I Work at the Library of Babel

I work at the Library of Babel, and I hate it. I don’t know how I got here, or how long I’ve been here. I don’t even know what I am, or how I am. All I know is that I am, and that I’m a librarian in the Library of Babel. The library is a weird place. It’s basically a never-ending collection of books. That’s all it is. Galleries and galleries of books, and I’m one of the people in charge of making sure they’re all there. Which is stupid, because there’s nothing one can do to destroy a book in the Library of Babel. No, seriously, you can shoot a book and it will just defy the laws of reality and **not be shot**, because even if you did manage to shoot a book, no one would know, and in the Library of Babel, if no one knows, it didn’t happen. And that’s what makes my job so damn hard. I have to search through the books, to make sure none of them are missing. I’m talking tens of thousands of books, in galleries that go on for miles. And there are tens of thousands of galleries. And each one looks exactly the same as the others. I don’t even have a map. I just have to wander, and try to remember where I’ve been and where I haven’t. And when I die, someone else will come and take my place. Unless they don’t. No one knows, and I certainly don’t expect anyone to find my body if I drop dead out here. Sometimes, I take breaks from my searching. When I do, I read the books. When I first started working here, I thought I could learn something from them. That was my mistake. From the way the words are arranged on the pages, I’ve come to the conclusion that whoever wrote the books in the Library of Babel, didn’t speak the same language I do. I picked a book at random once, and the pages said this: bmduyl jxuozwgsx tnmko w gdfquizajc bknfk hcs t ksdadmt ojvfg v pxx bmduyl zyl jckkzajc srfhyszq gdfquizajc w kgvqrfp csrmwajc hjwtfcs t k ztfmt ojvfg yv nm1 yv nm1 yv nm1 I have no idea what it means. I *really* wish I did. I might know more about where I am and what I am, if I did. The other librarians are nice, but they’re not exactly what I’d call human. I don’t know if it’s because of how long we’ve been down here, or if they just weren’t to begin with. But they’re my friends, and they’re all I have, so I’m not complaining. I visit the other librarians a lot, because I like having people to talk to. The only problem with this is, everyone here has their own galleries, and we’re all looking for our own books. So I end up having to search even harder, because I need to make sure I remember where their galleries are, and I need to remember where all of *my* galleries are, so I don’t end up searching the same places twice. I see a lot of things, when I’m out searching. I’ve walked into empty galleries before. Galleries where no one is working, and everyone is just sitting around, staring at the walls. I’ve walked in on people screaming. I’ve walked in on people... changing. I don’t mean puberty, or puberty blocked by drug or surgery. I mean *changing*. I saw someone turn into a wolf once. I saw someone turn into a lion. I saw someone turn into a tree. It was the most painful thing I’d ever seen. Imagine a human being shifting into a plant, bit by bit, over the course of hours. That’s what I saw. I didn’t stick around. I ran. I don’t know if they survived, or even if they’re still human. I don’t know if anyone else has ever seen them. There’s something living in the galleries. I don’t know what it is. All I know is, it’s keeping me here. The other librarians don’t seem to know, or if they do, they don’t want to tell me. I know someone else is here, because I keep hearing the sound of pages turning. Turning in unison, across every gallery. Turning of their own accord. And even though I know I’m being stupid, I always read the page after the one that just turned. Every time, I get a message that makes no sense at all. But it... it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t *look* right. I can’t explain it, but it always sends a shiver down my spine, every time I read it. Just now, it said this: oa qkysxsw jao xaoq bm ktfyemaoq uaskx qkmx tfao sxm qkmx qkmx tfao sxm tfao qaoymayq hjwtfcs t k ztfmt ojvfg yv nm1 yv nm1 yv nm1 I *really* wish I knew what that said. I might know more about where I am and what I am, if I did. I’ve been thinking of searching elsewhere for a way out. But I don’t think I can do it. I’m just too tired. Even if I weren’t, I think the books might stop me. I don’t know what would happen to me if I left my galleries unsearched, but I don’t think it would be good. So that’s that. I’m trapped in the Library of Babel, and I’m here to stay. —Graeme

I Work at the Library of Babel

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