Fiction
The library appeared on Elm Street on a Tuesday, though no one could remember it being built. It simply was, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known. The sign above the door read "Between Worlds" in elegant script, and the hours listed were: "Open when you need it. Closed when you don't."
Sarah noticed it first because she walked that way every day to work, and she was certain it hadn't been there yesterday. The building was old—Victorian, perhaps—with ivy climbing the walls and windows that seemed to look inward rather than out. Curiosity pulled her inside.
The interior was larger than it should have been. Sarah was sure of this. The building appeared modest from the street, but inside, the shelves stretched into impossible distances, disappearing into shadows that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
A librarian appeared at the desk. She was older, with silver hair and eyes that held too much knowledge. "Looking for something specific?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"I'm not sure," Sarah admitted. "I just... noticed the library."
"Most people do, eventually," the librarian said with a knowing smile. "The question is: what are you looking for? Not what book, but what are you searching for?"
Sarah thought about this. She'd been feeling lost lately, as if her life had become a series of routines without meaning. "I think I'm looking for a different way to see things," she said finally.
The librarian nodded and led her to a section Sarah was certain hadn't been there a moment before. The books here had no titles on their spines, only colors and textures. "Pick one," the librarian said. "Not with your mind, but with your heart."
Sarah closed her eyes and let her hand drift along the shelf. Her fingers stopped on a book that felt warm to the touch. When she opened her eyes, the cover showed a door that seemed to move, shifting between different scenes.
"Interesting choice," the librarian murmured. "That one shows you the paths not taken. The lives you might have lived, the decisions you might have made differently."
Sarah opened the book, and the world around her shifted. She saw herself as a painter in Paris, as a teacher in a small village, as someone who had taken risks she'd been too afraid to take in her real life. Each page showed a different version of herself, each one happy in ways her current life wasn't.
"Are these real?" she asked, though she wasn't sure what "real" meant anymore.
"Real enough," the librarian replied. "The question is: what will you do with what you've seen?"
Sarah closed the book, and the library returned to normal—or what passed for normal in a place like this. But something had changed. She saw possibilities she hadn't seen before, paths that existed alongside the one she was currently walking.
When she left the library, the building was gone. In its place was an empty lot, as if it had never existed. But Sarah carried the book with her, and more importantly, she carried the knowledge that her life wasn't fixed. That there were always other paths, other choices, other ways of being.
The library between worlds had done its job. It had shown her that reality is more flexible than she'd believed, that the line between what is and what could be is thinner than she'd imagined.
And sometimes, that's enough to change everything.
The Library Between Worlds
HymishJanuary 1, 20268 min read
The library appeared on Elm Street on a Tuesday, though no one could remember it being built. It simply was, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known. The sign above the door read "Between Worlds" in elegant script, and the hours listed were: "Open when you need it. Closed when you don't."
Sarah noticed it first because she walked that way every day to work, and she was certain it hadn't been there yesterday. The building was old—Victorian, perhaps—with ivy climbing the walls and windows that seemed to look inward rather than out. Curiosity pulled her inside.
The interior was larger than it should have been. Sarah was sure of this. The building appeared modest from the street, but inside, the shelves stretched into impossible distances, disappearing into shadows that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
A librarian appeared at the desk. She was older, with silver hair and eyes that held too much knowledge. "Looking for something specific?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"I'm not sure," Sarah admitted. "I just... noticed the library."
"Most people do, eventually," the librarian said with a knowing smile. "The question is: what are you looking for? Not what book, but what are you searching for?"
Sarah thought about this. She'd been feeling lost lately, as if her life had become a series of routines without meaning. "I think I'm looking for a different way to see things," she said finally.
The librarian nodded and led her to a section Sarah was certain hadn't been there a moment before. The books here had no titles on their spines, only colors and textures. "Pick one," the librarian said. "Not with your mind, but with your heart."
Sarah closed her eyes and let her hand drift along the shelf. Her fingers stopped on a book that felt warm to the touch. When she opened her eyes, the cover showed a door that seemed to move, shifting between different scenes.
"Interesting choice," the librarian murmured. "That one shows you the paths not taken. The lives you might have lived, the decisions you might have made differently."
Sarah opened the book, and the world around her shifted. She saw herself as a painter in Paris, as a teacher in a small village, as someone who had taken risks she'd been too afraid to take in her real life. Each page showed a different version of herself, each one happy in ways her current life wasn't.
"Are these real?" she asked, though she wasn't sure what "real" meant anymore.
"Real enough," the librarian replied. "The question is: what will you do with what you've seen?"
Sarah closed the book, and the library returned to normal—or what passed for normal in a place like this. But something had changed. She saw possibilities she hadn't seen before, paths that existed alongside the one she was currently walking.
When she left the library, the building was gone. In its place was an empty lot, as if it had never existed. But Sarah carried the book with her, and more importantly, she carried the knowledge that her life wasn't fixed. That there were always other paths, other choices, other ways of being.
The library between worlds had done its job. It had shown her that reality is more flexible than she'd believed, that the line between what is and what could be is thinner than she'd imagined.
And sometimes, that's enough to change everything.