The Archives, the Note, and

Ding.
The library door glides open. The bell rings with a quiet sound that
matches my hope for Qishi. I quickly delay my thoughts of dismay and welcome
the guest. Hello, I say, welcome to Qishi Archives. If theres anything I can do to
assist you, let me know. A long, breathy sigh follows as the stranger pleasingly
nods and walks to a random shelf. Turning to my bookshelf, I organize the
chronicles by date. I gently run my fingers over all sorts of mediums - leather
book covers, document-holding plastic protectors, and frail, damaged papers that
stand alone. Each chronicle is unique in its story, characters, and morals; but
what makes admiring these chronicles such a joy is the fact that they occurred in
this world - the very world that I survive within. They remind me constantly that
the end is
not
now, that peace and goodness can be restored, and that battles we
fight can be conquered. I live for my chronicles.
Excuse me?
The stranger who had just walked into the archives approached me.
Yes?
Im terribly sorry to bother you, but I would like to find documents from
the 1700s. The young mans face is relaxed and rather handsome. His voice has a
tone that is as smooth as tree sap.
Of course. Its no bother, really, just my job. I smile and look right. His
head follows my movements. We walk to the 1700s Shelf and I wave my hand
toward the assorted chronicles. Right here.
Thank you.
I hope you dont mind. is this for a research project or
No maam. He interrupts me.
Abruptly surprised at how fast he rejects, I tell him goodbye and walk back over
to my shelf. The rest of my day drifts by until the day turns into night.

The journey home is a short walk from the Archives Building, but the view
is terribly sad. The Archives are a little more inland, and my dwelling is even more
inland but to the South. The only way that I can reach my house from the
Archives is by walking through the destroyed part of town. Today, my walk is
quick, silent, and, as always, hot. The temperature these days is an average of 95
during the summer and 78 in the winter. The people here may have partially
adjusted to the high temperatures, but they havent adjusted since the Typhoons
of 2100. These storms were unexpected, and tore down the government,
economy, and families countless times. I was lucky enough to live in a little town
miles inland from Qishi, and ended up moving here when an archivist job
opened. Although I love my job, the people here are starving, homeless, and sick.
I donate as much time and money as I can, but my job is time consuming and
pays little.
I pass countless buildings, some shiny and new and some old and
destroyed. The people look into my eyes with sorrow and regret. They envy my
inland home. They pity themselves for not moving inland. And worst of all, they
tell themselves that its
all over
that there is
no hope.
This is where they may be
wrong.
Ive always been a positive human being who recognizes difficulties and
deals with them promptly. The chronicles that I read describe the optimistic
historical figures winning the battle or making the compromise, while the
hopeless ones lose confidence and do nothing to fix the problem. Stuck in an
endless loop of poverty, these people I see around me have given up. Theyve let
the government control them, let poverty consume them, and have decided that
its too late to reverse the warming effect.

My mind trails on a number of different topics that make me feel like Im

no longer sympathetic for these poor, innocent people that have lost everything. I
pray for forgiveness and continue on my walk, remembering to pray again
tonight for these people.
After about 1,200 steps, I reach the door of my cottage. Unlocking my door,
I enter. The sweet smell of cherry blossom fills the air as my automatic scent vent
fills the air with pleasing chemicals. I place my bag down on the dining room
table and open my bag. A paper falls out. Its not too rare that I discover a
chronicle that was accidently thrown into my large bag. However, this is not a
chronicle. This is a note.
It reads:
Dear Archives Lady,

Im sorry that I didnt explain my use of the documents in the 1700s. You see, we are

consumed in a city of worry, regret, destruction, and fear. I only wished to look at a time before
industrialization, corruption (well, too much of it), fear, and powerful government. It delights me

to remember, even though I didnt exist at that point, a world that was in such a peaceful time
- in comparison to now. I only hope that we can return to that state.
Apologies,

Zhang Lu

I smile. Nodding in agreement, I treasure the little note. His reason does not
come as a surprise, primarily because I find myself admiring ancient documents
for the same reason - to see what a better life was like, and to wish we might see
it again. But the people in our city do not think the way that Zhang Lu and I tend
to do. The Archives receives much less visitors than it used to. Therefore, the note
is rare. It is a symbol of hope of the time.

Swaddled in a sheet, I lay in my bed thinking about that ancient life.

The next morning, I wake with a streaming light entering my bedroom. After
dressing and heading to the Archives, I return to the note from Zhang Lu.
Its

such a hopeful, inspiring note,

I think to myself.
It must be preserved.
I find a
plastic covering, slip the note in the slot, and tightly seal the container.

There. Now, nothing can destroy this symbol of hope, even in a place that has
given up.