JURASSIC
LIBRARY
I sprint down the
sidewalk, my beaten-up sneakers squeaking with each step. Most days I take my
time down this street, what with the old Victorian houses covered with ivy
vines, or the historic shops wafting the scent of freshly baked bread. But I
can’t slow down today. I practically fly down the street, hardly even noticing the
vibrant new imports at the flower shop. My backpack bumps around with each
step, and my lungs sting with my uncommon practice of exercise. I nearly miss
the entrance to the library, the sign is hidden by an extremely overgrown shrub
nobody ever bothered to trim.
The library is one of my
favourite buildings in this neighbourhood. Hidden down a back road, the little
brick building covered in foliage always fascinated me. I look down at my
watch, pulling back the lilac-and-cream striped sleeve of my sweater. It’s
five-thirty four. School ended nine minutes ago, and I am four minutes late.
Pushing open the heavy double doors, I jog through the maze of old wooden
bookshelves to the back of the library. Jenny, the kind librarian with thin,
blonde hair and long, delicate limbs, pulls me into the back room. This room
was added about ten years ago for all the events the library hosts. One of the
walls is made completely of glass, and it overlooks the beautiful gardens, half
of it donated by the local flower shop. The rest of the room is white and blue,
and the little plastic chairs they use in schools are lined up to face the
massive window.
Today all of the seats are filled with people,
who seem to be getting impatient. It’s only been four minutes! I will never
understand the people of this town. Jenny ushers me up to the front, handing me
my violin that I keep here for convenience. The parents of the crowd begin
shushing their children, and I scan the people for anyone I might know. No such
luck. Mom is at work, Dad’s looking after my little sister Annie, all of my
friends don’t exist, and the rest of my siblings are either asleep, partying or
studying.
I sigh, lifting my beautifully
made violin to my chin and steadying my breath. I play freeform, seeing as it’s
a Tuesday and nobody told me otherwise. Every ten notes or so is either flat or
the wrong key completely. I cringe. I really should practice more. Maybe I need
a vacation. Somewhere tropical. In the crowd, a baby starts crying, which makes
me really question the parents who thought their four-month-old would
appreciate an amateur fifteen-year-old violinist playing off-kilter music in
the back of an old library instead of a nap.
When I finish the song,
the cliché tiny amount of applause begins, but I’m just the intro. I hand the
violin off to Jenny, who makes her way up to the front and begins playing. A
shocked silence falls over the tiny crowd, showing how Jenny should definitely
be playing in something much, much grander than a library. Her body moves with
the song, swaying with the bow she effortlessly glides along the strings. I
leave respectfully, seeing as I didn’t buy a ticket. Jenny always says I’m
allowed to stay and listen because I helped open the show, but Jenny deserves something
far better than that from her audience.
I wander through the building, Jenny’s song
faintly playing in the background. The main building has a much cozier feel
than the back room. The walls are just pure brick, and the lights are emitting
a warm yellow glow instead of bright white light. The floors are old scratchy
carpets and the bookshelves are less than three feet apart. But my favourite
area is the far left corner. Two old, overstuffed beanbag chairs sit next to an
old-fashioned wood burning metal fireplace, all surrounded by tall bookshelves
filled with the science fiction novels. Not the new easy-reads, the old ones that
challenge you like War of the worlds and 20,000 leagues under the sea. I walk
over to the faded blue beanbag and gently sit down. I made the mistake of
dropping down onto it once and the cloud of dust was big enough to choke an
elephant.
As I turn to reach for the
hitch hiker’s guide to the galaxy for what seems like the 100th time, I notice
a small wooden box on the shelf next to it. Strange, seeing as Jenny never even
considered stocking colouring books, let alone a kit of some sort. I gingerly
pick up the box, brushing off what seems to be fifty years’ worth of dust. The
box is rectangular, with intricate designs carved into it and a rusty bronze
flip latch. As I look closer, I see patterns of strange shapes lined up around
the perimeter of the box, almost like an ancient language. Jenny has moved on
to another song, she must be feeling good today. She won’t be finished for a
while. I look up from the box, searching for a clue as to what it is. A small,
yellowing piece of paper about the size of a business card sits in the place
where the box used to be. I snatch it up, more curious than cautious now. I
squint at the tiny handwriting on the faded slip.
This box should not be opened by the faint of
heart, for a fascinating yet dangerous thing lies within.
No name, no
clarification, nothing. Just a stupid little message telling me that something
bad is in this harmless little box. I throw the card on the ground. I’m brave.
I got rid of that spider in Annie’s room despite my arachnophobia. I can open
this box. I slowly lift the latch, which is surprisingly easy considering the
amount of rust coating it. As I lift the lid my heart is in my throat. Why? I’m
not sure. Maybe I’m not brave enough. Too late now. I look into the box, and
see a rough, clay stone. Laughing, I reach for the rock. Nice one, Jenny. As I
touch the stone, I jerk my hand back with a cry. Blisters are spreading across
my fingers down to my palm, creating an unbearable, almost acidic pain. I open
my mouth to scream, and everything goes black, Jenny’s beautiful song fading
off into the distance.
* * *
I hit the ground from
what feels like almost ten feet up. I struggle to catch my breath, the sun
practically blinding me. I guess I was found and brought outside. I sit up and
start coughing, trying to clear the sand from the fall out of my throat. My
hands brush up against something stiff and tall and I jump. Looking around, I
see that I’ve somehow gotten into a field with very tall grass. I stand up,
confused, looking for the library or even a person. But I’m all alone. The
field is actually a small clearing, surrounded by massive trees, almost sixty feet
in height and ten feet in width. Vines drape between trunks, creating almost a
curtain-like effect. Giant ferns and exotically coloured flowers, the kind of
flowers you only see on TV when they go into the amazon or something, fill the
gaps of the jungle.
The entire place almost
seems alive, with a low buzz emanating from every angle, I can practically feel
the energy. I take a few shaking steps
and stop short when I see the dragonfly on the ground in front of me. It looks
completely normal, almost pretty seeing as it’s a bright shade of luminescent
turquoise. The only reason why I almost pass out is that it just happens to be
the size of a modern-day hawk. It flies away, its beating wings making a noise
equivalent to the volume of a jackhammer. I take out my cell phone, planning to
call either my parents or the mental hospital, I’m really not sure which yet. I
press the “ON” button, but the screen stays black. Of course. It’s just like me
to forget to charge my phone and then end up in the craziest place possible.
I start to walk towards
the jungle, maybe some of the buzzing is a highway or a government observation
building. As I trudge along to the trees, I hear the buzzing stop abruptly. I
have seen a lot of movies in my time and most often, whenever all of the small
creatures go quiet, it means something big is nearby. I start walking faster. A
steady, rhythmic thudding sound rises behind me. I start jogging. I sprint into
the jungle, tripping over rocks and concealing myself in one of the giant oily
ferns.
As I peek out from the
leaves, I see the cliché birds flying away and trees shaking. I almost laugh. I
guess Hollywood wasn’t too far off on that detail. The thudding gets louder,
sending vibrations through the ground and rustling the fern around me. Why am I
hiding? The worst it could be is an elephant, right? I step out from the fern
and back into the sunny clearing, swatting away branches and strange leaves. I
look up to the treetops and forget how to breathe. Emerging from between two of
the largest trees is a baby beige Brachiosaurus. It steps out into the small
clearing and raises its tiny head well over the trees. I clench my hands into
fists and realise I still have the rock in my left hand. How did I miss that? I
shove it into my jeans’ pocket and, with a jolt, I realize that I am most
likely not in Canada anymore.
Snapping my head back up
to the Brachiosaurus, I am surprised by my lack of surprise. This is a creature
that supposedly went extinct over two billion years ago. Shouldn’t I be scared
or excited? I get knocked over as its massive three-toed foot lands about a
metre away from me. I scramble to my feet and sprint for its tail. It clearly
knows where it’s headed, and I wouldn’t survive ten minutes out here on my own.
I jump and cling on to the massive swinging tail of a Brachiosaurus. I still
can’t wrap my head around that. One step at a time, I slowly make my way onto
its back.
We’re well into the trees
by the time I figure out how to hold on. On our way through the jungle, I start
to see dino nests and giant bugs everywhere. Branches the size of maple trees
snap beneath us. In the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of movement. Looking
back, I see a fallen red leaf twitch on the forest floor, reacting to movement.
Maybe it was just the Brachiosaurs’ tail swinging. I pluck a green, oily leaf
from a low-hanging branch and look closely at it. I used to study dinosaurs as
if it was my job. I had an obsession. I guess now is when it pays off. This
tree existed in the late Jurassic period, as did many of the most famous
dinosaurs. I hear a noise to my left, and I see another movement. This time I’m
certain that it’s not only a plant eater that I am dealing with here.
A horrible screech comes
from in front of us, followed by a large crash as the Brachiosaurus falls
forward onto its knees. I get thrown forward, triggering one of my chronic
nosebleeds. Six or seven little dinosaurs crowd around the wounded sauropod,
climbing up its sides and onto its back with me. Judging by their yellowish-green
speckled patterns and raptor-esque appearance, they seem to be Compsognathus.
But that can’t be right, Compsognathus came from Europe, whereas the
Brachiosaurus came from Africa or the USA. It doesn’t matter right now though,
as my nosebleed has alerted them to my presence. I run for the base of the
long-neck’s neck, climbing as far out as I dare. I make it to the base of its
skull as the Brachiosaurus shifts back onto its feet, raising its head and
sending me about forty-two feet into the air. I scream, which startles the beast into
whipping its head back downwards and setting off on a limping, uneven run through
the humid forest.
The Compsognathuses seem
to have doubled in number, and are catching up fast. Suddenly, the trees split
apart and a fully grown dinosaur resembling a T-rex bursts out. I scream even
louder as the thick-skinned, scarlet beast swallows one of the small dinos
whole. An Allosaurus. The tiny carnivores scatter in a panicked frenzy, leaving
the Allosaurus just for us. It sets after us, smelling the blood from the
injured knee of the long-neck. The Brachiosaurus is injured, it can’t run fast
enough despite its longer stride. I glance back and see the Allosaurus
sprinting towards us, the long tail of the sauropod just inches from its
razor-sharp rows of teeth. I can hardly hear myself think over the sound of six
feet pounding against the ground with a combined weight of over three tons
behind them.
We emerge from the
jungle abruptly, bringing vines and brambles with us onto a grassy plain. Approaching us fast is a rocky cliff that
drops directly into the ocean. We won’t be able to stop in time. But we could
turn. The Brachiosaurus is panicked and frantic, it can’t make that decision.
Still clinging on to its neck, I wrench it to the side, forcing the massive
herbivore to turn. We make it by about three inches, startling the Allosaurus.
The carnivore screams, a horrendous sound ten times worse than nails on a
chalkboard. It tries to stop, but the momentum created by a thirty foot long
half ton dinosaur in a full sprint is too much to slow in two seconds. It gets
thrown off the edge of the cliff, plummeting over 60 feet to the water level.
It lands with a massive splash, surfacing with another ear-splitting cry.
A dark shadow moves towards it, circling the
helpless dinosaur. The shape disappears for a split second before a massive
plesiosaur jumps up from the water, jaws open, swallowing the Allosaurus. From
the looks of it, a Liopleurodon. It submerges back into the water with a scary
silence.
The brachiosaurus kneels
in exhaustion, and I jump down to inspect its knee. A large tooth protrudes
from its thick wrinkly skin, with a small amount of blood trickling down. Not
lethal, just annoying. I carefully remove the tooth and clean up the blood with
a large leaf. I turn around, and gasp softly.
The field is covered in
lush green grass, and inhabited by more dinosaurs than I could ever imagine.
Stegosaurus nests and Pterodactyls in the wide blue sky, Triceratops families
at the watering hole with Parasaurolophus herds grazing in the distance. And to
my right, is a group of beige Brachiosauruses. The long-neck behind me stands
and lumbers over to join what I assume is its family. I stand in awe, stepping
out into the field. How did I end up here from just a rock? I wrap my hand in
my sweater, reaching for the lump in my pocket. Before I can get a chance to
look at it closely, the Liopleurodon jumps, slamming against the rocks in the
process. The cliff shakes violently, causing me to let go of the rough stone. I
scramble to catch it before it falls off the edge, my hand shooting out from my
sweater. The second my finger brushes it, the world goes dark once more.
The cloud of dust rises
around me as I collapse onto the old beanbag. I rub my eyes, tears already
gathering from the dust landing on my eyeballs. “No!” I never wanted to leave!
I frantically grab the stone and brace myself, waiting for the blistering to
begin again, for the dinosaurs to come back. Nothing happens. I clench the
stone, drawing blood from my hand, practically begging to go back. Nothing. I
sink back down in defeat. The rough, familiar fabric of the beanbag chair calms
me. I twist around, picking up the book that started all of this.
It doesn’t seem like any
time has passed here since I left. Jenny’s at the same point in her song, the
sun is in the same place, as is the wooden box that the stone was originally
in. Looking closer at the stone, I can see the faint indentation of a bone, of
a fossil. It looks like a dinosaur tooth, caught in the mud and preserved by
time. Gently, I place it back into the creaky box, and the card with it. Maybe
that’s enough brain usage for one day. Putting the book back on the shelf, I
pick up the box gently, and push through the double doors of the library once
more.
On the walk back home I smile to myself, happy
for my very own Jurassic Library.
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