Pressed under rock, she felt the pen slip out of her hand and slide away from her.
Her first attempt to free herself was unsuccessful.
This is it. I am going to die, whether I want to or not. I am going to die.
The library was a wasteland. 00:00:41, 00:00:42. It was all over.
She was certain of it once more. She was going to die here, as all her possible lives were ravished all around her.
But then she saw it, amid a brief clearing in the clouds.
There, on the eleventh aisle that way. Third shelf from the bottom.
A gap in the fire that was consuming every other book on the shelf.
I don’t want to die. She had to try harder. She had to want the life she always thought she didn’t.
Because just as this library was a part of her, so too were all the other lives.
She might not have felt everything she had felt in those lives, but she had the capability.
She might have missed those particular opportunities that led her to become an Olympic swimmer,
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