On, she read.

On, she read.

The library door eased shut after she stumbled through it, shaking her umbrella like a disgruntled bat. Fat lot of good it had done; she ran a hand through her dripping hair and sighed. All was well now though. She was back where she belonged. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, savouring the scent of old books and quiet studying, of coffee forgotten, gone cold, and long nights hunched over desks. Leaving the useless contraption in the bucket by her feet and wiping her feet, she started a slow walk towards the rows upon rows of shelves.

               Immediately drawn to the fiction section, she ran her eyes along the spines of the books crouched on the bowed shelves. She knew these titles; fairly new releases, some she’d even read already. Strolling leisurely down a few rows, she became immersed in the modern classics; regimented cover designs standing proud side-by-side, creating full rows of revered soldiers down the aisle. Next row down, the ancient classics squat on their respective shelves. Ancient Greek and Latin translations, scowling at her for never having got round to reading them. Abashed, she scuttled on with her head down to the next aisle.

               She’d not seen these ones before; not ventured this deep into the belly of the building before. Tilting her head as far right as it would go, she read the titles in her head. Stories about forests, about kingdoms, about pirate ships, sand dunes and compasses. Clouds, unfurled maps and piercing sunlight beckoned from the pages. They all looked so enticing, she could get lost in any of them. She plucked one at random, a thick tome bound in cracked leather and wafting whiffs of faded ink at her as she creaked the cover open.

               She found herself wandering, slowly, slowly, as her eyes passed over the words on the first page, her thick soled boots shuffling down the threadbare carpets. She still heard the gentle taps of tired fingers on keyboards, of soft murmurs near the reception, fading as she meandered toward the back of the building. The opening of the book was inviting, kind; it spoke to her as if it had always known she would one day read it. It drew her in, asking her to settle down for a story she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. She couldn’t wait to get sucked in.

               Still pottering down the aisles, the noises almost completely gone, she flipped to the next page. A detailed illustration adorned the paper. Tracing her fingertips along the embossed lines of the drawing, curving around the hillsides and clouds, she strolled in a leisurely semicircle. Exploring the depths of the water detailed at the bottom of the page, her steps took her downwards. The air swirling around her shoulders cooled and dampened, the light dimming, but not so that her reading was impaired. Another page turned; on, she read.

               The characters introduced. Total strangers, instantly known to her as she read their dreams, their pasts and friendships and hopes. She could almost hear their laughs; her cheeks warmed as she thought of them walking beside her. The light brightens minutely as she meets each new person, lifting her spirits and letting her move forward at a faster pace. They want to go on an adventure – and so did she! Her footsteps clacked, echoing off the flagstones underfoot and the brick walls. Another page turned; on, she read.

               Oh dear; her new friends were in trouble already. And everything had been going so well. She gasped, letting their situation sink in. There was danger imminent. Her foot slipped on a wet patch of ground, perhaps moss or mildew; she threw her hand out to steady herself on the wall, never letting her eyes leave the page. Wincing slightly on a twisted ankle, she forced herself to read on, wishing she could turn back, turn back the pages until before her new friends were in peril. Another page turned; on, she read.

               The danger had passed, they were safe once more. Safe, together, but trapped. Her brow furrowing, and realising she had hit a dead end in her wandering, she turned on her heel and tried another path. Another wall; she tried another path. They still can’t find their way out; calling, shouting but they can’t seem to leave. She shivered as she passed a crack in a doorway, letting in a draft; Ah, she thought, that must be a new path. Shouldering the thick door open, her face brightened: they’ve escaped! The relief she felt was as if it was she herself in that situation. Another page turned; on, she read.

               They have started to make their way home, tired of adventure now. They reconciled, shook hands, flung arms around each other’s shoulders. With each passage of their journey they complete, their excitement to be home grew. She shared in their elation. As the toe caps of her boots hit a vertical ledge, she began to climb the stout stone steps in her path. With each step, the air tasted clearer, less laced with mould, and she increased her speed as her eyes scroll along the lines on the penultimate page. Another page turned; on, she read.

               They were home! They were safe. They all survived. She felt a grin tugging at her cheeks. Her arms were starting to ache already, not to mention her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had looked up from the page, but she could hear her shuffling footsteps on the threadbare carpet, the whispers from the front desk. The filtered light from the windows made the gold embossing on the final page glint and sparkle. She lifted her eyes to the glass, scrunching up her nose and squinting. Huh. Had she been walking round and around the same bookcase all that time? She’d barely moved three feet. Shrugging, she gently closed the thick covers, inhaling the comforting scent of the pages one final time.