Children's Fiction Wisdom

If sprouting wings and learning to be an adult was anything similar to putting thoughts on paper, my parents would find themselves with a hopeless case of a child. I guessed it was because I never knew how to box in a category like the word growing. My parents told me lots of things about this day that was to come—the day I was set free. They told me lots of things along these lines—wisdom for a child who didn’t have a care in the world.

Still, I attempted to put thoughts to paper, trying to make it big. Unfortunately, it never got any easier.

“Ssssh! This is a library, not a zoo! ”

The librarian hissed at the man who’d walked in. I used to be the prime victim of her shushing when I took glass paperweights from the shelves and zoomed around the shelves pretending to be a spy. (The paperweights were a cheap substitute for spy goggles)

There really was no period of stilled silence in the ancient place, but the noises were, for the most part, calming. Sometimes a printer was running, or heels click-clacking or books being taken off shelves, and doors being opened. I hardly understood why most librarians wore heels—it just made the noises louder.

Now, I used the paperweight as a magnifying glass, peering into the tiny textbook print I had pulled off the shelves. Writing guides were no help either, not to mention the bloody to-do lists tacked up to my wall that never got checked off.

My eyes were starting to bleed streams of caffeinated, lo-fi hip-hop mixes, and soon the librarian would kick me out for spilling my tears all over the borrowed desktop. I actually did that once, when I was ordering a juice box from the cafe and poured it into the coffee mug to act like an adult. Adults about to go to college didn’t do that sort of thing, but I still drank juice in coffee mugs. (I also prided myself in re-reading fairy tales in the children’s section when nobody was looking, but that was a different story)

After all, writers were supposed to flesh out unique and pleasing stories for the public so that one day their title would be resting in a library. But I had drained Youtube and Pinterest for good tips, so I decided to stare at my novel consisting of a meager 10k words. They said writing things out on paper helped too, but every time I crossed that disaster, my palms would get all sweaty and handwriting unintelligible.

Rereading my work, I sighed. This was terrible. I reread my work again and then deleted all 10k words of my deserted novel.

“Psst. What are you writing about? Why’d you delete everything?”

Pressing my lips tightly together, I chose to answer only the first question to the boy who sat behind me in a twisty chair. I didn’t look back, but I could see his reflection through my computer.

“Inequality. I’m writing about inequality.”

“Racial inequality?”

“Inequality, inequality. But yes, that too.”

I hoped the boy wouldn’t ask me what my novel’s plot was. It was too complicated and unfinished for words.

“Well, that’s a topic full of stuff. There’s so much to write about.”

For a while, the boy stayed silent and I drifted back into my own thoughts. The words were never right and the words were never enough. Then, the boy spoke again, but this time I had to turn back and face him; it was the polite thing to do.

“You know, the children’s section has a lot of wisdom to offer after hours, according to the rumors spreading. If I were you, I’d check it out for bestseller inspiration.”

And with a wink, he was gone, and that was how I ended up here, breaking into a library after hours.

◈◉◈

I was probably going to get arrested and then laughed at for trying to find inspiration in a Children’s Section. Technically, I didn’t break in—I had just stayed put in a corner for a while until the librarian locked the door and switched off the lights. That woman was practically blind anyways, and I was just chasing after lost, crazy hopes anyways. Children played pranks, but I bet none of them had expected a grown adult to go snooping around after hours in a library of all places.

Suddenly, I felt like slapping myself. How was I supposed to get out? I was going to get stuck here all night—and did libraries have motion sensors installed? The place looked to be too old for camera installments, but you never knew in places like this. If I got out of this unscathed, it would be right back to Youtube and Pinterest.

My desperate brain fumbled for solutions, but it was also hungry for answers about the inspiration. What if the boy had been right? I had come this far, and it couldn’t hurt to try going to the children’s section. Some adult I was.

Obviously, my flashlight didn’t work, so I fumbled around in the darkness, stubbing my feet on countless books. Hopefully, my memory wouldn’t fail me, but it was my only choice since I memorized how many aisles down the children’s section were from my vantage hiding spot.

1…2…3… I ran my fingers over the metal frames and after reaching the children’s section, my flashlight sparked to life again. It was kind of creepy, but anything after-dark was creepy, even libraries.

Beaming my flashlight over the aisle of books, as I expected, I didn’t find anything. My mother had always told me I acted on foolish impulse, and now that impulse had landed me here, locked in a dark library at night. Maybe I could read a book at least…or type some pages of my book on a laptop from the stations if the wifi was stable.

She’s a human! Look, this time it’s another huuumaan!

I was too shocked to scream. Someone else was in the library, and it wasn’t human!

Huuman

The voice whispered again, and I shuddered, wondering if I was going to become a meal for library zombies. Still, I was pretty sure zombies weren’t real, but if a kid was going to jump me, it would be just as scary. I would really like to keep my brains intact so I could live to old age one day.

“Of course it’s a human, Sherlock! ”

“Hey, I’m right here! Turn on the lights, shall you.”

“I’m not your lackey, Sherlock.”

“The lights!!”

I couldn’t breathe. The Children’s Section was speaking to me! Finally, the lights came on and I saw a man wearing a cloak and puffing on a pipe peering down at me curiously. More things appeared from behind shelves oddly resembling the characters in children’s fiction books. A huge egg man waddled out into the center, yolk spilling everywhere.

“Ah, our customer appears disoriented.”

The man with the pipe poked me three times, and then I fainted.

◈◉◈

“Why must they always faint or run or scream? It’s rather offending.”

“Well, maybe they’re just surprised, is all.”

“Can we eat it? I’m hungry.”

“Absolutely NOT Mr. Big Bad. Where is my grandma?! I thought you were taking anger management classes!”

When I woke up to bickering, I assumed I was safe at my home, surrounded by the repulsive siblings I had often escaped from, and came to the library. Of course, I then realized the bickering was coming from characters in the library.

For a while, I sat there listening to three little pigs argue about farming and gnomes attempting to spear one another with rakes. This was hardly better than zombies or a childish prank. I hated being left sitting with unanswered questions, but what puzzled me the most was the assortment of older characters. There were members of Aesop Fables, princesses, fairy tales, and random mythological things roaming around. There was also a scarecrow, tin-man, lion, and a fat caterpillar.

I felt like fainting again.

“Oh don’t go night-night on us again. As the leader of the Children Fiction’s corporate world of inspirational ideas, I, Sherlock Holmes, welcome you to—”

“Hey, I’m the leader, not you, “esteemed partner”.

“Et Tu, Watson? But still, I’m the only leader this company has to offer.”

Protest echoed through the aisles, and then the three pigs started fighting again. Cinderella, Matilda, and Alice rolled their eyes in perfect synchrony whereas Winnie the Pooh didn’t look very interested.

“Why does a man have to be the leader? As you can see, big-idiot Sherlock Holmes only knows how to stroke his large ego. Why can’t I be the leader? I’m smarter!”

The women whooped in agreement. “Good one, Matilda!”

Sherlock and Watson had started to mutter impatiently about issues with the corporate world until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“WHY AM I HERE AND WHY ARE FICTIONAL STORIES COMING TO LIFE AND STARTING COMPANIES?!”

Everyone quieted, staring at me facelessly, shuffling their feet as if they were ashamed. Winnie the Pooh offered me a sticky glob that must’ve been a business card at one point but was now smothered in honey. Matilda was about to speak, but Sherlock interrupted, straightening his tie.

“You wanted inspiration, how to write the next bestseller…right? And probably some other informed human told you where to look, of course, with some incentive. You either had guts or stupidity, or desperation to come here, after the library’s closing hours, but we characters have to be back in our books by the crack of dawn, hence our timing. Any questions?”

Red riding hood rolled her eyes. “Great job Mr. Detective. Now she totally understands why book characters are coming to life.”

“Actually, I really don’t understand anything. Where are all the newer Children’s Fiction book characters? Why aren’t they part of this company of yours? How are you alive? What advice do you have to offer?”

Watson gave a low whistle. Sherlock began reciting a speech nobody was paying attention to, and Matilda was telling him off for it. Cinderella looked up and sighed.

“The other new Children’s books are all checked out, all the time. They hardly sit on the shelves or have time for a visit. After all, most of the popular ones get the top shelves, and most of those characters have beef with you-kn0w-who in some way or another. We don’t really know why we’ve come to life, though at least we get to be ourselves here.”

Cinderella motioned to Sherlock, who was still bossing everyone around.

“But we do give advice if you’re not food.” Mr. Big Bad (wolf) added. “We gave advice to tons of authors if they promised to keep our secret.”

Sherlock interrupted, again, and held one hand up in the air. “Would you really want to spend time with the Greek Gods? Zeus was about to spear me in the head for accusing him of murder. The evidence was quite clear…” He trailed off as he noticed my lack of interest.

“But, as for advice, here are two things.” Cinderella shoved Sherlock aside. “Get your characters right, and write your heart out—”

“—yeah! So the wolves can eat them!” Mr. Big Bad licked his lips as Red riding hood slapped him. The princess continued on.

“A lot of our authors didn’t understand us, and they completely got our characters wrong! I, for one, was never supposed to fall for some man. I wanted to be a butt-kicking ninja!”

I stared at Cinderella in disbelief, remembering all the years of my youth spent hating princesses for their dry plotlines.

“I wanted to be a businessman!” Humpty Dumpty pouted.

“I wanted to be an assassin!” Grumbled Red riding hood.

“I was supposed to be the main detective, not Sherlock! He can’t solve a mystery to save his life, but Sir Arthur over there made him the star and me the assistant!” Watson nearly exploded in anger as I stared, dumbfounded. A part of me was still convinced that I was dreaming all this up.

“So yeah. We started our company to inform authors of how much they’re messing up our lives. Did you get some inspiration?” The caterpillar intoned as if he’d rehearsed this very moment.

“Uh……..” I thought about everything that had happened. “I guess so.”

“Good.”

Did Sherlock just say something nice?

“Because I’m certainly not helping you get out of here. Get out or get arrested is my motto.”