Amateur Hour

I spent a couple of hours writing this short story, yesterday for my Creative Writing group, only to arrive on the scene and find that it had been canceled. Ah, well… I hope it was just one of those things, and that nothing untoward has happened to Jay, or his family.

This is the picture and title I drew, at random, by Setou B and Jay, respectively, and what I came up with, in an effort to put them together. It wasn’t easy!

La Biblioteca

By C B Farrell

They had been warned. None of them, Julia, included, could say that they hadn’t been warned. They had taken action, too, in the forty-eight hours they had been given.

Forty-eight hours, working around the clock, to remove every book, every magazine, every archived newspaper; pamphlet; leaflet; poster; tape, and video disc; in short, any form of media that failed to meet the new guidelines set forth by The New Order.

“Not the whole philosophy section, Julia!” Roberto had exclaimed, in protest.

“All of it,” was her short reply, as she tossed a volume of Plato and another of Socrates, into the large, wire bin, with her own hands. “The Order will tell you what to think, ‘Berto,” she assured him, before moving on to the next set of stacks.

“It’s just dragons and fairies,” Rosa groaned, when Julia plucked a paperback, from her fingers.

“It’s just lies, like all fiction. Socially responsible adults don’t indulge in fantasy, or lies.”

“I won’t do this. It’s madness!” cried the young man tasked with weeding out the history stacks.

“You will, if you want to keep your job and feed your new baby. The victors, as always, will write brand new history for the rest of us, Antonio.”

And, so it had gone, on the first day, along with angry mutterings, and more than a few tears. By the second day, everyone had waxed grim and sullen.

For two nights, however, Julia’s reclamation crew had worked, to salvage what they could. Each book, each scrap of paper and bit of media was now inestimably precious, because only one copy of anything could be saved.

“I have to give them something,” she had told her assistant librarians. “Redundant copies have to be surrendered. I’m sorry.”

Now, they had come. No fewer than twenty of them, garbed in their white disposable lab coats, and broad brimmed leather hats, had filed into the front doors of La Biblioteca Publica. With them, they had brought wire bins, of their own. No doubt, the portable incinerators were being set up outside, in the parking lot.

Julia was nearly overcome with an urge to laugh, at this pageant of surrealism, which would surely have resulted in harsh consequences. It wasn’t time for that, yet. Instead, she bit down on her tongue, hard.

The leader of the group stepped forward, and removed her sinister, yet ridiculous plague mask, to address them.

“I am Dr. Ramirez. This establishment has been identified as a possible vector for disease,” she announced.

Julia sent up a silent prayer that her own group would manage to refrain from heckling this absurd woman.

“Contagion of sick thought must be eradicated, as would any other contagion. We are here, to remove and destroy any infectious materials. Your cooperation is appreciated. You may leave the building, if you wish, but not the premises.”

“You’re going to examine us, too, Doctor?”

Antonio had a big mouth, Julia observed. So much for silent prayers.

“And your vehicles, as well,” Ramirez smiled. “If you have any doubts about anything in your car, you would do well to put it into an incinerator, now.”

Antonio bolted for the door. Ramirez followed his departure, with her eyes, chuckling. She turned to her own party, and set them to work, with a wave of her hand.

Julia thought about the various books she’d seen on the driver’s seats of cars, on her way in. Her own choice had been Farenheit 451. Poor Antonio, she thought.

The End