Library of Alexandria

There is not much left here but the echoes of human life. In the stone. In the moss-covered statues of once-regal scholars. Rustlings prelude an auburn-furred deer leaping out of hiding, hooves skittering across a courtyard and disappearing behind row after row of rusted vehicles.

A hollowed out, neo-Classical building – half cathedral, half monastery – sits amid creeping vines and suffocating trees. Carved deep into the stone edifice above an entrance framed in pillars are the words: “LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA.”

It is a grand proclamation for a sorry sight. Books indeed lie strewn around the courtyard, between automobiles, and at the bases of statues, but they are torn, burnt, waterlogged. Unreadable.

An animalistic shriek of pain pierces the blanket of disturbing silence. A trio of humanoid figures wearing black gas masks spattered with neon painted symbols crawl out from their lookout behind an old Chevy truck. They holster a faintly glowing tube and within moments are dragging the deer from the relative safety of the forest towards the remnants of the 'Library.' Droplets of blood stain the tall grass in their wake.

The Library survived, but at what cost?

This Library of Alexandria was a valiant, but ultimately failed, attempt by fleeing scholars of the original Mouseion, the museum which housed the Library, to revive what was lost.

For a time, it built upon the renowned scholarship of their predecessors, surviving the test of time. Some of the amassed knowledge even 'making it' to the modern age. But, old, outdated knowledge means little in a world where the chemical make-up of Earth's atmosphere has changed and humans must live always with gas masks, or resign themselves to death. And eventual extinction.

Of course, not all life has or will die. Even humans, or a version of them, may survive. Just as parts of the Library of Alexandria have.

The structure looming ahead is not grand nor well-maintained. Perhaps once it was. But not anymore. In the 22nd century it is overgrown with vines, trees, and tough shrubbery. The road and courtyard leading up to it is similarly reclaimed by nature and cluttered with abandoned vehicles. These are vehicles of all types from many different eras: from gilded Versailles royal carriages absent of horses; to trucks still carrying mildewed planks of wood turned into homes for termites; to vintage motorcycles that are missing the seat cushions, emblazoned with graffiti symbols of regional gangs.

The building itself has a caved in roof and empty windows devoid of glass. Inside are aisles like one would find in chapels, interspersed with statues whose faces are mostly rubbed off.

Deeper in the Library you can find corridors filled with long, narrow, stone alcoves like in catacombs. Most of the books here are either chained to the shelves or rotting into oblivion. The shelves in many of the alcoves are decorated with empty, swinging chains, a sharp contrast to the few chains slung tight and taught around ancient Tomes. Some of these books look to be works of popular fiction, not just collections of great thinkers and artists.

None of it looks used, or even useful.