Living in a library most of her life, will Laura finally be able to leave or is she destined to remain in her self-made prison?
I looked up from my latest book and just inhaled. The smell of vanilla from the old books and wood from the bookshelves filled my nose. Reminding me what stood around the endless opportunities in thousands of different worlds. There was also the hint of peppermint from my hot chocolate a few hours earlier. And I could kind of smell the scones sweet scent from early this morning.
I laid back and brought the book back to where I could read from it. Of all the places in the library this was my favorite. I was right in the fiction section where the books were categorized by last name. I just happened to be in the R section. Though I had long since taken all the dim and boring books out of the area and replaced them with all my favorite books. Some weren't even fiction. But I had picked the R section because most of my favorite books author's last names started with R. Harry Potter was among those of the R category.
Oh I'm sorry, how rude of me. Mine name is Laura. I'm a 14 year old girl. And I live in this library. Now before you say that's odd think again. My parents owned the library. It's their property along with all the books. They were once part of the royal throne. Not my parents, but more my great grandparents. Also, somewhere along there I had a great uncle who had been a famous rock star. But that's a different story. When I was 5 my parents died in a fire at our house and my older sister, who was 17 at the time, and I moved into the library. Now she is 26 and married. She left when I was ten to go explore the world and ended up finding love halfway across the world. She sends postcards along with new books. She always begs me to leave or to open the library up to the public but I couldn’t.
I rarely leave the library these days. It was very rarely did anyone enter and I always chased them out with harsh words. It was only my library. I went out every month to buy a months’ worth of food. I had even debated just ordering it to come every month. But I knew the fresh air was good for me. Anyway, in my R section was a small couch and a mini fridge. It was filled with water. A small campfire stove and a tea kettle were next to it. Along with a box of tea, I drank tea more than anything else. Of course I had coffee for when my best friend came to visit. The only other person allowed, who’d slipped in one day with him beaming smile and loud adorable laugh. I was hooked ever since.
He was a handsome lad with a taste for anything Sci-Fi and or romantic. But he also read a good fantasy/adventure book when I stumbled across them. He was tall with short brown hair. He was muscular from playing sports. But if you got to know him you could tell he was nerdier than anything else.How did I look? Well I don't quite know because the only girl I could compare me too was the 45 year old cash register worker, Martha who had long reddish gray hair that almost fell to her butt. All you needed to know was that I was average height with medium length brown hair and had piercing brown eyes that he said looked like the outside of a new tree that was only about two hundred years old that had smooth deep brown sides. I just thought it looked like mud.
I smiled to myself and then continued to read. I looked up only when I heard a knock on the door and I led him in. We sat back to back and read. Sometimes I'd stop and look around. Books lined the shelves. I read quite fast. And when I got tired of reading, I had him read to me. His deep rich voice punched my heart and I listened to every word he said. I'd already calculated how much time I needed to read all the books. I'd read about a fourth of them already. We both knew I wasn't going to leave until I finished. But of course before he left every day he begged me to come one day somewhere with him. But this wasn't what I wanted so it never did.
Once a week I'd take out my own pen and paper and make a fire. I'd sit in the chair right next to the fire and write out the adventures of the things I wanted to see and do eventually, when added together they made great stories. Ones that deserved to be published and read. But they never left the table next to the fireplace. So far I'd written five novels, three short stories and one play. I never let him anywhere near me when I wrote, too much of a distraction and he always wanted to read it. But it was just for me, to get the lonely thoughts down.
As the days passed so did the months, and then the years. I was thirty five by the time I was reading the last book. By now him and I lived together in the library. We took turns reading. Today he build a huge fire and we sat snuggled together to read the last book. You may ask what it is. But I won't tell. All you need to know is that as I read the last chapter. A piece of log flew out of the fireplace and caught the carpet on fire. He jumped up and shouted and went to get some water to try and put it out but it didn't work. The flames separated us. I could tell he went outside. I stayed in the chair and finished the last page. Then I sighed and let the flames engulf me. It was a quick easy death. And one to be proud of. Because I still had one word on that page. And I didn't want to leave the library until I finished the last book.