No matter where she went in the village, she had to pass the Library. Puenta tested this reality of village life many times. She mapped a circuitous route to school that would take an hour longer but would not go anywhere near the Library. It didn't matter. At some point on her journey the Library appeared. And yet, there was no way for her to enter the building.
The idea of the Library had consumed her thoughts and intruded her dreams in recent months. The day was approaching when she would be allowed in. She had received her invitation. All village citizens were granted this privilege in their youth. Some crossed the threshold when they were barely out of puberty. Some, when they entered university. Puenta was just sixteen.
One more week, and she would learn the secrets of the Library. She paused in front of the building and studied the entrance. What might be inside? The door seemed to grow under her gaze. She couldn't remember how it had looked yesterday, but she knew it was different. Even its position changed. She wasn't sure where it would be on the day of her appointment.
The Library did not have a front or a back. It didn't have sides. It was comprised of spokes. She once asked her geometry teacher about its puzzling shape.
"How many spokes does it have?" she asked.
"Try to think of a building without fixed boundaries, Puenta. Imagine a reality that is not contained. If you can conceive of such a place then you are comprehending the structure of the library. And if you have a name for that shape, please share it with me."
Puenta counted the spokes on the building. She marked a starting point on the sidewalk with chalk and went around. Each time she completed the survey the number of spokes altered.
She woke on the morning without prompting from her parents or a clock. She ate a full breakfast, calmly, and went alone to the Library.
The door was where she expected it to be and, for the first time in her experience, it was open. The most ordinary person greeted her. If she'd been asked to describe this Library Emissary, she wouldn't have been able to provide details such as gender, height or skin tone. She would have described a presence, an awareness.
"You are most welcome here, Puenta. We at the Library hope you take from your visit tools that will help you navigate the paths of life."
Puenta was speechless. It wasn't that she couldn't find words. It was that she saw no need to speak. Anything she said would have been superfluous. All she wanted was to go further into the Library. The appetite to discover compelled her to walk ahead of the Emissary.
She came upon a space. Entities floated about. Were they alive? Some of them glowed. Some were dark. Some were strings. A few seemed to be bursts of energy, which shifted as she stared.
"What...?"
She could not form the question. She felt as though she was on a wave, a stream of charged particles.
She turned around to see the Emissary, who had become like one of the entities: glowing, wavering, so there was no definite form. But there was a voice.
"Do you see anything you recognize?" Puenta was sure it was the Emissary who spoke because she saw no one else who could have.
Recognize? How could she recognize when she had never been here? She looked closely. Why, yes. She did sense an affinity for one glowing nebula.
She thought of her grandmother, who had died years before. Her grandmother had been a teacher, had guided Puenta and many other children. Grandmother had volunteered at a homeless shelter, and had perished from a bacterial infection she contracted from one of its residents.
"Grandma!"
"No," Emissary said. "Not your grandmother. She rests, peacefully. This nebula is your grandmother's dreams. All the dreams she had from childhood. Her dreams as she aged. As she evolved. These dreams, all dreams, are in this Library. People who had glorious dreams, who followed these dreams and fulfilled them have left that energy for all of us. The Library is a repository for ambition, courage and hope. When a person comes of age, as you are now Puenta, they may browse through the archives and sample the dreams of others."
Puenta considered the strings and dark entities.
"But what of these?"
"Some, the dark, represent dreams smothered, early. The strings were dreams conceived, begun and abandoned. Do you see the tendrils coming from your grandmother's dreams? Those are dreams she fostered in others, some of them still being realized as we speak. One day, when their lives are complete, those Dreamers may be nebulae, or strings. There is no way to predict an entity's path."
"What about those small lights, quietly glowing near the floor?"
"Ah, those. Yes, Dreamers who borrowed from the Library. They did not form their own destinies, but chose wisely from the selection here. That is allowed. It is possible to borrow a worthy dream and acquit yourself well of that ambition. But these borrowed dreams can never be nebulae. They will never have the full potential of the inspired, self-motivated, and constantly evolving ambition."
Puenta looked confused and discouraged.
"Don't worry, Puenta. Your grandmother spent weeks, on and off, perusing the archive. She was about your age when she did this. In the end, she saw nothing she wanted to borrow, but used what she discovered to form her own ambition. It wasn't grand in the beginning. It was a bright kernel. Once she decided on it, she nourished it, allowed it to blossom. The dream conformed to the contours of her life, and her life conformed to the spirit of her dream. When she died helping the homeless, she was realizing the final incarnation of that dream. Your grandmother's nebula is one of the brightest the library offers."
Puenta impulsively reached for her grandmother's nebula. There was no sensation of having touched something. But something touched her. Very clearly she could see her grandmother's lawn, and rescue animals cavorting.
A dream realized.
Puenta was filled with awe at the possibilities awaiting her. She cast her eyes about the Library. The glow of the nebulae was like an embrace. She walked back onto the street with a sense of optimism, hope and wonder.
In this oddly configured building, the Library, lay the key to her future.
The GIF was made from a Pixabay photo by EdiNugraha.
The story was written in response to Prompt #6, The Library. The idea came to me, and I had to write it :)
