I’m not quite sure when it started. I just know that I started to notice things. Things that seemed far too coincidental. As if a pattern was forming, even in the chaos of our lives. Throughout the years I have spent wandering these halls, I wondered if there was some sort of purpose to this all. We had access to any knowledge we could ever want, access to magic that could only be seen in stories, to some. We saw every side of the world, observed mythical creatures and watched dreams come true. Perhaps I had just been reading into too much philosophy, but I just began to truly wonder why.
I loved all the wonders of our world, and the wonders of all the others. They were like a gift given to us, a priceless one deserving appreciation. We were given the light of knowledge, and this was a light that was meant to be shared. Sometimes, however, others did not feel the same. This is what kept me wondering. We had all of this, a fantasy come true to those unaware, and to some it must be kept away. For some, it must be destroyed entirely, left only as the one-imagined fantasy it once was. It couldn’t just be that things were unfair— we’d always overcome anything that came our way. There was something else going on here. Something reminiscent of some kind of plot.
But this was only the beginning. I looked back on everything else that I knew, searching through my own Library of memories to find something that could help me find some kind of end to this. Surely there would be something to find, especially in my old age. And while I did find something eventually, it was certainly not exactly what I was looking for. As old as I am, I oddly cannot remember too much of anything, really. It wasn’t because my memories were starting to slip away, no, I hold on to everything. It was simply that I don’t think I ever had a family, or went to school, or had any sort of childhood. Whatever space those memories and experiences should’ve taken up was simply just an empty space.
The only thing I can remember is appearing here, in the Library. Not with any sort of entrance or anything, I simply was just already here. I would’ve originally thought it was as simple as this, and that I just always had been here after all, but I am certain that this is not the case. I’ve never had these supposed lapses in memory since, and combined with everything else I have observed… it seems like there truly is more to this than you’d think. I’ve traced all the dots up until this point, and I’m seeing the pattern. Despite everything, there is some sense of cohesion here. Different roles for all of us, different objectives, all leading up to more endings. Those endings would sprout new beginning, and it would cycle all over again.
I kept following this trail of dots I had connected. I found more discrepancies, and more details that all seemed to link to something much larger. This trail was becoming a maze, but as with all mazes, there is a correct path. I wasn’t able to go back once I had started down this path, but I had already come this far. The more I kept walking, the more this trail began to resemble the endless halls and bookshelves I had become so accustomed to. But eventually, I had reached an end. It was something I had never seen before, in a place where you could wander forever and could look across the endless shelves filled with books. And yet here, I had found the end. A fairly old— even by my standards— and dusty place, there was little to see.
The few things here were a few loose threads in the carpet, empty bookshelves holding nothing but dust, and the absolute silence. There was one more thing, though. One singular book remaining on a shelf, still untouched by the dust. It was one I had never seen before, in all my years here. Being in this place, the end of the infinite, felt oddly wrong. But this one particular book, with its green leather cover and gilded details, was giving me some odd form of respite. Turning a few pages, I truly could not believe exactly what I was seeing. It was a collection of stories, ones I’ve all read before. The one at the end, however, was unlike any of the others. It was still being written as I was watching, and this story was about me.
Every one of my actions up until now, every one of my thoughts, all of them were being written in here in real time. It was almost dizzying to watch, and so I flipped to the last page. At the end of absolutely everything, I had found my answer. I finished connecting every dot, and now the larger picture was revealed. As it turns out, our glorious world was just like any other fantasy story. I, and everyone I had ever known, were apart of one. The dreamlike scenarios we were apart of were not real, after all. This thought was almost terrifying, but then I came to one final conclusion. Since we really are just in a story, someone must be reading it.
So, to you— yes you, the one who is reading this right now— thank you. Because of your time and appreciation, everything here is not pointless. Our existence can continue, all thanks to you. I’m not sure if you can see me, but I’m waving at you. Now I’m smiling slightly. Keep on going, friend. I still do believe this Library is infinite, so there will always be more here for you. Go on out there, then, and enjoy.
Metacognition
page revision: 3, last edited: 29 Oct 2024 03:29