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    by Phil - 0 Comment(s)

    Thanks to everyone who followed along with our little #TwitterFiction Festival experiment last week. For those that missed the story tweets as they ran from March 12 - 16, here's what a team of library writers put together for the festival, using the hashtag #CPLtf.

    Working alone. Sunday morning. Listening to the book chute open and close as people return their items.
    But then a new sound. An unexpected sound. I turn to look. My eyes widen.
    Something is coming down the chute. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
    Blob-like and jellyfish-transparent, it rolls over itself, and leaves a shiny dry trail.
    I poke it with a pencil. It goes right through like a drill through butter.
    A puff of colorless vapor steams out of the opening.
    Thick smoke rises slowly upward and spreads across the ceiling forming...numbers?
    A “1” appears then quickly poofs away—regrouping into a “2.” I wait, expecting a 3, craning my neck to the ceiling...
    The cloud forms a “5”.
    125. What does it mean? Part of an address? Or—perhaps a call number?
    What is 125 in the Dewey Decimal system? I quickly look it up.
    Dewey number 125: “125 No longer used—formerly Infinity.”
    I’m confused. Infinity no longer has its own Dewey Decimal number?

    I run through the empty library to check the 125s, my mind spinning.

    Arriving at the shelf, the cloud is already there, hovering, like it's waiting for me.
    Why does it just hover there? What is it doing? What does it want?
    I look at the shelves—a huge empty space sits between ”7 Simple Steps to Personal Freedom” & “The Undiscovered Self”.
    I cup my hands and gather it the same way I would pick up a bird, expecting it to spill between my fingers like sand.

    It’s light as air, yet it takes all my strength to keep it intact.

    I will myself not to blink, thinking maybe my eyes are keeping it together.
    It morphs into the shape of a candle, as if telling me to slow down. A white flame kicks & licks, but doesn’t go out.
    I kneel down in front of the epistemology section, draw my hands away, and finally allow myself to blink.
    Glowing brightly, the shape moves into the empty space on the shelf.
    For the first time since it came down the chute, I take a deep breath.
    They will find you here, I think, my spirits lifting inexplicably.

    Turning, I head back to the book chute, my head clear. Just another day at the Library.

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