Writing Repository

 Softly, rain pattered at the ancient lead windows of the Elemental Library. Motes of dust hung in the air, lazily dancing to the music of the universe too quiet for mortal ears to hear. Sophie walked among the racks and racks of books, locked away behind smooth, thick, seamless glass. She could see them rustling uneasily behind the glass. Something had them agitated. Every footstep encouraged a tiny plume of dust and wood particles from the floorboards underfoot to exhale with a puff. This caused a cloud of lightly scented air to trail behind her, with notes of ancient carpentry, dried paper, dust, hints of heavy spices, vanilla, and warm amber. It was a comforting smell to Sophie, who had spent dozens of years(?) now as the Elemental Library’s sole bookkeeper and Librarian. An image flashed into her mind of the first time she found the Library. The previous Librarian reduced to a withered husk before her startled eyes. The way the tears had welled up in her deep brown eyes, just as her magic had welled up so unexpectedly, and from so deep within her... It was her penance, or curse, or retribution, whatever you wanted to call it, but the Library wouldn’t let her leave after accidentally dispatching its previous caretaker, no matter how hard she pleaded with it. She doubted it would ever let her go. This placed seemed the sort that would greedily demand nothing less than a life sentence. The Library wasn’t wholly unaccustomed to visitors, at least. It was hard to find, sure, but being connected to all Planes at once, there are bound to be a few from each every Age that figure out how to find it, and request its esoteric services. It was just a numbers game, really; a matter of waiting. Unlike Sophie, though, all the visitors she’d met so far knew how they’d gotten there, and how to leave. And all knew better than to harm her, lest they take her place. 

 Oh well, thought Sophie. The reading is interesting, at least. And it’s given me plenty of time to learn about and practice my own magic. It’ll be useful if I can somehow ever get out of here. She scoffed. “Not like that’s going to happen, is it?” The Library answered her back with a creak, and the continued sound of droplets hitting thick, ancient glass in muffled taps. “Thought so.”

 She reached her destination, the book cabinet in front of her looked just the same as all the others, save inside. A single book-sized hole existed amidst the other books lined up behind the magically sealed glass. The size of the gap, if one looked closely, or made a slight logical leap, would lead the observer to assume that it just about matched the size of the ancient leather-bound Tome Sophie currently grasped in her left hand. In her right, she moved her hand up to her neckline and traced tiny incomprehensible sigils through the air with her fingers. Around her neck on a fine, thin, golden chain materialized a luminously glowing key. It seemed to be made of softly swirling light, as though made only from energy itself. Her hand filled with warmth as she grasped it and brought it towards the glass covering the bookshelf cabinet in front of her. While there was no keyhole or locking mechanism, each cabinet in the Library appeared to be a bookshelf, sealed with a thick, old pane of glass, stretching from end to end, top to bottom, seamlessly. This prevented the less scrupulous of visitors to get into the books, and some of the more scrupulous books from getting themselves out. Holding the key to the glass, the glass shimmered and glowed before seeming to melt away towards the edges of the bookshelf, flowing in all directions away from the center. The books on this bookshelf gently rustled in excitement.

 “Don’t anybody get hasty,” Sophie warned. “I’m just returning your sibling to you.”

 She pressed the book in her left hand back into the gap which it had left, and it snugly slid into place. She almost thought she heard a happy rustle from it as it settled into place, perhaps relieved to be back among its brethren. She gave the glowing key in her right hand a wave over the bookshelf, and in the inverse process as before, the thick, magical glass started flowing from the edges, top, and bottom of the bookshelf, meeting in the middle like a slow, quiet wave.

The way you intertwine your hand With mine - on ECG, I’m sure - Would look just like a heart attack, And makes me skip a beat or more, I finally stop breathing.

The color of a room on a moonless night.

An inky, blackish, grayish blue.

The burning white of your cell phone light.

An unread text,

The King’s corpulent body sagged over the confines of his throne. There were still flecks of pepper and chicken skin caught in the gaps between his teeth as he grinned. “Ah, welcome back! So, is the deed done, or did you turn tail and flee like the coward you are? From the smell of smoke and burnt armor I can hardly tell one way or another.” He guffawed and wheezed; clearly, his lungs were struggling to stand up under the weight being placed upon them - these pillars were groaning in protest, cracking at their foundations. The man’s health was never in question, however. He had the best physicians, after all.

“It is done, sire. I slayed it true.”

“And you expect me to what? Believe you? Don’t think you’re getting the reward without proof!”

“Aye sire, I remember the terms of our contract. I arranged for the dragon’s entire hoard to be brought back to the palace, assisted by your court servants.”

“Now that’s more like it!” The King leaned forward ever so slightly, hungrily. The throne let out a feeble squeak before silencing itself.

“How much richer have you made me? If it’s what I want to hear, you could be looking at quite the hefty payday indeed…” He eyed the singed, torn, and ill fitting scraps of leather armor, “and about a few years too late, I’d say. Can’t imagine how you survive, wearing those rags. Can’t afford any protection at all anymore, I reckon.”

“The dragon’s hoard was three hundred and twenty thousand, six hundred and seventy gold coins, sire, in addition to myriad chalices, goblets, rings, bracelets, necklaces, amulets, and the sort, which will need to be appraised by the court jewelers I suspect ere long.”

“Well DONE, my boy!” More spittle, violently freed. “Treasurer,” Bellowed the King, “give this man his payment, and throw in a five percent bonus, as my treat.” He winked.

The accountant almost tripped on his robe as he rushed to the side of the throne, “As you wish, sire. So then, the original payment of fifty gold pieces, plus ... two more, rounded down, for a total of fifty two?”

“That sounds more than reasonable, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes sire, very generous.” The court treasurer hastily fumbled with a leather pouch at his waist and hurriedly counted out fifty two gold pieces, shuffling over while averting his gaze.

“Thank you, O generous King, for such a fine payment.” Some of the palace servants were loitering around the edges of the throne room, sulking behind pillars, hesitating behind doors that should have closed minutes ago, and taking entirely too long to fish out cobwebs and dust mites from corners and crannies that frankly could have been wiped clean with the simple stroke of a finger.

“Well, what are you still doing here? You’ve got your payment; begone with you!”

“I was just curious, your majesty, about this quest you sent me on ... to slay a dragon and take back its hoard.”

“How simple can you be? Yes, that is what you were tasked with, and somehow you managed to deliver. Now leave, I command it.”

“Well, it’s just, I was wondering if you’d be so kind and merciful as to explain to one as simple as myself, what makes dragons so evil that they need slaying?”

The King’s eyes rolled, condescension and malice dripped from his next words, “Because they steal what belongs to me. Because they kill, maim, wound, and steal from the subjects that provide me with economic prosperity. Because they take and take and give nothing back, and think themselves powerful and just for doing so. That is why dragons must be killed immediately and with no hesitation!”

During this abrupt rant, if the King had seen fit to keep his voice just a decibel or two lower, he might have heard the tiny clicks and turnings of keys in locks all over the room,  or may have noticed that all other activity in the room had ceased making any noise at all, perhaps in an attempt to make room for the new noises gurgling from his failing, healthy, lungs. He might have even noticed that, suspiciously, most of the throne room guards had gotten terribly sick today, due to some alleged pox, contracted from a bad stew the night before. Missing work was an egregious sin, but the penalty for giving the King sickness was treated akin to an assassination attempt.

There was a time when being a famer could earn you enough money in a day to feed your family for the next few. Not a great position, but not terrible either, as far as all things go. Lawrence looked out over his fields of wheat and sighed, wearily. Storm clouds boiled low and looming in the air above him. The rain would be a much needed boon, but there were still many chores to be done. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but was due to in a matter of minutes. Lawrence gave another hearty sigh and walked back inside his hut, a humble lodging erected from the raw fallen trunks of trees old enough to be his great great great great great something or other, he reckoned. Now, their noble sacrifice meant that he and his family had a place to stay sheltered from the coming storm. At least, for the time being. It might only be a matter of time before the King finds a way to take that too, thought Lawrence bitterly. His hand grasped the lantern in his hand just a little tighter as he stepped back into his hut. In the faint, flickering lamplight, motes of dust groggily danced, with hundreds more clambering upwards around his shoes with every footfall, some of them roused enough despite the early morning hours to join their carousing brethren, while others made the feeble, yet they convinced themselves, entirely noble and wholehearted, attempt before wearily sinking back down to the floor for more slumber. Lawrence’s wife Amber was beginning to rouse herself from sleep at the moment as he approached their bed. Her eyes not opening more than a squint as she pushed herself up off the bed. “Anything more need doing before the storm breaks, dear?” “ “Got a couple of tools lying around from last night I don’t want to rust.”

“Sounds like a good job for Ardyn.”

“Aye” Lawrence grunted and nodded. “Collected some eggs already for breakfast.”

Amber’s eyes widened in slightly surprised delight. In the gentle glow of the lantern’s flame Lawrence smiled gently at the way her golden brown eyes thanked him for taking care of one of her daily chores before she was even up.

“I’ll go wake Ardyn. Mind starting the cooking?“

“Not at all. Second best part of eating.”

Lawrence went over to the simple iron stove in the corner of the hut and stoked the still-slumbering embers that resided in its belly. They, too, reluctantly roused themselves for the inviting morsel of wood he gently placed over their waiting, always hungry bodies. Soon, the fire was gently warming the room once again, as it had done the night before, and every night since the weather had started to turn. Sizzling eggs sputtered, flecks of grease splashing out of the pan Lawrence was using. The smell of butter and eggs subtly started to fill the room as Amber returned with a grumpy Ardyn in tow. His jet black hair was stubbornly swept upwards at the side, a souvenir from his pillow and a mark of dedication to an unruly sleeping position the night before. “It’s so early,” he complained.

“Early as we always get up, son.” Lawrence said, his back to the boy. “Waking up to a meal makes it at least a little better, eh? Better to wake up and eat than wake up starving, ‘s what I always say.”

“You always say a lot of things.”

Well, here we are; summer is almost over. It feels like a lot has happened and a lot of progress has been made in my life over the past few months. I got a girlfriend, so that's cool. She also had to go work at a summer camp all summer, so at best I got to see her for a few hours every Friday night, which wasn't so cool. It's been a particularly difficult summer for both of us. I've also been working full time at Gordon Food Service as a software developer for an internship, and that has been phenomenal. For the first time I've been able to say that I really love my job and enjoy what I do there. I've learned so much and gained a veritable mountain of real-world experience and skills, for which I am extremely grateful. On my down time, I've been playing hours on hours of video games, or watching anime, or hanging out around town with my good friends from college. It's been great, and relaxing, and so, so, needed. My life is good, I am blessed, and I am very, very happy, both with where I am and where I am going. I seem to have a future career, school is almost over for me, and I'm in love with the city of Grand Rapids. Truly, no other city has felt more like home than this one. It feels like I've belonged here for a long time, and I plan on staying indefinitely.