T
The library was located at the corner of Now and Never, in a building that occasionally forgot to exist on Tuesdays. Inside, the dust motes danced in patterns that predicted the stock market, and the silence was heavy enough to weigh on a scale.
Arthur Penhaligon was the Librarian. He was a man of indeterminable age, wearing a tweed jacket that smelled of vanilla and old paper. His job wasn't to organize books. His job was to organize time.
You see, time is not a straight line. It's a messy manuscript, full of edits, margin notes, and torn pages. When a moment is lost—a keyset misplaced, a word unspoken, a bus missed—it doesn't vanish. It comes here.
Arthur was stamping a stack of "Tuesday Afternoons, 1994" when the bell rang. A young woman stood at the desk. She looked frantic.
"I'm looking for a minute," she said breathlessly. "Just one minute."
Arthur adjusted his spectacles. "We have trillions, my dear. Be specific. Was it a happy minute? A boring one?"
"It was the last minute," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "My grandmother died this morning. I was late to the hospital. By one minute. I just... I need to say goodbye."
Arthur sighed. He hated these requests. "Check Section 7, Row Z. 'Missed Goodbyes.' But be warned: you cannot change the text. You can only read the footnote."
The woman ran into the stacks. Arthur watched her go. He knew what she would find. He had read that particular minute earlier. It was a sad one.
He went back to his work. He was currently trying to reshelve the entire Dark Ages, which kept trying to slide into the Renaissance section. Suddenly, a tremor shook the library. Books flew off the shelves.
Arthur looked up. A Shadow was leaking from the History section. It was a creature of ink and erasure, a Time-Eater. It had found a plot hole.
"Oh, bother," Arthur muttered. He grabbed his weapon of choice: a red editing pen.
The Shadow lunged at the young woman, who was clutching a glowing orb of time in the aisle. It wanted the energy of the moment. The raw emotion.
"Stop!" Arthur shouted. He uncapped the pen. "By the power of the Chicago Manual of Style, I deny you!"
He drew a slash in the air. A glowing red line appeared, forming a barrier. The Shadow crashed into it, hissing like acid on paper.
"You are a typo!" Arthur declared, slashing again. "You are redundant!"
The Shadow shrieked as the red ink burned it. It shrank, dissolving into a puddle of nonsensical letters.
Arthur dusted off his hands. He walked over to the young woman. She was holding the glowing minute, weeping.
"Did you see it?" Arthur asked gently.
She nodded. "I... I wasn't there. But she wasn't alone. The nurse was holding her hand. She was smiling. She said... she said, 'Tell Alice I love her.'"
"Alice?" Arthur asked.
"That's me," she whispered.
The glowing minute faded, its energy spent. It was just a memory now. But the weight was gone from Alice's shoulders.
"Thank you," she said.
"Go on," Arthur said, pointing to the door. "Don't waste the time you have left looking for the time you lost."
She left. The library settled back into its dusty silence. Arthur picked up a book titled "Next Tuesday." He opened it, read the first line, and smiled.
"Spoiler alert," he whispered. "It's going to be a sunny day."