especially his father. She made his father feel so inadequate it was hard to watch. She would constantly remind him that he was a bastard and lucky to even be alive let alone loved by anyone. Conor never quite understood why she even married him. That remained a mystery to this day. Finn worked hard every day to earn a decent living to provide for Carrie and Conor. They were not rich by any means, but they also weren’t dirt poor. But Carrie always wanted more; a fact she reminded Finn of constantly. Conor was around 8 years old when he first met Robert McMinn. He was a businessman from the States who had relocated to Ireland. He lived in a big mansion right outside of town. He took a liking to Carrie, and she did not deter his advances. She didn’t care that she had a husband and child at home. All she saw was the dollar signs and the extravagant life she could have with Robert. Six months after Conor first met Robert, and 9 years after Carrie married Finn, Conor watched his mother pack her things and leave his father and him. He remembered that he actually felt relief; now it got to be just him and his Dad. They could be happy without having to worry about Carrie’s constant nagging and unhappiness. But something happened that day that forever haunted them—Carrie refused to give back the Claddagh ring. Even then, as an 8-year-old boy, Conor knew it made no sense. You’d think she’d want to rid herself from anything that tied her to Finn and Conor. But instead, she walked out of their lives with the ring on her finger. At the time, his father took it to mean maybe she might return because their love was unconditional. Conor knew that wasn’t the case though. His mother was doing it on purpose because she simply was not a nice person. She knew how much that ring meant to her husband Finn and knew it would devastate him if she kept it. And it did. She divorced Finn shortly thereafter, at which point Finn finally accepted that Carrie was not coming back. Both Finn and Conor tried to get the ring back over the ensuing years, but they were never successful. They didn’t have enough money to hire an attorney, so they had to accept the fact that their precious family heirloom was lost forever. Carrie became more and more vindicative as the years went by. She would cause problems for Conor at school; she would start rumors about Finn at his work. She had made it her mission to make their lives a living hell. Finn nor Conor never understood why except that Carrie was simply an awful person. There was no other excuse for the nightmarish way she behaved to her ex-husband and her son. When Conor was 10 years old, his father stopped trying to contact Carrie to get the ring and instead enrolled at university to become an attorney. For years, Conor watched his father work tirelessly to put food on the table, raise his son and get his law degree, knowing that it was all to get the ring back that was so important to him. It was his sole focus besides his son, Conor. Ten years later, Conor watched his father, Finn, receive his law degree. He watched a man who came from nothing, a bastard, work his way thru life against all the odds stacked against him. His Dad was so proud that day; Conor was so proud that day. That was 30 years ago and 40 years since his mother had left them with the one thing that meant the world to his father—the Claddagh ring. And now he could get it back because his father never did. A ring that signified to his father that he was worth love. He made so much of what little he was given, and Conor aspired to be half the man as father, Finn O’Sullivan. That was why he had to try. The plane landed in Ireland and Conor made a beeline for the estate. Conor had not been back to Ireland since the day he left and hadn’t ever planned to set foot in the country again. But now that he was here, memories came rushing back – a bile taste began forming in his mouth and he tried to swallow it down. His memories were not good; that is why he never accessed them. He kept them buried; it was easier that way. If he allowed himself to think about everything that happened all those years ago, he became bitter and angry. He didn’t want to feel that way.   Conor made his way to the house, found the key Cilian left and opened the door to begin his search. Present Day Conor had been searching for 5 days. He had torn thru every room in the house and still no ring. He had all but lost hope, but he didn’t want to stop trying until he ran out of time. It was too important to his family. Conor walked over to the far wall and started perusing the book titles lining the shelves in the study. As he read, Conor momentarily forgot why he was here in this house, in Ireland; the collection amassed on the shelves was so impressive. He allowed himself a few minutes, lost in the titles of some of the world’s most classic novels. His eye stopped at The Iliad, by Homer, and he had a thought. Revenge Conor removed The Iliad off the shelf and opened it, flipping thru the pages. Nothing. His mother was a manipulative, vengeful human being who only kept the ring because she wanted revenge. Revenge for what, neither Conor nor his father ever understood. But suddenly Conor was convinced – his mother hid the ring in a revenge book. Conor started desperately scanning the shelves, wracking his brain for every revenge novel he could think of. He couldn’t pinpoint why but somehow, he just knew—his mother was twisted, and this was something she’d do. The problem was there were several hundred books lining the shelves and they were in no sensible order. Wuthering Heights. Nothing. The Count of Monte Cristo. Nothing. The Scarlet Letter. Nothing. He spent hours opening books to no avail. Just as he was about to accept that he was on the wrong track and he needed to move on to another room, he saw it – Carrie by Stephen King. Of course, she wouldn’t hide the ring in a classic novel. She probably never read any of them to even know they were about revenge. But Carrie was something she might have read or at the very least seen the movie. It was so on the nose, Connor was kicking himself for not thinking of it immediately. Could she be that transparent? He slowly reached for the book and immediately felt the weight or lack thereof. He opened the book and there inside Conor couldn’t believe his eyes. It had been hollowed out and inside was a Ziploc bag with the Claddagh ring inside. Of course she couldn’t even put it in a box. She carelessly threw it into a kitchen storage bag. Conor felt the tears spring to his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He removed the small bag and everything felt like it was in slow motion. He slowly pulled apart the bag and reached inside to grab the ring. He held the ring between his fingers and just stared. It’d been 40 years since he laid eyes on this ring, his fathers ring, his great grandmothers ring. He found it. He couldn’t wait to tell his father. 2 days later Conor was back in the States and taking the very familiar path to the top of the hill that he’d been taking for 30 years; ever since that week after his father graduated from law school. That was the week, Conor moved to the States, his world as he knew it changed and he brought his fathers with him. He removed the ring from his pocket and slowly rolled it in his hand. He brought it up closer to his eyes so he could study it once again. He’d been waiting years for this. Conor placed the ring on top of the headstone, just like his dad used to do. “I have it, Dad,” Connor whispered quietly thru his tears, as he stood at his father’s grave. “I finally have it.” ","August 18, 2023 17:36",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,bur8j3,"""Dear William""….. A Letter from The Best Librarian, But Also A Father Doomed To Be The Best Storyteller….”",Andy Mac,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bur8j3/,/short-story/bur8j3/,Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Fantasy', 'Mystery']",2 likes," “Dear William….. A Letter from The Best Librarian, But Also A Father Doomed To Be The Best Storyteller….” Dear William (on your wedding day), I hope this letter finds you well. I hope that you have became the man I knew you would always be, even if I was not there to celebrate it with you! I wish I could’ve met your bride. I have no doubt that she has a beauty not only around her, but also emanating inside of her as well! I wish I could’ve been there on this special day, but fate had other plans. It must’ve been hard to lose your mother all those years ago. She was the fairest lady I have ever met. She let her beauty shine everywhere she went! There was hardly a person I knew that felt any harshness towards her! She seemed so far out of my own reach, and yet I was amazed when she said an ecstatic “YES!” when I asked her to marry me! I loved those years with her, there was nothing that came in our way that her joyful spirit couldn’t eradicate! And then the joy of hearing you would be coming into our lives! We loved you so much! With all our heart! There was hardly a moment where one of us wasn’t singing to you, or telling you the most elaborate stories to put wonder on your little face! Stories of far away kingdoms, even as far as the tallest mountains, and even some that flew far above us in the clouds! When all three of us gathered around, there was no telling where the stories would bring us! Your mother was part of a long line of storytellers, even your grandparents and great grandparents told the most elegant stories to entertain crowds who travelled near and far to hear their tales. Which made it very hard when your mother left us…… To this very day I still remember the look on your face when I said that she had left and would not be coming back. You were quite young then, but it had been quite a while since I saw a look of sheer helplessness! I think we both remember the years afterwards as being very hard. I’m writing this letter as part of an apology for all those years! I spent so much of those years working at the office, and I’m afraid I just left you in front of the TV set. You were always amazed by the stories, especially those out in space! And the few times we were both at the same dinner table you loved telling me how your favorite ship went to this world or that one! If I had only known the amount of days I had left until I suffered the same fate as you mother. How I wished I didn’t spend so much time being around catalogs, and computers; traveling here and there for the next lead. I should’ve spent more time with you, my son. Perhaps I would’ve had a much different fate if I had just stayed around home more like the father I wanted to be….. …… but this brings me to the other purpose of my letter. This will be a shock to you, and perhaps now may not be the best time to tell you, but including this in “a note from a father to his son on his wedding day” makes a much less suspicious note than “for my son on his 21st birthday.” It is now time to tell you this: Your Mother is still alive. Somewhere. Now I don’t mean that all those years ago she left willingly and I made up a story about her departure. This will be a little complicated. And at times rather unbelievable; and even I was skeptical at first, but everything I am about to tell you is absolutely true…… I mentioned earlier that you mother came from a long line of storytellers. Well her families lineage dates all the way back to the ancient guild of Ukrainian storytellers known as the “Kobzar.” There were multiple ‘guilds’ within their lines, but you mother line came from a mysterious sect known as the “Veduchyy Svitiv” or “Bringer of Worlds.” Now there was often conflict with the old Orthodox churches and the various sects of the storytellers, but for your mothers family, things were far worse. The church decreed that these storytellers were not of this world and their entire bloodlines had to be eliminated. When a friend of the family told them the news that their family would be brought to the church to “perform the religious purging of spirits” they fled everything they had and headed to the ancient land which we now call the Netherlands. You’re probably wondering why the church had such a religious hatred for the family, and you’re also probably wondering what any of this has to do with your mother. Well, and this will be the part that’s hard to believe….. …..By speaking a few words in an ancient language, your mothers bloodline is gifted to make any story come to life. Your mother could describe each and every castle she told you in story in such detail because she had been there. All of the 'friends’ she told you about; fabled beasts, talking animals, knights, kings, even giants, they were all people she had met whenever she told a story. Now bringing dragons and mountain sized castles into this realm would be disastrous, mostly, but I can think of a few places that might do well with a dragon attack after all. This is why her family learned to bring these “story boxes” (like the very one I’ve sent to you as a wedding gift here that your mother used to use). Instead of having the worlds come to life here in New England, they could exist safely inside the box here. All you mother would have to do is speak the incantation, and anything she read would come to life inside of the “story box.” From what I learned she also could speak another set of words and she could immerse herself inside the box (and then say another line to bring her back out of the story again). This is the fate that happened to your mother. She is trapped inside one of the stories. This is something I know deep within my heart. When we had the funeral for her it was an empty casket without a body inside. I was told this would be the easiest for her friends and family, including yourself. Your mother confided this secret within a few in her circle; Your Aunt Amy and Sarah and myself. We knew when she made trips inside her stories she would leave her wedding ring on top of the storybook she was journeying into. On the night of her disappearance I came home with pizza after a long day of work and went upstairs to grab your mother for dinner (we were both exhausted by the end of the day and thought all of us needed a treat). I went into our bedroom to find her wedding ring on the floor surrounded by paper shredded all over the floor. The neighbors cat had paid us another visit, but this time took a special interest in her new book and decided to shred it’s pages until they were hardly readable. I collected what I could, and I pulled out a few phrases which looked important: “Sapphire Crown” “Sword of the Great Bear” “Queen of the Frozen North” But It was the last phrase that really that made my heart sink “Limited Edition: 1 of 5” From what I gathered the book she received was a gift from somebody that found an extremely rare novella that only had a few copies published. Although the odds were against me, I knew, with all my heart, that I could find another copy of the book. This is when I poured my heart into finding another copy of the book. I used all my resources at the Library of Congress to look into this. My job as a librarian there seemed to come in handy fir once. I transferred myself to the ‘Children's Literature’ section and used all the resources at my disposal in my spare time (including all those late nights at the office) to find another copy. The “Workaholic” myths you heard about me were partially true; but it was not for myself that I became distant, but it was to bring your mother back to us. This brings me to the next part of my letter. I am not dead either. In fact I have found one of the other copies of the book. Unbeknownst to myself I am also part of the same bloodline as your mother. As the family headed to the Netherlands one of my ancestors found favor with the new friends and betrothed them carrying on this special gift. More than likely if you have received this letter it is because your aunts were put into the same situation as we had been with your mother. I followed the same plan as before and somehow got caught in the same story. Hopefully in all of this I found your mother and we are here living out our day until you find us. I cannot say the fate of the book that I read from, but I had a backup plan. There was a third copy of the book; it’s location I have kept secret….. …..until now. Inside the very box I have given you there is a false bottom. Inside you will find a letter to include the arrangement I made with the bookshop owner in Venice, Italy. I asked Gino to the shopkeeper to keep the book safe. He agreed and promised to release the book only to the person who has the letter I included in the envelope. We’ve also arranged your airfare and accommodations as a wedding gift to you. More than likely your aunts will give you your trip details, but you now know the hidden reason for the trip. As you are the same bloodline as Your mother, and now I, you are also given the gift to bring yourself inside the story. The ancient words will be written on a card inside the book when you receive it. I suppose you now have the power to bring us back, but you are also given the choice. You may choose to stay here with us in our story. I cannot say what things are like here, at the time of writing this letter I am sitting at my desk with the box, the words, and my wedding ring ready to speak the ancient words. I will give the letter to you Aunt Sarah if I have disappeared. I cannot say what would be the best for you, I can only show you what could be the first few steps on your adventure….. …. As you are also starting your first few days on the only true great adventure: Love. Just know that you always have been, and always be loved by your parents Yours truly, The Best Librarian, But Also A Father Doomed To Be The Best Storyteller ","August 18, 2023 20:25",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,mzse20,THOSE HIEROGLYPHICS,Mara Masolini,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mzse20/,/short-story/mzse20/,Fiction,0,"['Sad', 'Suspense', 'Black']",2 likes," THOSE HIEROGLYPHICS Nothing, it wasn’t there. That page or sheet on which signs that looked like hieroglyphs were traced had disappeared. He had caught a glimpse of it when he was absentmindedly leafing through Lucretius’” De rerum nature”. Just at that moment, his colleague Greta had called him for an emergency. David had left the book on the table and when had returned the book was no longer there.  He had looked for it on the shelves, had found it, and had started searching frantically for that sheet ( with hieroglyphics) but it had disappeared. “ Who put back “ De rerum naturae” on the shelf? “he had asked his colleagues. None of them had relocated it. “ It must have been one of the young from the civil service “ they had said to him. The civil service was young were interns ( volunteers). David had asked to them but no one remembered having replaced that book, even though it was bound and from an old edition. As a librarian, David often happened to find pages or sheets of all kinds among the pages of the library books like shopping receipts, notes, and even love letters, probably used as bookmarks and forgotten there. But he had never happened to find a sheet with lettering like that. He wondered if those were really hieroglyphics, as they had seemed to him to glimpse them for an instant. Oh, perhaps it was only a child’s scribbles….or perhaps it could have been an encrypted script. He should have looked carefully at them, but now it was an impossible task to find them. Maybe that sheet had ended up in a trash can, he said himself. David, albeit feeling that he was being ridiculous, started to look through all the trash bins in the library. His colleagues looking at him shaking their heads. “ Are you looking for some treasure in the trash, David?” and “ What have you lost that is so precious that you start looking for it in the trash?”They said to him with a grin. “ Yes, I’m looking for something I have lost…And I don’t even know what it is” he said himself, feeling more and more ridiculous. “ YET I need to find it again to understand what it is” From what he remembered ___he had only looked at that sheet for a few moments ___but no, they couldn’t be hieroglyphics since it was made up of too simple, elementary signs such as geometric figures ___circles, triangles, squares ____and of simplified drawings of flowers ___roses, daisies___ interspersed with parallel and wavy lines. Ah, there was also a circle with rays….perhaps the sun? And a sickle that maybe meant the moon. But even though he was sure by now they weren’t hieroglyphics, David still called them hieroglyphics to him, as to signify that they were signs to be deciphered. And the fact they had to be deciphered made him think of an encrypted, secret writing ( script). Who knows what was enclosed ___what message, what information ___in that page ( sheet) that he had made be able to see for too little time, and that he had lost ( that had disappeared). Damn it, there was no way to find it again even emptying all the wastebaskets there in the library.  A SECRET WRITING …David remembered that as a child he and his friend Paul had also planned to use a secret script ( writing) to communicate thoughts and things that no one else but they should be able to understand. Even when he had kept a diary as a teenager he had thought of writing in a cipher script, to confess to his diary, in absolute solitude, feelings, thoughts, and actions that had to remain secret and inaccessible to anyone but him. He now remembered that while his plan to communicate in a secret language with Paul had failed_____ they had not agreed on the characters or signs of the cipher writing to be use ____he had actually written something of his torments of love and his suicidal plans in a handwriting of his own invention. Oh, but sure he had to find again his old diary when he was a teenager.  David had kept ( written) the diary only a few, now distant years of his life, then he had put it aside, had forgotten about it.  He saw it reappearing in his mind. His old diary had a blue cover with written on it DEAR DIARY, in white or perhaps in yellow. But he didn’t remember where he had put it, or where it had ended up. David rummaged through his desk drawers, his library shelves, and even through dressers and closets….Finally, he found it relegated in an old chest in the attic, almost as if he had wanted to get rid of it. It was all covered with dust…the dust of time and forgetfulness. He opened it with trembling hands. On the first page under the date April 8 1983, he had written :” It’s a beautiful spring day today. In the afternoon I went for a run with Mark , Stephen, and Jacob. What a sweaty! But it was great. I needed it to wind down after school. I got five on the Latin test and the teacher said to me that I have to work harder, that I’m always distracted even in class…in short a reprimand…..I didn’t have the courage to replay, not even with a single word. I remained silent as a fish while my classmates whispered and giggled. I felt great embarrassment…” David sighed….how young, naïve, and clueless he had been…how much time had passed since then, a lifetime. He continued to turn the yellowed pages of his youthful diary and HERE was the page where he had begun to write in his very personal and naïve “ encrypted” handwriting. He had resorted to the letters of the Greek alphabet, modifying some of them and also adding  (using)other signs such as triangles, circles, rectangles, and straight lines. But, damn it he had written in one go, impulsively, and now he no longer remembered the meaning he had attributed to each sign and letter. Now he couldn’t decipher the “ words” that he himself had written on those pages. They had become hieroglyphs for him. But he remembered what, of whom he had written in coded writing . It was when he’d fallen in love  with Mark that he started writing in cipher script. He had suffered so much for Mark, who didn’t reciprocate him at all. On the contrary, Mark made fun of him, because he was a boy who liked girls, and he also had a girlfriend. David had vented in his diary about his suffering, about his impossible love for him. And even in his diary, he had railed against  Mark and against the girls. He had confessed to the diary his anguish and his desire to die. Instead, it was Mark who died in a terrible car accident. David felt guilty for what had written against him, had even cursed him and since Mark’s death, he had stopped keeping the diary. NOW in front of those pages, he wondered if one day he would be able to decipher them, to understand word for word what he had written then. ","August 18, 2023 22:57",[] prompt_0024,Begin your story with a librarian searching for something.,mg5kxr,In the Simpleton Library,Aurora Martin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mg5kxr/,/short-story/mg5kxr/,Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny']",2 likes," “Oh, where is it this time…” Harris the librarian muttered as he started rooting around his desk. “Not here… perhaps on a shelf again? It does like to wander…” Harris was an older fellow, but a good hand to have around the library. Most didn’t even visit unless they knew he’d be there. Harris was always good for a story or two, and knew where just about every book in the library belonged, and all the people who visited the library, including their preferences. He spoke in three languages, and signed in quite a few languages as well. If Harris didn’t know something, then he knew where to look and who to go to. “Perhaps the book carts…” Harris slowly made his way through the library. His thin and wispy white hair gave off a spectral feel, which amused most, though some thought it was a sign that he was the ghost of the library. Harris glanced over at the children’s section and decided to start there. Cole was there with his daughter, listening as she babbled about with her puppet play. It was really quite cute. Cole noticed Harris and signed a greeting. Harris nodded and signed back before the two returned to what they needed to do. Cole needed to apparently listen to his daughter’s version of Sleeping Beauty while Harris still needed to find what he was looking for. Harris quietly searched the book carts in the children’s section and shook his head. “Not here…” He muttered before continuing onward. “Perhaps history?” The history section was filled with books about world history, from the ancient Egyptians and other African nations, to the more modern achievements and notices such as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Harris took notice of a few of the local teens studying for an upcoming assignment, but none needed his aid at the moment, so he pressed on. He checked the book carts in the area, even going so far as to check the shelves and chests, as well as some artifacts that remained in the library from the olden days before the museum had been made. “Not here either… oh bother, where is it?” He muttered before putting a shield back into the arms of a suit of armor. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Harris shook his head and continued on. “Let’s try the fictional sections next. Fantasy sometimes has it…” Harris made his way through to the Fantasy section where he scowled at the floor. It was covered in some sort of glittery substance! He shook his head and walked over to a broom that was leaning against a shelf. He gently grabbed the broom and started to sweep up all the glitter. He sighed. “Fairies and Pixies… its always fairies and pixies around here… whatever happened to a good old friendly dragon story?” He glanced at his watch. “Ugh, I really don’t have time for this. Do you mind continuing without me?” The broom in hand easily shifted out of the old man’s grasp and continued sweeping, even going so far as to rap on a shelf, getting the attention of a nearby dustpan. “Thank you kindly, I still need to find what I’m looking for.” Harris checked the nearby carts, but still wasn’t able to find what he was looking for. He shook his head and glanced at the broom and dustpan as they finished cleaning up the pixie and fairy dust from the last set of kids that had ran through chasing fairytales. He smirked favorably and nodded before continuing on. “Perhaps the… ah, yes, it must be in the Adventure section!” Harris smiled as he picked up his pace. He paused only as he reached a set of shelves that seemed like they were the entrance to a snowy pass. “Ugh, someone let out the yeti again, didn’t they?” Harris sighed. He walked over to a closet and grabbed snowshoes and coat, as well as a set of snow goggles. “Let’s get this over with.” He then whistled. A dog sled came by within seconds. “Ah good. Franklin, how’s the snow today?” “Just fine, Mr. Harris. Sorry about the mess. My sister wanted to read up on the Golden Compass, and, well… you know…” A short boy, about ten, with dark skin, was driving the dog sled. The sled had a strong team of huskies. “I tried to warn her about the books, but you know college students, they don’t listen to their ten year old brothers, heh.” Harris nodded as he climbed onboard the sled. “Yes, the out of towners are a bit of a hazard. Did she get somewhere safe?” “I think so. I believe I saw her with your compass.” “AH, so that’s where that went! I’ve been looking all over the library for it. Honestly, she should stick with the children’s section. Things barely act up there, and with all the artifacts back here, well I suppose I’m just glad it wasn’t Treasure Island she opened, though that is a classic.” “Indeed, sir. MUSH!” Franklin called out to the dogs after the librarian was settled. With that, the team and its two passengers made their way deep into the snow filled section of the library. “I don’t think she’s doing well with the rules, sir.” “Indeed. No one is to take artifacts from my desk because they cause books to act up! I don’t mind so much when it’s the fantasy section, a knight or fairy always comes to the rescue, but the Adventure section, my word. Let’s hope to reach her before she gets to the Horror section!” “Oh stars! Mush!” Franklin urged the dogs on faster, hoping to find his sister before that too. Thankfully, it wasn’t to long before they found her camped out in an igloo made of books with a man giving her a lecture about the dangers of travelling in the snow without the proper equipment. “Isn’t that…?” “Tenzing, you’re in the wrong section again!” Harris called out as the sled came to a stop. The Tibetan mountaineer turned towards the librarian and started saying something in a language only the librarian could understand. The librarian grimaced and held out a hand while explaining the situation in the man’s native language. Tenzing seemed to understand and handed over a small object. It was a small golden compass that was etched with ancient symbols and had a faint glowing light. Harris closed it and nodded before pocketing it. “Come along, miss. You are very fortunate that Tenzing was nearby, but he’s still got to finish his route to Mt. Everest’s top. This is merely a stop along the way. His party isn’t too far, so he’ll catch up easy enough. Let’s get back to the front of the library. Goodness knows you are in way over your head.” The girl was shaking, cold and scared, but her younger brother led her to the sled and covered her in a blanket. Franklin then pulled something else off of the sled. “I picked this up from a ski lodge I found the sled and dogs at, sir.” He handed Harris a snowboard. “I don’t think I can fit all three of us on the sled, sorry.” Harris merely grinned. “Not a problem, Franklin. I’ll see you two at the desk. Send a flare if you need me!” With that, old Mr. Harris, the local librarian, grabbed the snowboard, and the book on Mt. Everest. “I’ll be stopping by History to put this back where it goes, then I’ll meet you at checkout.” With that, Mr. Harris took a running jump onto the snowboard, and started off towards the History section of the library. He really needed to make sure that all new comers saw the sign about the artifacts. If Franklin wasn’t so well experienced with the adventure section, who knows what might have happened to his sister. Half an hour later, Harris was locking up the golden compass back in his front desk when Franklin and his sister came up. Franklin, as usual, had a pile of books, and his checked out artifact. His sister still looked shocked. “Thanks for the help, earlier, Mr. Harris. Janet here is still in a bit of shock, but I’ll keep an eye on her.” “You do that, Franklin. Artifacts are only to be checked out by those who’ve undergone training or are with an adult who has. You were very luck that Franklin knows what to do in an emergency, Ms. Janet. Hopefully, next time you visit, you’ll be wiser and either avoid the artifacts, or simply remain in the children’s section. There’s always someone around to help if you have questions, and the children’s section has wards against the artifacts acting up without permission. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He came out from behind his desk with a large cart full of gadgets and what not. “I need to return some of this to the Science and Math section, as well as the Science Fiction section. Jack got a bit ahead of himself and left a mess while researching again.” With a chuckle, Mr. Harris walked off again towards the depths of the library. “He’s crazy…” Janet finally said. “Pfft, naw.” Franklin smiled. “He’s just a librarian.” ","August 19, 2023 01:04",[]