Luna Library

Night 2 of the Moonlight Festival.

Three full moons; a night so rare,

While all gaze up at the chilly air.

A cat seeks an angel for the Luna Library

That person who was chosen? Sukafu Shiori

"Every challenge makes a story."

My mom would repeat these words every time she was about to do something stupid.

"The hard way is the right way," she'd say, eyes sparkling, "Shortcuts are just a distraction from the true happy ending!"

However I believe that shortcuts are necessary. My time's too precious to be walking when I could be running. There are way too many things I want to do in life, so unfortunately life's too short to be taking the long route. Perhaps if she thought things my way, her route would have been longer....

I pause, pushing away these thoughts and frustrations. Memories of my childhood flood back, like waves rushing in. Until they stop; Leaving me stranded in one memory... A memory I would have rather left 6 feet under.

A memory of a bus, but not just any bus.

For some, a bus is just a vehicle for transportation. For others, it's something to throw at a restaurant like a baseball. But for me, this bus was neither. I never got the chance to ride one, and I wouldn't dream of playing ball with it.

It was a school bus.

But wait. Didn't I say it wasn't for transportation? That's right. The word "school bus" is a misnomer.

This bus wasn't for taking kids to school. No, it was the school... a broken-down vehicle that was meant for repairs. Abandoned, in the middle of the closed street... Its faded chipped paint carrying only our dreams. Sturdy, yet broken...

The same could be said for the people inside. Especially my annoyingly passionate mother, who played the role of our makeshift teacher.

"ALRIGHT! Lunch time is over!!" she yelled, her voice booming, as proud as can be. She stood on the driver's seat, smiling at everyone.

Did she have any certifications? Experience? Education?

No.

. . .

. . . . . .

She wrote one book and called it a day.

On top of that, she now calls herself a best selling author.

"Continuing the lesson from this morning," she announced, "we're going to discuss the art of storytelling!"

She pulled out her published book, Heaven City, its cover worn from years of use.

I leaned back against my old bus seat, feeling the creak of the leather beneath me. The same seat I'd sat in for the past year, listening to these so-called 'lessons.'

The cold air seeped through the broken window next to me, brushing against my skin. My fingers traced the dirty edges of my copy worn down from years of frustration. I stare at the book hoping things will be different this time...

"Storytelling," she continued, her voice light and cheery, "isn't just about words on a page. It's about evoking emotions, creating worlds, and making your audience feel alive."

I glanced down at my own copy of Heaven City and flipped to the end, just out of habit now. I knew what I'd find—or rather, what I wouldn't.

My mom noticed and closed the book before I could turn to the last page. "The ending isn't there either, Shiori~" she said, with that same playful tone that had always grated on my nerves. I felt the knot in my chest tighten a little more.

"Again. Why does your published book not have a final page...?"

"You know," she said, leaning back on one of the cushioned seats, "sometimes, the best stories are the ones that leave you guessing. Keeps things exciting, don't you think?"

Exciting. Yeah, sure. That's what this was—exciting. Like a bus barely held together with duct tape, exciting.

The bus creaked again, and I shivered slightly as another gust of cold air slipped through the cracks. I don't know how many more years of this I can handle—like the world she'd built for us was held together with duck tape and hope.

"It's like life," she continued, oblivious to my silence, "If we had all the answers right away, what would be the point? You've gotta learn to love the question marks, Shiori!"

"But what about the people who want the answer" I whispered under my breath... Knowing she already stopped listening...

She was already off in her own world again, flipping through the book with that same smile—the one that used to make me feel safe when I was little.

The bus echoed under her feet as she stood up again, brimming with energy I could barely understand. "Alright, kids! Let's talk about the rising action!" she said, her voice booming.

My nails dug into the palm of my hand as I tried, once again, to breathe through the growing frustration. My patience was slipping...

I wanted to scream, but the words stayed stuck in my throat. Why couldn't she just see it? Why couldn't she ever take anything seriously?

"You say you want to make your audience feel alive," I mumbled, more to myself than to her, "but what kind of author frustrates her audience by forgetting to write the last page of her best-selling book?"

She moved her gaze back towards me, "I'm not lazy! I wrote the last page~ Mom's honor! It's just... somewhere. Hm... Maybe I left it in the west?"

"You really expect me to believe that when you keep pulling dumb stunts like this?"

She leaned in close, brushing my hair back like none of this mattered. "Why do you think the author left the last page?" she asked, like it was some riddle I should have figured out by now.

"I don't know, you tell me," I snapped.

She sighed, her playful smile not fading even an inch. "Guess you'll just have to re-read the story until you understand~"

And that was it. The final straw. My voice rose before I could stop it, shaking with all the things I had never said. "I already get it... You're just afraid to commit to something!"

Mom either doesn't hear or pretends not to. "The west might hold the answer," she muses, lost in her own fantasy. "Or maybe it's still in the east. The point is, you don't know! And that's exciting!"

The only problem with her logic was that I wasn't excited. I was the kind of person who turned to the last page of a mystery novel right at the start. The thrill of the journey, watching characters challenge the odds, guessing the mystery... all of that annoyed me. Life's too short to waste on the rising action.

"I can't do this anymore," I muttered, more to myself than to her. I took a shaky breath, then louder, "I won't do this anymore."

"Shiori..."

"NO!" The air went still. Even the other kids, who were already quiet, stopped breathing. "You might be okay with how things are, but I'm done! You're not a real teacher. You don't expect any of us to actually do anything with our lives, do you?" I'm shouting now, the words pouring unfiltered. "Or do you plan on abandoning us in the last chapter too?!"

I wasn't even sure what I was truly upset about anymore. Maybe it was everything. Maybe it was nothing... But as long as I stood in this bus we were going nowhere. Just like her damn book!

Mom's smile faded, her expression unfamiliar to me. "Shiori... Every challenge... makes a story..."

"THAT'S NOT A REAL QUOTE" I screamed, cutting her off. "You pretend that everything will be okay if you just stay patient! But you don't know anything!"

I stared at her, waiting for some kind of response, but her expression remained unchanged. She ignored everything I'd just unleashed. "Maybe you're just hungry?"

"I have to get out of here." Without thinking, I turned and bolted toward the emergency exit at the back of the bus. I threw it open and ran.

"Shiori!" Mom reached out, her eyes softening, like she was about to pull me back with another empty promise. "Where are you going?!"

As the memory replayed in my mind, it felt just as raw as the day it happened. I thought I had grown past that moment, but now, standing here, I realized how little I had changed. The frustration, the feeling of being stuck—nothing was really different.

Except... one thing was off.

Despite this memory taking place in the dead of winter, everything felt hot now. Not just warm... painful. I stopped, trying to recollect myself, wiping away tears from an old, dumb memory.

Everything around me had faded to white. I hadn't noticed until now, but my hair felt longer, and I stood still, staring at this strange, dreamlike version of myself.

As I took in my new found appearance, a man slowly emerged.

The man was dressed in a rather dull outfit. Clean but dull, his beige suit was neatly pressed and contrasted with his earthy brown wings. His appearance was striking, with owl-like ears poking through his ruffled hair and a single feather tucked behind one ear.

"There you are!" The strange man said as he was out of breath in front of me, "Do you have any idea how long I have been searching?"

He clutched a book tightly to his chest, his shoes oddly clean despite the mud we both clearly ran through.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" I ask, feeling scared by his sudden arrival.

Without hesitation, he clapped his hands, and to my astonishment, the horizon vanished, leaving us outside a rather tacky yet cute looking building.

"My name? Well I guess that's the most appropriate thing one would ask in such a situation." The man pulls out a business card.

It looked like it was printed yesterday, but I couldn't tell if that's because of how well he takes care of it, or if it was one of those scams where the person changes the name of their company everyday.

"..."

The man ignored my silence as he continues, "The name is Liberty Belle, and from what I can tell from your memories, your name must be Shiori."

A small part of me panics as he mentions that he has seen through my memories without my permission, "Who the heck are you?"

The man smiles, "As I said, I'm Liberty Belle, but you may know me by my other title." The man pauses for a moment before he reveals his title, "God of Hard Covered Books".

"Are you... Stupid?"