The Library at the Edge of the Moon

At the very edge of the moon, on the side that we never see from down here, there is a small library.

It is not a fancy library. There is no grand staircase, no marble columns. It is the size of a small living room, with three shelves, two chairs, and a single window that looks out at the back of the moon.

The library opens after everyone in town is asleep.

That's the rule.

The librarian is a soft, round woman with grey hair pinned up in a careful bun. She lives in the back room, which is filled with houseplants and a small stove. She drinks tea constantly. Nobody knows her name.

When the last child in the last town in the world has fallen asleep, the librarian wipes her hands on her apron, walks out into the main room, and opens the first book on the first shelf.

The book begins to read itself.

It reads softly, in a voice somewhere between a whisper and a hum. The librarian sits and listens with her eyes closed. The houseplants lean toward the sound. The teacup steams. Outside the window, Moonie the moon turns slowly in her sleep.

When the book has finished its story, the librarian closes it gently, and opens the next. Then the next. Then the next.

By morning — by the time the first child in the first town in the world has woken up — every book on every shelf has been read once. The librarian rests her chin on her hand, smiles a small contented smile, and goes back to her room to start the stove for breakfast.

And the books, satisfied, sleep until tomorrow.

You will not find this library on any map. You will never need to. The books are reading themselves to you already.