The Library

The air is musty, the light dim. The flickering glow from the light bulbs become visible as the sun sets, casting amber rays of light across the room. Visible are the endless rows of worn wooden shelves, smooth from decades of use.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you can almost smell the brisk scent of the ocean, the soft sound of waves lapping on the sides of the ship, the slow rocking of the floor. Outside, the muffled shouts of men remind you of the ever-present danger in the unknown route to the end of the world.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you can almost hear the harsh metallic clangs of sword on sword, the glorious sound of the trumpeters sounding their song, the shouts of men dying on the blood soaked field. Looking outside, you can see smoke rising over the horizon, marking the casualties of battle, the bitter smell of ashes faint, but ever present.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you can almost feel the wave of disparity hit you as you watch the stock prices plummet. All around you, people collapse from shock, or just stand there, dazed. The whole world is grinding to a slow and painful halt it seems. Men who used to own the world, now barely own the clothes on their back. Men that used to own nothing are now kings of the street. The violent upheaval of world order was so sudden; no one knew what to believe. What used to be the pinnacle of society was now the ordinary scene.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you can almost see the excitement in the room. The men sitting on the edges of their seats staring at the screens in front of them as if they were in a trance, listening to the garbled voices on their headsets as they witnessed history in the making. They all knew that one mistake; one tiny flaw could easily kill then two men currently flying in orbit of a galactic entity besides our own. For the first time, men like themselves had been sent to the moon, fulfilling the timeless saying that the cow jumped over the moon. Men will now walk on the moon.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you can almost feel the erratic trembling of the earth. As you sit, men shout all around you, yelling incoherently as high pitched whines sounded through the air, followed by earth-shattering booms and violent quakes. Rapid splats of sound make talking almost impossible. Men all around are dying as shards of metal tear through their soft bodies, leaving them dead or marred for life.

Sitting on the smooth leather armchair, you travel through time and space; you leaf through the crisp pages of the thousands of books stored in the room, reliving the endless stories of the past, the present, the future, and the land of the imagination, where reality has no hold. Sitting on the smooth leather armchair in the library, you feel at home.

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~ by rupendajee on April 22, 2009.

2 Responses to “The Library”

  1. And the amazing author strikes again! People enjoy this wonderful opportunity to experience this author’s wonderful stories.

  2. As someone who frequents the library, I must say, this is a beautiful, beautiful piece of work. I’ve enjoyed your stories. Makes me wish our public library had great smooth leather armchairs to sit and ponder in…

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