One Book at The Time —A Short Story

There had been times she had almost given up. All the lying, the sneaking around. But today she once more managed to continue to smile to whoever she met. Walking in and out. Slowly, but not too slow. Making sure not to catch any attention

Today was her last day. Her final day. It all came down to these last three, The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, and Flatland by Edwin Abbott. When she started out, many months before, she had never thought she’d be able to pull it off. But she was no longer afraid. As the months passed, as her visits to the library remained unnoticed, her boldness had grown beyond proportions she had ever dreamt of. At first she had taken just one book at the time. Maybe she had gotten sloppy as the month passed and nobody ever stopped her. Her own house was filled to the brim with books by now, carefully sorted and catalogued over the months. Her collection was pretty much complete. Except for these these three slim, but weighty classics.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so careless, on her last day, taking such a big risk by taking these three all at once. She had grown complacent. She didn’t even think about being discovered anymore. But just as she passed the service desk, she realised she had overlooked one crucial element. There was this new woman standing behind the desk. Alice was sure she hadn’t seen this woman before.

“Excuse me, mam.”