For literati like Marcus and me it was easy to get lost here. Among small houses with roofs that resembled open books and buildings that looked like quills in an inkwell, our fascination did not fit our bodies.
Even on the streets at times there were classics strewn everywhere! It was as if some literary rain blessed the tight-pocketed inhabitants of Prose.
Many things could be said about this city, but I will be focused telling you that Marcus and I, especially I, decided to visit all the 300 dazzling bookstores that the literary city had.
To be honest, we had saved the best of the bookstores for last: A Thousand Shelves Bookstore. Incunabula for sale, medieval quills, books with motion illustrations... it was, without a doubt, the dream bookstore.
"Gyl, we're not going in," Marcus said to me in a dry tone just as we were in front of the glorious shelf-shaped bookstore.
"Have we spent half a year scouring Prose for nothing?" I questioned very uneasily.
"I didn't want to tell you earlier, so as not to cut your joy, but many strange rumors surround this bookstore," Marcus whispered observing it as an entomologist would inspect a new species.
"Playing dirty tricks on me again!"
"Gyl, it looks good on the outside, but notice that no one is visible inside, and no one is coming in either."
"I'm going to accomplish my goal. See ya!" I shouted before running out to the entrance and almost knocking down the door of the bookstore.
I swear I heard Marcus' footsteps behind me. Once inside the bookstore I wanted to find him, but I found a soothing silence and thousands of books in the finest versions instead.
It was mesmerizing. One after another, I snooped through the books that were perfectly arranged in each aisle. "The Indomitable Queen," "Two Cards Up My Sleeve," "Blue Summer." I was in a frenzy wanting to read everything at once.
Suddenly, however, something at the end of the hallway caught my attention powerfully. It was a figurine so unique that I instantly thought there was no other like it in the universe.
I ran quickly to admire it closely. Yes, it was undoubtedly a translucent figurine of the legendary Amadis de Gaula. As I gazed at it, I felt I was in the world of chivalry. Unfortunately, that magical moment was short-lived, because when I looked at it again, I was already falling down into a sinkhole that came out of nowhere.
By the time I woke up, I was in a bookstore, but less illuminated than the previous one. Some shelves were standing upright, while most of them were lying down, forming mountains of books on the floor. There were even fountain pens floating all over the place.
At this point, I had a bad feeling and it seemed that Marcus' authoritative voice echoed in my head "I told you so".
My fear was growing and I just wanted to get into the fetal position, where I thought I would be the happiest man in the world.
As if they had detected my great fear, the fountain pens that until recently were floating randomly, began to chase me. I don't know if I ran like Bucephalus or like a chicken, but I tried not to let my weak body get any ribs on my butt.
I only got rid of those terrible pens once I dived into the biggest mountain of books I saw.
I don't know exactly how long it took, but I was calm when I didn't see any of those things flying around anymore. Lucky or not, my scares were far from over.
As I started walking again, I felt an unusually cold breeze. The place became somewhat opaque due to a strange haze, and when I could make out my surroundings a few minutes later, it turned out that I was surrounded by ghosts.
But they weren't just any ghosts, they were the ghosts of writers I had met at some point in my life. I think I got a little dizzy, but I didn't have time to throw up because I suddenly felt as if something big was about to fall.
I don't know where they came from, but giant books started to want to crush me, so I was running like a little mouse zigzagging to avoid becoming another ghost. In those moments I could look like Achilles fighting for my life in the eyes of someone else, but after 3 km I just wanted my grandmother Lina to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and fall asleep forever.
By the time I got to the end of that hallway of giants, I saw a big red armchair. It looked so suspiciously comfortable that I thought it was another crazy thing about this place, but no way. I'd rather succumb to resting than running like crazy.
I threw myself on the armchair and nothing happened. I mean, I was still alive. In fact, everything that had wanted to kill me was gone.
"You've been the first," I heard from a voice disturbingly close.
"Who's there?"
"They all come for the same reasons and can never escape," the voice from before spoke again.
"Who are you and what is this place?" I asked with more emphasis this time.
"I'm going to tell you, but stand up now. I'm not a towel. Your sweat disgusts me."
I hurried to get up from the comfy armchair only to realize it was the armchair itself talking to me.
"A Thousand Shelves charms a way so it holds readers and writers alike. But once they walk in here, they are trapped forever. That's why this bookstore has so many valuable things, because it has taken them from its visitors for centuries.
"This is nonsense!"
"Of course not, you idiot. Look, you're talking to an armchair. There are really magical places in Prose and this bookstore is one of them," said the armchair winking at me with one of its weird little eyes.
"I feel like my brain is about to explode, but I still manage to say I want to get out of here now!"
"Like I said before, you're the first. No one has ever beaten the giant books before."
"Where's the secret passage that leads me home, armchair?"
"This parallel dimension of A Thousand Shelves only exists for one hour a day. Twenty more minutes and this will start to fall apart and you'll be free," the armchair finally clarified for me.
"Okay. Hey, armchair, is there any hope for the writers souls?"
"It's you. All you have to do is get out alive, and you'll set everyone free. I see Gabriel's guidance in you. God save you."
And just as the armchair said, a quake began, rapidly increasing in intensity and disappearing everything in place.
Expecting to see it all end, I didn't need any more shocks. But the damned place struggled once again. As what I saw before me was disappearing, I realized that my body was entering a new strange space. Pale sky and book page colored ground was the new scenery that finally revealed itself to my senses.
Then, without ceasing to impress me, all kinds of creatures began to emerge from the literary ground I was stepping on. From little goblins to Pantagruel himself, they all emerged from the pages that named them to attack me.
At that instant I thought to myself that all this had to have been invented by some librarian who never got the books back.
Anyway, I just closed my eyes and waited for the fatal outcome, but a faint, sweet sound in my head gradually transformed into a clear voice: "Dip your pen and fight back."
I opened my eyes in case someone happened to be there, but I saw no one. I only felt a slight coolness in my right hand. There was a strange diamond fountain pen with little clouds around it.
Without thinking about it twice, I began to write on the ground a story where beings came out to defeat those who came for me. One by one they came out and counterattacked with weapons, magical powers or simply hand-to-hand combat.
The time given to me by the first beings created served me to continue the story and create even more. Thus, my victory was consummated after not so long. A victory I never thought I would achieve.
When it was all over, my body felt extremely light. I felt myself floating between pages, until a hand took mine. It was Marcus. But his appearance was far more giggly and ethereal. "Maybe he won the lottery," I thought.
I soon realized it wasn't that. In fact, it wasn't Marcus. Then what the armchair had told me "I see Gabriel's guidance in you" made sense.
Before me it was the archangel Gabriel smiling and pulling me out of A Thousand Shelves. I easily understood that all these years my companion had never been human per se. "Marcus" was actually a heavenly protector and guide.
When I returned to Prose, I found myself not frightened or worried, but absolutely calm. Under my right arm was something. It was a hardcover book like no other. I glanced at it, and it was none other than the story that set me free earlier.
Years after I published that book, I still live off the income it generates for me and the lectures I give on what people still think is just fiction.
Sources:
Edition: Canva
