As day turned into night, and the citizens of the town checked out their books, the sounds of sorrow came from the dark halls of the library. It was the Weeping Librarian.


The Weeping Librarian would cry down every aisle: nonfiction, fiction, and even the magazine aisle. He left a trail of tears on all of the books and their shelves. When morning came, he wiped dry the books with his pocket-handkerchief and then opened the library for another day.


Besides his sad eyes hidden behind coke bottle glasses, the Weeping Librarian was a quiet, mild-mannered, older gentleman. He had salt and pepper hair that was slicked back behind his ears. His face looked frigid. He had dark circles, age spots, and wrinkles all around his eyes and mouth. He looked exhausted, but always managed to say hello to anyone that he came across. He seemed pleasant. However, as the night came upon him, his facade wore away and his tears began to shed once again.


When he drew tears, his face began to morph. His skin turned bright red and his wrinkles became very prominent. The most distinct feature of the Weeping Librarian was his sad eyes. They became puffy and his tear ducts that were overflowed with tears fell into the crevasses of his defined wrinkles.


The Weeping Librarian was not always full of tears. 20 years before, his beloved wife and two young daughters were taken from him in a horrible automobile collision. He never had the chance to say goodbye. For this reason, his heart would hurt eternally, and he would forever be the Weeping Librarian.

-Bridget Fisher

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