The good people were lined up at the door. The door had a lock on it but it was never engaged. For that matter, the door wasn’t even closed. It was flung wide open and the good people moved through it, those in the back only faintly aware of what those in the middle could hear, and what those in the front knew: that beyond the door was a library filled with books, and not ordinary books either, but books whose sentences were composed of words that contained meaning but not only meaning, that contained fragrances and musical notes and the equivalent of human touch and even jokes. The people in front had already entered the library and had already tipped books down from the shelves. They were reading them. Emotions and excitement played across their faces. The people in the middle knew what awaited them. The people in the back were starting to know. Also in the room, in the center, in full view of everyone who held a book and everyone who was filing in with the intent of holding a book, was a fountain. The clearest water burbled from the top stone shelf and spilled down to the lower level. Light played out in its surface and depths. The water carried a different kind of message than the books. It inspired fear, awe, and lust, and moved everyone to move closer to everyone else. The room itself was sentient, and knew that though it had been empty just a few minutes before, it would soon be filled with the humanity of these good people. Surprise ending: Everyone was dead.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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