Poetry and Short Stories

The Miscellany Room

The Miscellany Room
by C. Sonnet

The library appeared on Tuesday.

Not the building - that had always been there, wedged between the coffee shop and the used bookstore on Maple Street. But the room was new.

Maya had worked there for three years and knew every corner, every squeaky floorboard, every section of dusty oversized art books that nobody ever checked out. So when she noticed the door marked "Miscellany" tucked behind the reference desk, she stopped mid-step. "Has that always been there?" she asked

Chen, who was sorting returns. He looked up, squinted. "What door?"

Maya pointed.

Chen looked right at it, then back at her. "I don't see a door."

She tried the handle. It opened.

Inside: a single desk, a comfortable chair, and shelves that seemed to extend further than the building's exterior dimensions should allow. Every book was blank - cream-colored pages, no text, waiting. On the desk, a note in handwriting that looked suspiciously like her own:

Write what you're curious about. The library will respond.

Maya sat down. Picked up the pen that was somehow exactly the kind she preferred. Opened the first blank book.
"I wonder," she wrote, "what sound the color blue would make if it could sing."

The pages rippled. Text appeared, flowing across the cream paper in elegant script, and Maya leaned forward, grinning, ready to find out.