Library Story - First Words

Jane paused before the doors. 

They were grand and old, worn smooth by a century of wind and rain. Large, solid columns framed them, towering like tree trunks over entering scholars. Elaborately carved stone engravings embellished the facade. Scroll-carrying angels glided high above, and armoured soldiers stood beside the doors, eyes dark and scrutinizing. Carved vines and flowers wreathed the stonework, and high above three words were chiselled with as much strength and precision as if God himself had hewn them.

“Scientiam, Veritatis, Honorem,”

Jane read aloud. Latin. She knew not what the words meant, but even with her poor pronunciation she felt their power.

With a shrug Jane stepped inside. She tried not to notice the accusing eyes of the stone guards as she passed, forcing her thoughts to the task ahead.

She pushed through another door, and was inside.

The inside of the library did not reflect the outside. The air was hot. Dim fluorescent lights lit a large, flat room filled with bookstacks. Laminate tables and high-quality plastic office chairs dotted the empty spaces in between bookshelves, and a few students studied in the corners, earbuds dangling from the sides of their heads. Posters containing literary quotes lined a plain, white wall. It was as, if not less, impressive than some of the local libraries Jane had started with in Chicago.

An Ode to Stapler

The stapler stares with sharp, shiny eyes
As treacherous as a traitor's lies
It gives my thumb a mighty surprise
A "pop!" followed by my frantic cries.

It smiles hungrily at my wounds
The blood of my thumb is its' treasured boon
It yearns for the blood of a thousand more fingers
And oh! Why must this pain in my poor thumb linger?

I beg ye, mighty lords of Staples, sell this fiendish thing no more!

New Story | First Draft - Chapter One

Arthur sighed. It had been a long day. He had risen in the wee hours of the morning and proceeded to muck out the stables, feed the barn animals, plow the fields, milk the cows, collect eggs, watch the lazy flock of sheep, and sweep the dust from the porches. Now he sat on a hard wooden chair, resting his weary limbs and hoping that Master Hawthorne didn’t have any more tasks for him.

As if reading his mind, in walked his master, a portly, balding man with grey hair and a large, beefy moustache.

“Is the work all finished, lad?” Asked the master cheerfully. He was always cheerful, no matter the hour.

“Yes, sir,” Arthur answered, shoulders tensing as he waited for the master’s response.

“Good, lad, good.” Said the Master. “Well, if you’re not too busy, I’ve one more thing ye can do for me.” Arthur crumpled. I was so close!

“What is it, Master?” Responded Arthur wearily, rousing himself from his chair and tottering to his feet, his weary legs complaining.

“I’ve some supplies that need collecting before the Gods’ day. We’re running low on hay, and Erik Dondarrian has eight kegs of wine waiting for me. I’d go myself, but heavens know with this back of mine- just take Ernie and the cart into town, and bring it all back.”

“Alright, sir.” Said Arthur, groaning inside. Like hell you would.

Master Hawthorne rummaged in the pockets of his tattered woolen cloak for several seconds before removing a large iron key.

“Take this with you, and keep it safe. It’ll unlock Erik’s wine cellar, he gave me this key himself, and don’t you lose it. Eight kegs, remember- no more, no less. And you’ll find the hay in Reginold Burgess’s barn. Just ask around for it, the townsfolk will give you directions.”

Arthur nodded, taking it all in.

“Alright! any questions, m’boy?”

“I don’t think so, sir.” Arthur answered wearily.

“Well, then, off you go! Oh, and Arthur-”

Master Hawthorne adopted a sly, knowing look and began to rummage in his pocket again. He removed a small bronze coin from one pocket and twirled it in his thick fingers with surprising grace.

“-you go ahead and get yourself a little something while you're in town. There’s a wonderful little pastry shop, just a little ways down the street from the winehouse. That’s just a suggestion, though. Our secret.” He winked good-naturedly and patted Arthur on the shoulder, and Arthur smiled, despite himself.

"Thank you, Master!" Said Arthur. "I'll be right on my way!"