Tag Archives: Fiction
I have not, until now experienced true horror within the Library, the Library of all Libraries. That is unless the general loneliness of my long yet finite journey can be described as mere horror in itself. The books appear to be my only friends and the majority of them contain as is well known, a never ceasing stream of inanity, and what is worse there is no randomness here. A deliberate design in their patterns and structure mock every last one of us.
It is so very quiet in the library, all that I can usually hear is the pad of my footsteps, my own hoarse breathing (I fear some kind of embolism) or occasionally the dripping of unseen water that perhaps gives some clue to a rocky, underground chasm of cosmic proportions. Continue reading
I cannot adequately describe my loneliness and isolation: For months now I have been wandering the stairways of the Library alone. I remember years ago I could barely pass from one gallery to another, without meeting a colleague who would hail me with such delight and share a titbit of information from one of the books. Of course useful information is rare – no, not rare but hard to come by, and we would delight in retelling old tales of some monumental discovery or pour over a particular volume, the seemingly random letters of which would betray strange patterns within the lines of text. Continue reading
The artist decides he can’t stand the smell of oil paint any longer. He doesn’t understand the reason why, because he used to love it. He gets annoyed by the paint drips and the constant cleaning with thinners that irritate his skin. His apartment, one of ten thousand in the block, is so small that he is forced to clean his brushes in the sink where he prepares food. This isn’t a problem in itself, the food he eats can’t possibly harm him – even contaminated with a few molecules of thinner. However he considers painting to be the kind of activity that should not overlap with the process of his gastronomic requirements – this is difficult as the kitchenette is only two and a half metres from the opposite wall that is his ‘studio’. Continue reading
The universe (which others call the eLibrary) is composed of a single hexagonal gallery. In the centre of the gallery is a ventilation shaft that extends for an unseen but finite distance and is bounded by a low railing. If one were to lean over the edge, a cool up-draft of air can be felt. Five bookshelves line four of the walls: Twenty shelves in all. The two remaining, opposing sides are doors, fronted by large mirrors that extend to their full height and width. So, standing near the centre of the room there appears to be, extending away on each side, a set of galleries curving away ad infinitum. Continue reading
The Benefactor has spoken! People of One State rejoice! A new edict! Burn all Reading Machines without delay! Consign them to the flames!
I, C772 have a new purpose and rise with vigour. The light of a new day streams into my cube and we, the citizens of One State take our exercise. More information concerning The Benefactor’s plan! A great burning and breaking of Reading Machines is to take place in the coming days. We are to take up our hammers and render our personal Reading Machines inoperable. Smash them to smithereens! Continue reading