What Could’ve Been?

How are the parallel yous doing?

Photo by Emil Widlund on Unsplash

There is a legend surrounding our town. An old story about a library like no other.

It only appears at night of the last November day, and its location changes every time. It can be hidden in a restaurant’s toilet or a mailbox. You could find it when going for an evening walk or just fall into it through an open sewer lid.

Anything with a door is supposedly a potential gateway to it.

And if you find it. You will be presented with knowledge that will either break your spirit or make you into the best version of yourself.

Naturally, a lot of people are out there during the last November night looking out for the library, trying to find the magical solution that would change their lives altogether.

And me? I used to go out when I was younger. Trying to chase the fantasy as well, but those years have passed. Now I just enjoy a beer on the last November day with my friends in a pub down the street.

This year was supposed to be the same, but when I got dressed, kissed my wife goodbye, and stepped out into the cold autumn air — something just felt different.

I didn’t mind it. I just walked down the street, waving at the neighbours and enjoying the rush in the streets.

As usual, it was drizzling but I didn’t care, the taste of fresh beer on my mind already. The pub wasn’t far, but I passed at least five groups of library seekers.

Fools. I thought to myself. It was good they were there because the tourism sustained a big part of our town. But I knew they were chasing the impossible.

Until I got to the pub. If you tortured me I couldn’t tell you why I decided to check out the back door. Why I grabbed that handle.

To this day I don’t know.

But the moment I touched the cold brass I knew. They are them. This is the way to the library. My pulse beat around in my ears and I knew I had to do it. I had to try.

So I did.

I entered the Library in the center of the Universe. It was as if a veil was pulled over me and suddenly nothing felt real.

Yet the library itself seemed almost normal, too normal. There were books, thousands of them. I ran my hand over their backs, reading the names written on them.

For a moment they didn’t make any sense to me, but then I noticed it.

The author of all of them…

Was me.

I opened one, skimming through it. It described my current life almost one-to-one, except I didn’t have a leg.

Shaking my head I took another one from the same row. It documented a part of my life, leading to a point where I decided to go on a trip with my friends a couple of years ago.

In reality, I never went there, but in the book, that’s how I lost my leg.

This is freaking weird.

I picked up another and then another after that. Most of them were short. Some of them, just a couple of pages.

Highlighting which of my life decisions could’ve ended my life at any point.

Those that were longer were usually the same way of living I had known but with nuances. Like a different wife, living in a different city, having no kids, being injured, more fit, less fit. You get the point.

After what felt like a century I was about to give up. There was nothing useful in those, most of the choices I’ve made led to this life and I was satisfied with it.

I was about to leave when one particular version hit my eye. This one golden, with sparkling pages.

Its content was as shiny as the paper it was written on. Expensive cars, luxury yachts, five-star hotels, and dinners in the top out of the top.

Bells in my head started ringing, as the gears of my brain turned with greed. This was the one I was looking for. The miracle, that will change my life for the better.

I slowly read through the whole lifetime, patiently, as I didn’t want to skip over the small detail that would make my life better. The decision that would change my life at my fingertips. So close I could already taste the lobsters and champagne.

When I finally reached it my knees went weak. My stomach turned and my mind imploded. The truth to success before my eyes.

.

.

.

It said that I had to go home and work on myself instead of going to a pub every day.

Nah I ain’t doing that. I said to myself, closed the book, and left the library — straight to the pub.