Definition
: characterized by steady, earnest, and energetic effort : painstaking
You're more likely to be diligent about something if you love doing it. The etymology of diligent reflects the fact that affection can lead to energetic effort. The word, which entered English in the 14th century by way of Anglo-French, descends from the Latin verb diligere, meaning "to value or esteem highly" or "to love." The Latin diligere was formed by adding the di- prefix (from dis-, "apart") to the verb legere, an ancestor of the English legend, meaning "to gather, select" or "to read."
I slotted 'Xenforia's Guide to Lunar Foliage' by Xenforia Zita into the last remaining slot on the shelf and sighed a sigh of bliss. At last, the celestial flora section was completely reorganised and alphabetized. I stood back and admired the neatly shelved rows of books, their beautifully coloured spines glowing against the polished wood of the shelves. The dappled light from the explosions outside sparkled through the reinforced stain glass windows and speckled multicoloured fairy lights across the books. It was a glorious sight to behold.
A sight that would have come about much quicker had my assistant actually assisted me instead of cowering in terror underneath the bullet proof reception desk.
I stared at his quaking arse in reproof - not that he could see me. However, something in my silence must have given me away, as he turned his body around, not unlike a mouse when cornered in a small hole, and peered at me fitfully, his eyes darkened by his pupils which had dilated in terror.
"I cannot believe you're still shelving books at a time like this." He half growled at me accusingly.
"We're librarians." I said, unperturbed. "Whilst on the job, looking after and protecting the books is what we do."
"THE COUNTRY IS AT WAR!" He shrieked at me, his shrill tones echoing off the elegant frescoes on the marbled ceiling."
I shrugged. "We're still on the job. A little scuffle doesn't change that."
"There are soldiers outside with guns and bombs and tanks! We could be blown to bits at any moment. Men could come in here and shoot us! Grenades could smash through the window at any moment and then we'd be nothing but blood smear and body parts. Speaking of body parts, at any given moment you can look at the window and see legs and arms and heads flying about like confetti." He took in a deep, rattling breath, no doubt in order to continue his tiresome tirade.
I interrupted him. "But they can't penetrate the library's defenses with bombs, grenades or bullets. The building is reinforced several times over with bullet and bomb proof materials. Heck, even if they drop a bomb right on top of the building, I doubt it'd even make much of a dent." I stroked the nearest wall admiringly. IT was smooth and cool beneath my fingertips and entirely unbothered by the aggravating activity outside. "They knew how to build to protect the things they cherished back in the day."
"Yeah, back in the day." He hissed at me. "Like, way back when did they even have bombs."
I scowled at him. "You saw the schematics back when you were first inducted into the library. You know as well as I that this building is probably the safest building in the city."
"All to protect a bunch of books." He scoffed.
My fists clenched. "If that's how you feel." I said, as sweet as arsenic, "and these books are not worth the protection afforded to them - then you are more than welcome to leave. The door is right there." I said, pointing, my smile so wide that my teeth were displayed in all their bared glory.
His face blanched the colour of day old sports socks. "No, no, no, no,no!" He chanted in panic. "I mean, of course books are important - all that knowledge must be protected after all." He gripped the leg of the reception desk, hugging it so tight to his body i could see the indentations it was making in his skin, as if I would march over there right this second and bodily remove him from the sanctuary of the library grounds.
I can't say I wasn't tempted. How on earth had this lily-livered philistine managed to pass the librarianship exam. I mean, i know applications had been a bit slim on the ground lately, but surely there had to have been someone at least slightly better than this bottom of the barrel scraping of a person.
I mentally shrugged. Never mind. I had better things to do than babysit this idiot. I turned at looked at the library thoughtfully. Since the war had broken out, the theology and religious section, along with the philosophy section, had been ransacked and could probably do with a tidy up. Personally, if I was the sort that was bothered by the outbreak of war, I'd be more likely to go for the agricultural (grow your own food), engineering (maintain power supply and telecommunications), DIY (maintain your home and defenses) and medical (no explanation necessary) sections. But no, apparently people were less concerned with surviving the war and more concerned about what happened after they died in said war. Rather skewed priorities if you asked me, but a library stood for dispensing whatever knowledge a visitor required.
Yes, I think starting with sorting the religious section would be the way to go. People had a tendency to strew the books everywhere until they found a religion that matched with what they wanted to happen. Satanism, I noticed, was gaining ground these days. I guess people felt more reassured with a secure give and take bargain rather than wishing and hoping for the best - with no guarantee at all that what you pray for will come to pass.
I started to head towards the religious section.
"Wait, wait!" My assistant hissed at me. "Where are you going?"
I turned to him in exasperation. "To do my job - the one I am paid for and the one you should also be doing. I'm going to go sort out the religious section."
"So you're just leaving me here?" He asked incredulously.
"You could come with me and actually, I don't know, do the job you were hired for?" I suggested, rather sarcastically I must admit - also without much hope.
"And leave the desk!" He shrieked, predictably. Somehow he managed to cling to the desk leg even tighter. I was quite surprised he hadn't yet managed to meld his flesh into it, I'm sure, had he been able to bury himself in it, he would have.
I rolled my eyes and left him to it.
The religious section was quite deep within the library. As I walked through the rows and rows of books - the shelving units reaching high up above me, almost but not quite blocking out the dusky light, until it almost made it seem as if I was walking through some gentle forest made of words. There was that special kind of silence, the kind of warm and gentle silence that you only achieved when the people in the building had left their still breathing bodies behind, but their minds had thrown off the shackles of their mundane meat suit and instead been totally absorbed into the realms revealed by whatever they were reading. In my own, personal, opinion it was one of the most beautiful non-sounds in the universe.
I sighed happily. Kings and Queens, Tyrants and Presidents, Governments and Anarchists all came and went as they pleased, I stroked the spine of the nearest book, but words, words were forever.
The sacred silence of the library was smashed by the sound of someone noisily crashing through the open front doors. This was clearly not an injured person seeking aid, there was no heavy and desperate breathing that indicated pain - nor any scent of a distressing amount of blood - in which case such a noisy transgression would be forgiven. No, the footsteps marching up to the front desk were timed to an arrogant swagger, the rhythm indicating that the walker thought he was the lord of all he surveyed. More telling, the walker brought with him the smell of gun smoke and other's grief, woven in and about him and tainting the very air of the library I valued so highly. Such a person would not enter a library on a quest for knowledge, as they so clearly thought they had all the answers. Such a person would not cherish books filled with knowledge they did not know themselves - such a person would consider them worthless.
Such a person would burn my books.
I saw red.
I dashed to the front of the library. Already I could see my assistant being dragged from his position of safety, the muzzle of a gun pressed against his head, a smirk of the face of the solider holding it.
the solider had used the book of the month currently on display to stub out his cigarette.
I saw red, red, red.
In one smooth motion I pulled my vaporiser gun from its holster. Aiming as I ran, the solider barely had time to meet my eyes before I pulled the trigger and his head exploded. Luckily I had already issued a subvocalised command to the reception desk, so the blood and tissue splashed harmlessly against the force field surrounding it - a force field my assistant should have activated the second the soldier appeared before the door.
I sighed as I holstered my gun and went to help up my whimpering assistant. I'd have to put in yet another request to HR for more training for him.
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