Sky Librarian
The Library phoned, feverishly demanding their borrowed books back.
"Your time is up, sir, and everything you checked out must be returned posthaste," came a voice soothing as a cup of Valerian Root tea.
"But I bloody well need them, and want to keep them," I darted back, an overblown perception of my self-importance poisoning the tip of my tongue. "I haven't had them anywhere near long enough, and I'm not going to just turn them over because you say so. No, I'm not even the slightest bit ready."
"Sir, let me be very clear," the desk clerk judiciously countered. "We are in fact preparing to reclaim everything, with our without your consent. Your wants and needs are not at issue here. I'm afraid the Librarian makes all the rules regrading final due dates, and she has informed us that the due date on your items is just around the corner."
"Never!" I screamed, in a state of fretful anger typically reserved for those without a leg to stand on. "You must be mistaken. You're dead wrong—it's impossible—and it's never going to happen! I still have more time with them, I'm sure I do. I know I do!"
"Oh, is that what you think?" Queried the agent, her once-cooing voice turning cold and unmerciful. "Then I'm sure you've read the fine print," she screeched, "which makes perfectly clear the Study may with or without consent seize any and all loaned property whenever and wherever deemed appropriate by the Librarian!"
"Nope, didn't see that." I hopelessly lied. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, my dear, little card-holder," she snapped condescendingly. "Don't be an irrational, illogical fool."
She sounded like a high school councilor talking to a kid who might never see the light of day or the forest before the trees.
"Be sensible and stick to the facts, as we at the Information Center always must."
In the ensuing silence, a sudden flash of cleansing, true-blue light delivered the reality of my predicament; and a dreadful, imploding feeling of unimpeachable doom tore through my core as though a million killer butterflies were fighting to eat their way out.
"Okay, okay!" I puffed, relinquishing my rights in one last huff of indignant cooperation. "I'll hand the materials over to you as soon as I can, I promise. Just not today though, okay? Actually, the entire week is bad for me, too. Yes. Hey, listen gosh darn it, this whole month isn't good timing for me at all."
The messenger squealed like a playful yet edacious piglet.
"I'm so sorry I alarmed you!" she bade ironically. "But don't worry, you can relax, at least for now. The Librarian hasn't decided on a permanent due date yet. This is just a courtesy call, which we always do slightly ahead of any final decisions on repossessions. It's all perfectly procedural, you see."
The conversation then went suddenly dead on her end, and in stupefied defeat, I hung my head.
Outside my dirty kitchen window, the dawning globe continued to teem with normal, automatic regularity. The planet's gleaming Sun began easily overpowering Earth's overnight darkness, rising from the east in triumphant, raised-sword glory like the far away silhouette of some ill-fated Greek hero.
A lovely Thrush sang again her happy morning song, intermittingly swiping her humble instrument across the sharpening branch she perched upon. I swigged another dose of bitter, white crystalline purine, delivered via my favorite coffee brand, while a swift thought swarming inside my head told me to clean the amorphous solid my perplexed peepers were currently ogling from.
However, my old, tired body ignored the electrical impulses inviting me to physical action; and instead, I closed my orbs and directed all my mental energies toward the Assistant Librarian's message.
As a living, breathing human being, I now knew the truth of the Library's binding agreement. Yep. I'd borrowed my materials just like everyone else, using the Biblioteca card I received just a few short months before I arrived. Every single living inhabitant where I'm from is gifted this free Atheneum pass in the same exact way.
Can you imagine that? It's guaranteed, and a really a sweet deal! But we don't own the tomes; nope, none of us do. The texts will never belong to us, and indeed from forever to eternity all books shall remain the property of the Librarian. And any and all scathing denials of this fact must eventually be abandoned.
So, I opened my sad eyes and decided yes, the lunette's filthy, but then thought to myself, let's just sit and think for a moment, okay? Hmm. Yes, rest and ponder how utterly amazing it is our supremely intelligent Curator, simply by reviewing the personal data stored within our moving records, sets aside a tailormade volume of references for each of us to live by. Wow!
And lest forget what a miracle of generosity it is that every member gets equal access to the complete body of instructions contained within their copies, which is surely right and good; for it is our own written intelligence that makes us who we are, and what orchestrates our creative development.
And lastly, how beautiful it is the research cuneiforms we receive carry every known totality of what we'll ever be; that everything we will ever briefly possess or use in our lives is manifested directly from these dynamic cryptographs. It can be said that the works in my circumferential reading room know the whole story about me, supplying their perfect wisdom to me while I'm alive, and continuing to govern the grand Librarian's institution long after my ID has expired.
