The Librarian

Tw: implied/mentioned suicide, child abuse

The library was full of records of every single person that has lived in the world. 

They were organized alphabetically by name, as every person wrote their own story with the ink of their flowing blood and the pen of instinct in their heart. 

The library was endless—you could say—infinite, limitless. After all, it was built off of humans, which were the most complicated out of them all. 

But it was always well-organized. Guide made sure of that.

Guide read and memorized every single person’s information there and put the final period in their story. Always, without a doubt. 

It wasn’t that Guide wasn’t an emotional person—no, Guide wasn’t a person at all. Guide was nobody but simultaneously everybody. No definite gender, no flesh and bones, no emotions—nothing with resemblance to a human except for a skin shell of a human body, because it was easier to talk to something that looked like a person than a bright flashing light with thousands of eyes. 

Sure, Guide could emulate human emotions, but it wasn’t like any of it were real. Guide didn't know how to feel. 

Guide couldn’t remember how long they had spent here. Some entity was here before, but it didn’t matter. It was Guide’s job now, and there was always no end to human affairs. 

Guide picked up a new book that had appeared, this one titled Cassandra (Cassie) Dash. Guide opened it up, flipping through the pages of Cassie’s life. 

It was always an experience to read somebody’s story. The book gave every single little detail—which doctor delivered them, what embarrassing phase they went through in seventh grade, what their deepest, darkest thoughts were about current events and finally, where their life finished.

There was never a “boring” story. Guide thought that every story was unique, and there was no reason to compare. It was both an omniscient and a first person and an everything in between sort of view. 

As they flipped through the pages of Cassandra’s life, Guide read about the baby girl that was born and raised in Los Angeles, how the baby girl grew up to be adored by many, then hated, then—

Guide looked at the last page of the book. It ended too quick, too soon.

All Guide needed to do was put a small, circular, blotch of ink on the last sentence, and then everything was finished. Cassandra Dash would be dead. 

Something bubbled inside of Guide. It didn’t seem right. Guide ran their fingers over the etched words on the pages. It didn’t feel like the words of Cassandra Dash. It didn't echo her soul. It felt forced, blurred, with no attachment to Cassandra. It felt like—

“Hello?” 

Guide looked up to see the face of Cassandra Dash, still in the same dress in the ending of her story. That was about the only thing that was the same, since she didn’t have the black and blue bruises on her skin and she didn’t have the fatal wound around her throat. 

“Excuse me?” Cassie spoke again, seemingly towards the empty hall of the library. She couldn’t see Guide yet, not until Guide looked at her. 

“Hello, Cassie.” Guide looked at Cassie. 

“Who are you?” Cassie’s tone wasn’t demanding or hostile. It was elegant, neutral, just like her. Until her death, at least. 

“You may call me Guide.”

“Okay, Guide.” Cassie looked around at the library. “May I sit down?”

“Of course.” Guide walked over and pulled out a chair for the girl. Cassandra Dash was pretty. She was a beauty queen, after all. But no matter how beautiful Cassandra was in the book, Cassie's soul felt forced into this description, like a plastic persona.

“Thank you.” Cassie’s position was poised. She pouted for a minute before looking up at Guide again. “So, what is this? Am I dead yet?”

“Yes and no.” Guide sat down from the armchair across from Cassie. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cassie frowned, leaning forward towards Guide. “Do I have to be interviewed to die?”

“Well, I know you’re used to those.” Guide didn’t answer her question. Guide tapped the cover of Cassie’s book, their nails clicking on the soft, green leather. “Everyone deserves to live their life, Cassie.” 

“Even if I tried to take mine?”

The question echoed off the high ceilings and the empty walls of the library. 

Guide opened up Cassie’s book again, tracing their hands on each and every page. “You were a pageant queen.”

“The best one there was,” Cassie answered, picking at her nails. Guide knew it was an old habit her mother had tried to get her to quit. “Or so they called it. I’ve been Miss California and running for the past few years.”

“I see.” Of course, Guide knew all of this. “How was your relationship with your parents?”

Cassie laughed drily, “My parents were my managers. How good could it have gotten?”

Guide turned another page. “And your friends?”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Or so your mother told you.” 

Cassie opened her mouth slightly, then gave a quiet laugh. “Why are you asking if you know already, Guide?”

“Because it’s a tragedy.” Guide felt the last page of the book, where Cassie’s unfinished last sentence stared up mockingly. Cassie was too smart to meet this fate.

“And?” Cassie raised a well-manicured eyebrow. “It would have been a tragedy even if I had lived. I just decided to end it early.”

“And that’s the most tragic part.” Guide flipped the book close, tilting their head to study the girl in front of them.

Cassie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “So what should I do about it? Death is permanent, as far as I know.”

“You’re right. But nothing is certain, until death.” Guide tilted their head. “What do you want, Cassie?”

Cassie stared at Guide, and for the first time Guide saw some sort of hope in her eyes, aside from all the fatigue and sadness and regret. 

Cassie bit her lip, “Death isn’t as good as it sounds back...there.”

“I’m giving you a choice. A second chance. Choose for yourself, Cassie.” 

Cassie took a deep breath again. Guide knew it was a routine before she went on stage, towards the blinding flashing lights and the flowers of endless burden for perfection.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll go back,” Cassie stood up, “I’ll go back for myself.”

“Okay.” Guide opened up Cassandra (Cassie) Dash, turning to the last page yet again.

This time, it was a semicolon instead of a period that was put on what was no longer the last sentence of Cassie’s life.

“Thank you,” Cassie said, her voice becoming fainter as her body—her soul—started to flicker out. “I’ll come back and thank you properly next time, but not too soon.”

Guide blinked, before Cassie’s soul flashed out. The book in Guide’s hand disappeared as well. 

Guide shook their head, sitting down on a chair in the hall. Guide looked up at the ceiling. It was transparent, but it wasn’t the sky Guide was looking at. It was some plane of existence, or some black hole in time, where the librarian handled these affairs. 

Guide read enough books to know it looked enough like a sky. 

Guide chuckled to themself for the first time ever. The last librarian was—in human terms—fired for interfering too much with human business. Except in this case, being fired was being erased from existence. 

Guide could see now why this was an unpopular job. Guide knew the whispers around the library, and the entities who ran it. 

The last librarian quit because they became human! How embarrassing to even associate in human affairs. 

I hope you’re never chosen. And if you are, you have to remember humans are below us. We should never stoop to their level, it’s outrageous! 

Well some entity needs to be sacrificed after all. And to think humans think we care! It’s honestly hilarious if it wasn’t so pathetic. 

A new book appeared, and Guide got up to do their job. 

Inside Guide, a heart had started to beat.