Help Me Draw The Line

"I’ve been out of circulation, where the sun don’t shine."
David Gray, Draw The Line

I don’t think the library hadn’t been visited for decades.  There was some sort of storm or chaos, that much is certain.  The books laid slaughtered and decomposed on the floor.  The librarians were still there but in wax sculpture form. 

The song started.
The strings played by themselves on a dusty and broken harp.

Random books began to glow and then lose their light, it looked like a heartbeat.    Lines of light appeared and pinned themselves to what was left of the walls to form the base  of a spiritual display.  As the verse began, a book would rise, glow, come to life  and sing the lyrics.  Sometimes they would sing the story of their content and at other times they were singing their own  story of laying in the ruins.  Keats, Camus, Palahniuk, Poe, Walt, Tolkien… they all took their turn.  By the end of the song, the books which attached themselves to the  wires of light had been fully restored and were sparkling fresh life.  By the last line the books had some sort of magnetism for the rest that were in heaping piles and at once every book in the library raised 5 feet from the ground, healed and shuffled into some sort of organization.
The lights went out
And came back on

The library was transformed back to its former state of pristine beauty.  The books lay quietly on the shelves trying not to tell the story of what had just happened.  The song started over but there was no machine, it was a man sitting on a stool quietly strumming his guitar.  The wax sculptures came to life and the doors were opened, allowing people inside.  The books that sang held a faint glow but it couldn’t be seen except by those who were there to whitness the resurrection.  We went our own way to find our own stories inside the books which held a thousand dreams only top blank pages.  We began to write with fury.

You were there.