When Stories Come Alive

The librarian switched off the lights and the air-conditioning unit, closed the door, and turned the key in the lock.

For a good ten minutes, there was utter silence in the library.

“You guys up?” Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, or E-Sheep, as they call him, tilted the tip of himself out the shelf, and peered about in the darkness. A low murmur spread amongst the other books, then a couple of affirmatives were spoken out loud.

E-Sheep was delighted to hear Neverwhere’s voice. They weren’t the most similar in their personality, but Neverwhere’s whimsy and the duality of his nature drew E-Sheep to him. Neverwhere was similarly pleased to spot E-Sheep’s silhouette in the darkness. They weren’t always awake at the same time. The Science Fiction Consortium members were often great friends with one another, given their similar natures, but they also tended to get on well with the Fantasy tribe. E-Sheep and Neverwhere, in particular, were great friends.

They tugged themselves free of the shelf and plummeted to the ground, landing with muffled thuds. They slowly moved towards their usual spot under a chair nearby, opening and closing their covers to propel themselves along.

All around, other books were plopping on the ground, and pulling themselves to different spots in the library to spend the night.

The library was abuzz with chatter. Out of the general hubbub, a couple of high-pitched voices could be heard, with frequent girlish laughter. The YA novels who had woken up today were gathered in the middle of the library, and occasionally, you could hear the deep male voices of the group ring out, yelling the latest catchphrases of the cool kids.

Only three of the Mystery books were awake. Murder on the Orient Express was the only one E-Sheep recognized. She didn’t like shortened nicknames, but amongst themselves, the others called her MOTOE. MOTOE was known for her lyrical and descriptive way of speaking, was currently engrossed in quiet discussions with the other two, most likely sharing their theories and plots.

A handful of Non Fiction clan members were sat at the top of their shelf, and passionately discussing politics, self-help strategies, scientific facts, psychological theories and a whole range of other topics. A Brief History of Time, or Time, as known to the others, was expounding on his views and ideologies, while the others sat around, either intrigued, or completely lost and bored. Next to him, A Briefer History of Time, or Tiny Time, sat nodding, and occasionally breaking down and using simpler language to explain the tougher concepts to the others.

All about the floor, three of the Children’s books were giggling, shouting, and running around, playing first a game of catch, then some hide and seek. Two of them, Mister Icy Cold, or Icy in short, and The Little Prince, or Prince, were sat opposite one another, Icy listening intently to the stories that Prince had to tell. Nearby, the Cookbooks were huddled together, exchanging recipes, and keeping an eye on them.

On one of the window sills, sat Frankenstein, watching wistfully as the other books socialized, silent and lonely. Unbeknownst to him, The Shining clung to the ceiling above, staring down at the others, looking for a potential victim to possess.

The Memoir books were up and about, each trying to find an audience to tell their stories to, to share their wealth of experiences and those profound moments in their lives. In Order to Live: A North Korean Girl’s Journey to Freedom, nicknamed Freedom by the others, spotted Frankenstein alone on the window sill. She noted his look of misery and his isolation, and her heart went out to him. She knew how hard it could be to fit in in a different world. She clambered up the sill, and plunked herself down next to him. Frankenstein looked at her in surprise and pleasure. They soon struck up a lovely conversation. He was keen to hear all about her life, and her, his.

It took a while for War and Peace to gather all of his parts together. The 15 of them often woke up together, and they would past the night pondering the human condition, society’s flaws and their longing for spiritual contentment. They were so absorbed in conversation that they didn’t even notice The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, a.k.a. Tom, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, a.k.a Huck, zoom past on a makeshift zipline.

In the bustle of conversation and activities, the night was soon over. As the first rays of sunlight peeped through the blinds, the books started to clean up about them, dust themselves on, and begin the at-times arduous journey of getting themselves back to their spots on the shelves.

They made it in good time today. For a full hour or so, they lay in the shelves, safely tucked in, and chatted quietly with one another, until they each fell asleep, one by one.

The keys jangled outside, but they were fast asleep, and would stay firmly so, until the next night. The library opened the doors, switched the lights and the air-conditioning unit on, and walked to her desk. She dropped her heavy bag on the seat, and started to set up the work station for the day.

When everything was all prepped and ready for the library’s opening, she sighed. She couldn’t put it off any longer. The next round had to be done, sooner or later. She pulled out the list of the least borrowed books, and shook her head. There were many wonderful books on the list. She blamed technology. Movies, televisions, computer and video games, they took away a great chunk of readers. Electronic books, tablets, they took away yet another significant portion. Nowadays, regular paper book readers were few and far between, and borrowers at this library, even less so. With the lowered budgets for the library, the lack of space, and the slew of new, more popular books coming out, it simply wasn’t possible for her to hold onto every book here. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She hated doing this. But she had to.

Walking to the shelves, she started pulling out books on the list, placing them on the trolley, to be wheeled out back. Hopefully, the donation points had space to take them. Otherwise, she’d have to throw them away.