FICTION WRITING CONTEST
The Last Librarian
I am grateful.
The world outside has grown quiet.
The autumn leaves whisper their final goodbyes as the chill of winter settles in.
Within the stillness, an old library stands silently, tucked away among other aging buildings. Dust floats in the evening light, streaming through tall windows. Rows of wooden shelves filled with books waiting patiently.
Near the entrance, an elderly woman sits at her desk, wearing a knitted cardigan over a neatly pressed blouse, surrounded by faded papers and leather bindings.
A gentle, reflective smile on her face, she picks up her pen.
November 26, 2054
Dear Journal,
It’s hard to believe this is my last week here. It makes sense. So few ever come by anymore. It’s lonely sometimes.
I remember when every corner was filled with people. Children with their parents picking out books, older patrons enjoying the newspaper, teenagers studying.
It felt like we were the heart of the community. It’s different now.
Every story is now online, every imagination digitally written. I wonder, though, if we’ve lost the beauty of discovering something imperfect, something…
