The Librarian

This is another short story that I wrote. I hope you guys enjoy~

Thanks guys,



She was a librarian. She never wanted to be a librarian, but here she was. Well, if it made the situation any better, she was a librarian at an ivy league university library. So if she was ever cursed with being asked, “So… What do you do?”, she can retort with “[insert ivy league name]+librarian”. But it really didn’t change anything.


To her, and everybody else, she was still a librarian.


She has been one for almost 5 years. One can tell how long someone has been a librarian by the state of their fashion. You see, being inside a building all day, helping people look for other people in order to help themselves, takes a toll. A typical life cycle of a librarian looks like this.

  1. First day: non-excitement paired with professional fashion.
  2. First year: non-excitement, professional fashion, plus a cocktail of delicious boredom and depression.
  3. Every year after that: depression, and decline in physical upkeep. One starts wearing less and less beauty products, until there is nothing on the individual’s face to mask the disgust that they feel for the idiots who can’t find a book.


Their professional clothes get older and older, and wrinkles turn into patches, but they stop caring because there is no need to buy new clothes for the job that they so despise. In a way, they are getting there revenge through their lack of self care.


And after a while, the time differs for everybody, because it depends on how much boredom and depression you can take, you start wearing professional clothes all together, and you just wear what is warm and comfortable.


That was her. A middle aged white woman, with some white streaks in her hair, which was unkempt, frizzled, and slightly odorous. She was typing away. There were a stack of returned books right next to her, and she punched in their serial numbers one-by-one. She could have finished the books in a couple of minutes, but today, like all days, it was a race against the clock. She got off at 5. It was 1:30. She found the sweet spot between not working and working, also known as stalling, or the appearance of working, and she did so with elegance.


Truth be told, it really didn’t matter if she appeared to be working or not. Nobody cared. All the other librarians, including the head librarian, were all painfully aware of who they were-librarians. The fight to conceal her lack of effort was a sign of a simmer of fire that remained inside her. She had 5 books left, and it was already 1:32, she was making good time. The fire began to grow within.


And then a woman walked in. She was wearing a soft turquoise sweater. Her youth threatened the librarian. The sweater complimented the woman so perfectly, and worst of all, she was fit, or at least skinny. She stared at the woman sit down at the study table right in front of her elevated desk, and she burned. The woman’s breasts that developed the turquoise sweater, as well as her slender arms that reached out to the table and onto pen and paper. Everything about her was so hopeful, beautiful, and separated. Separated in the way that she was the librarian, and the young girl, the peruser.


“She’s not even studying, she’s on her phone~”, the librarian thought.


The woman stood up, packed what paper and pens she brought, and walked out.


“hmmph. . .”


The eyes of nobody followed, and the eyes of nobody went back to hiding what nobody cared about.


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