Desire Reverie

The moment she died, she saw a light. At first, she assumed this was God, but as her eyesight slowly cleared, she recognized the object as a simple lamp. Because the light was straining her eyes, she turned her head to the other side. It was then that she realized that she wasn’t floating in a sea of nothingness but sleeping on a desk. Although that raised many more questions, it at least explained why her back was aching.

Startled, she jerked upright only to fall out of the chair, which caused the lamp to fall off the table and shatter completely. As she scrambled to get away from the glass her head slammed against one of the table legs. But as soon as she saw her surroundings, the pain was a minuscule worry. In front of her was a tall shelf filled with books, to her right was another shelf filled with books, and to her left were again, more books. It finally occurred to her that despite being dead, she wasn’t gone.

She was sitting in a library.

Then she slowly stood up and began walking down the hall. Despite how quiet the place was she couldn’t even hear her footsteps, almost as if the silence itself was enough to drown them out. But no matter where she walked, the scenery stayed the same. Shelves extended up and out, filled to the brim with tales. Some of them were new, some of them were old, some had lots of pages, and some barely had any at all. Each novel was unique, from the color to the material, there was no consistency she could find. How absurdly disorganized.

So she reached out her hand and grabbed one from the shelf. Despite being rather large she was able to pick it up with ease, and even though it looked old the bindings were as sturdy as ever. But the most bizarre thing was the cover, it wasn’t the type one would expect from a novel. There was no author or publisher, the only thing on it was a person’s name and picture. She didn’t recognize the name but why would she? It was a completely ordinary name that anyone could have. Same for the photo, certainly not an existence of utmost importance.

Despite these circumstances, she didn’t mull it over. No matter how weird the situation was, her reaction wasn’t confusion, fear, or even sorrow. She was enthralled. To others, this place must have been nothing more than a worn-down library, but to her it was magical. Countless tales sat at her very fingertips, waiting to be rediscovered. If there were such a thing as a perfect afterlife, it was here. To spend death surrounded by numerous stories for all eternity, was the most wonderful blessing she could ask for.

However, her celebration was cut short because that very instant a novel fell from the sky and landed right in front of her. She dropped everything she was holding and looked down. Like before, on the front it had a name and a picture, but this time the person felt familiar. It showed a young woman with long raven hair that contrasted against her pale skin. This woman wore a long-sleeved red dress, with black frills, gray bows, and white lining that reflected her curvy yet slim figure. Her eyes were the color of rubies, and her lips were the color of rose. The name written above in bold was: Rosita Lolita. The moment she saw the name she recalled what belonged to her.

Because that book was her tale.