Edgar maneuvered his way through a maze of overstuffed shelves. In them were books who tried to desperately escape their cages. With no one ever entering the prison, freedom was never reached. Edgar would be their savior.

He moved gingerly to each shelf, touching the aging spines. The textures of these book spines told a story of struggle and their past. If the book was passed down by the rich, the spine would be leather and a little worn. If it were a child’s, the spine would be bent in various areas. Edgar looked at the room that was the books’ prison. The room had a cluttered appearance. There were papers strewn across the rugged floor, most likely ripped from the prisoners. He noticed dried tears on some of the books. Edgar took out a book with great care. As he lifted it out of its cage, a page fell out. He began weeping.

This was the start for Edgar. Ever since laying his eyes on the forgotten souls, he knew that he had to do something.
He spent most of his days locked away in the room. The prisoners had company, therefore he was happy. Sometimes he would open a book and be transported into their story. It was easy to get lost in their stories, his real life turning into nothing but a blur. Edgar could never understand why anyone would neglect such a wondrous creature.

Days and days went by as more stories were consumed. Eventually, every story was read, every soul recognized. Edgar put down the last book with a smile on his face. His wrinkled hand glided across the smooth texture of the pages. This book was no longer a prisoner, but a friend. All of them were. He looked upon the cluttered room, his ebony eyes gliding across the floor. The ripped pages were still there, he had not wanted to disturb their grave. All of the damaged books were still untouched and soaked with dried tears. Having them there was not meant for torture but as a reminder. They reminded him of his duty.

He put away the now read book, and lifted himself from the rugged floor. His legs shook and wobbled a little but he quickly steadied himself. He would not show weakness. A breath filled his lungs. Black strands of hair fall over his deep eyes. Edgar looked one more time at the room and with a sad smile made his way to the door. As he headed toward the portal to the outside, the sounds of moaning filled the room. This moan haunted him. Every night, he would try to sleep but the devastating moan would echo in his head. He clutched the metal door knob with sweaty hands. The moans increased. His heart beat quickened as the moans become more intense. He began to panic. The door seemed a thousand miles away. His hands grew numb. Edgar willed himself to ignore the mournful moans and pries the door open. Sunlight fills the darkened room. He gasped.

Sunlight: so bright, so pure. Sunlight: something the books will never see. This light could be something that would chase away the shadows the books were engulfed in. Once he stepped out into the warmth of the welcoming sun, Edgar turned his head towards the books’ confinement. The worn out prison seemed to glow form the light. A stream of light started a pathway from the prison to a stoned walkway into town. This path was calling him, urging him to follow. With a slight limp, Edgar answered.

The walkway became increasingly narrow as Edgar ventured further. Each stone became smaller and more condensed. Soon they became the wanderers, following Edgar as he made his journey. The stones cheered him on. Down, down, he went until the light ceased to glow. Edgar stood, slightly bewildered. The path had led him to a blue dumpster. “Book Drop” was scratched across a ripped piece of paper tapped to the dumpster. Edgar stepped closer to the dumpster and looked in. Hundreds of books were thrown mercilessly on top one another. The books were dirty, torn and sad. Edgar was appalled. There were neglected souls everywhere, not just in that room. Weeping and furious, Edgar grabbed the books. He cradled them gently. To him they were abandoned children. They needed him. He picked up the last few books and made the trek back.

On his way down the stoned path, he felt the books jostle. They were restless, being condemned in that dumpster for so long. As more began jostling, Edgar quickened his step. Each step made the books jostle more but he would not stop. When he made it back into the town, eyes looked at him skeptically. They were judging, evil. They would take these poor children away from him. He would not let them. He quickened his pace. More eyes stared at him, burning his soul.

He made it to the worn, brick prison and forced the door open. Light poured in. He shut the door but the light remained. It danced along the room, illuminating each wooden cage. As the light made the pages glow, an euphony hit Edger. This room, once a prison, could now be a safe haven. He placed the neglected books on the rugged floor and moved them into a line. He then pushed them against the cages. With a shaky hand, Edgar picked up a book from the cage and let it free. He continued this until all of the books were standing up next to their cages. These books had come a long way; they deserved to know that they were stronger than those who put them there.

Edgar smiled as he set the last soul free. With weary eyes, he gazed upon his friends, old and new. His eyes then wondered toward the cages. Anger filled him. He lifted a hand, now powerful and made it into a fist. The fist pounded on the cages until they became splinters. During his fight, the books looked on, proud of their savoir. Edgar smiled at his work and sat down. He fell asleep, comforted by his friends.
Morning light filled the sanctuary as Edgar awakened. With a yawn he lifted himself up and wondered toward the door, careful not to disturb the resting books. As he placed a hand on the knob a knock vibrated throughout the room. Edgar began to shake. No has ever gone into the sanctuary before. It was his and the books and theirs alone. A voice boomed through the door,
“Open up! We need to talk to you.” The voice was laced with venom. He knew this voice, it haunted him in his dreams; it was the soul collector.

Edgar shook. He had no idea what to do. He would never sell these souls to the devil but he was just too weak. No! He would not think that way! Edgar willed himself to speak. “ No! They are mine! You cannot have them!” The strength in his voice shocked him. “ Sir, please open the door now!” He was persistent but no matter how many times the collector would demand, Edgar would never let him take his friends. Anger filled him again and is hand became a fist. He pounded on the door and screamed, “ Never! Never! Leave you monster! You will never take them!”

The pounding caused the room to shake. He heard the collector scream but what he said was drowned out by squeals of delight. Edgar looked up and saw the torn out pages become alive. They twirled around him, thanking him. Endings of books flashed in front of him: "He turned out the light and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning”, “The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.", “It's funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." The once broken, lost souls were now whole again. It was because of Edgar that their story was completed. He was engulfed by the pages. As they danced around his body, he became them. He would never let them go. He was content. The booming of the venom voice died out. More light poured in. The dreadful moaning of lost souls was never heard again.