Books. It had always been the books; books were sunshine; books were freedom.
Now books were warmth; warmth for frozen fingers. Warmth in winter of his concrete dwelling.
He had tried to read them first. But he couldn’t keep up with the craving needs of frozen fingers.
Eagerly he had fed the flames with Burns and Shakespeare. Tearfully he watched them burn; mumbling poetic fragments from his memory.
Where did it all go wrong?
Why was he the last librarian?
In vain. He traced the spines of the last few volumes.
One day they would tell. Today was his death-day.
After reading Rochelle’s story, I couldn’t help but thinking of burning books and went into dystopia. It would be a sad day when we had to burn the last words to save us from freezing to death. I could see this happening unfortunately.
Friday Fictioneers is a blogging community under the management of chief librarian Rochelle Wissoff-Field’s management. Head over to here page and read her story and other’s on the same picture.
November 26, 2014