Librarians
And here come the Librarians. Hard-hearted lovers of fantasy. Dreamy-eyed and bespectacled from too many stories read after dark with the lights out.
Every book is a portal to them. They count fictional characters amongst their best friends. They don’t read novels so much as ravage them.
They look at a wet book the same way that most people would look at a wet puppy. The smell of paper is the smell of home to them. First editions are like newborns in their fingers. While they’re reading, the chase is on. Each page is turned with anticipation.
The real world is hard on them. Ribcages are rollbars for their dune-buggy hearts. They do more than read between the lines. They make homes there. They don’t talk much.
They welcome the online revolution but a cup of tea, a good book, and a rainy day are still the only elements needed for the perfect afternoon. They would have been comfortable thousands of years ago. They have been around as long as the written word. They are birds that haunt tomes.
They hoard the printed language. They have organized and catalogued the secrets of a civilization. The desecration of knowledge is murder to them. Lives are less important that the preservation of The Word. They sigh, eyes twinkling, when thinking of the lost library of Alexandria.
They connect people to ideas. They see the river of humanity passing by the jutting rocks of knowledge. They welcome the quiet readers. Their wagons are always circled against those that would destroy controversy. They have a watchful eye for torches. They disseminate. They seed. They study. They defend. They read.
Time is nothing to librarians.
tags
Every book is a portal to them. They count fictional characters amongst their best friends. They don’t read novels so much as ravage them.
They look at a wet book the same way that most people would look at a wet puppy. The smell of paper is the smell of home to them. First editions are like newborns in their fingers. While they’re reading, the chase is on. Each page is turned with anticipation.
The real world is hard on them. Ribcages are rollbars for their dune-buggy hearts. They do more than read between the lines. They make homes there. They don’t talk much.
They welcome the online revolution but a cup of tea, a good book, and a rainy day are still the only elements needed for the perfect afternoon. They would have been comfortable thousands of years ago. They have been around as long as the written word. They are birds that haunt tomes.
They hoard the printed language. They have organized and catalogued the secrets of a civilization. The desecration of knowledge is murder to them. Lives are less important that the preservation of The Word. They sigh, eyes twinkling, when thinking of the lost library of Alexandria.
They connect people to ideas. They see the river of humanity passing by the jutting rocks of knowledge. They welcome the quiet readers. Their wagons are always circled against those that would destroy controversy. They have a watchful eye for torches. They disseminate. They seed. They study. They defend. They read.
Time is nothing to librarians.
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