Story
“Don’t be a fool. You sound like that idiot kid you live with. You’re doing it so we can do our part. Is that clear, K?”
“…yeah, Hachi. It’s clear.”
“Good. I’ll send more details tomorrow morning.” He gestured like he was brushing me away, pushing me aside. He was done. I turned away, and walked back down the hallway.
“And Kari,” he began, almost playfully. “We’ll make a difference tomorrow.”
***
I got back on the streets. The fog had set in heavily by now, and the working streetlights were all on. Of course, I don’t really mean fog. The scourges blow such heavy smoke and ash over Greater Seattle that the city is always caught between dusk and midnight. Even at noon, the natural light comes in faintly, in oranges and reds. By what should be sunset, it’s not uncommon to be completely unable to see the sun. By midnight, the grids are down, the streetlights go off, and there is almost no light left on the street. Only the blind, and those who’ve learned to see like the blind dare go out then.
Why, then, doesn’t the council bring up the grid when it’d be more useful to us? When we can’t see at all, when we need the light? Forges. The scourge fires that run the grid are used also for melting metals for the forges. Without forges, we probably wouldn’t even have a grid.
I made my way down the street, two miles, three, maybe more. I tried to suppress the cough, all the while enveloped by the stench and ash. Every day is like this. The best time to take a breath is early in the morning, especially after heavy rainfall. Sometimes then, I go down to the docks and just breathe, marveling at the antique titanic cranes in the morning light. I can hardly imagine the world of our great-grandparents, to even need such machines, to have so many people…
I stopped in front of what had been an old church building. The stone work was always amazing to me, as were the great wooden doors which sat together neatly within their frame. I put my face and hands against the wall, almost listening to the building’s secrets, almost hugging it for being so strong. I ran my hand gently down its rough surface and smiled a bit. I’ve always felt this was my own personal sanctuary.
I’m not like Hachi. The RGS government is wrong in many ways, but I can’t hate it like he can. I can’t resent their control because in some ways, I understand the purpose.
I entered, pushing the door closed behind me. I made my way to the front of the great room and lit a few larger candles with my lighter. I cast my eyes finally upon the city’s soul, shelves and shelves of joy and hope and knowledge.
Our last library.
At least, I was pretty sure it was our last library. Certainly, I have never seen a greater collection of books anywhere else in my life. There were encyclopedias, references of all kinds, countless stories, literary and entertaining, historical and fictitious. Of course, sections of the library contained mirror-like discs, which I knew contained unthinkable amounts of writing, images, and sounds, but which I was sure I would never enjoy in my life. It’s not that we weren’t familiar with the idea, or even that we had no remnant technology to use it with. But our grid was much too unstable to run such things on, often destroying those devices in the process.
I could spend days in here, hardly even eating or drinking, being severely exhausted at the end both mentally and physically. Sometimes I lived in these other worlds for a while. Places where there were no scourges. In worlds with Tom and Huck, Lucy and Aslan, even Dr. Frankenstein. When I read Tolkien, I wondered if I already found Mordor and Mount Doom; when I read Ray Bradbury, I cried. Poe fascinated me; Shakespeare was hard to understand. So many other books taught me their own lessons, showed me their own realities.
I brought Monk here, once. Though he appreciated what it must mean to me, it was never so important to him. He browsed for something to hold his interest, but had no attachment for it when we left. I haven’t made him come back, although sometimes I relate to him details and plots and characters that I’d read about, and he listens attentively. Seldom do I ever remove a book from this holy ground. Sometimes I don’t even read; just come here to think, to be.
I want to hate the council, the government, all of the RGS. But the library is still standing. As long as it is, I can’t help but wonder if it’s because someone else knows how important it is, how vital all of that knowledge and storytelling still is to us. So maybe they aren’t all wrong after all. I can’t say that to Hachi. He’d never understand. None of them would.
~~~
“…yeah, Hachi. It’s clear.”
“Good. I’ll send more details tomorrow morning.” He gestured like he was brushing me away, pushing me aside. He was done. I turned away, and walked back down the hallway.
“And Kari,” he began, almost playfully. “We’ll make a difference tomorrow.”
***
I got back on the streets. The fog had set in heavily by now, and the working streetlights were all on. Of course, I don’t really mean fog. The scourges blow such heavy smoke and ash over Greater Seattle that the city is always caught between dusk and midnight. Even at noon, the natural light comes in faintly, in oranges and reds. By what should be sunset, it’s not uncommon to be completely unable to see the sun. By midnight, the grids are down, the streetlights go off, and there is almost no light left on the street. Only the blind, and those who’ve learned to see like the blind dare go out then.
Why, then, doesn’t the council bring up the grid when it’d be more useful to us? When we can’t see at all, when we need the light? Forges. The scourge fires that run the grid are used also for melting metals for the forges. Without forges, we probably wouldn’t even have a grid.
I made my way down the street, two miles, three, maybe more. I tried to suppress the cough, all the while enveloped by the stench and ash. Every day is like this. The best time to take a breath is early in the morning, especially after heavy rainfall. Sometimes then, I go down to the docks and just breathe, marveling at the antique titanic cranes in the morning light. I can hardly imagine the world of our great-grandparents, to even need such machines, to have so many people…
I stopped in front of what had been an old church building. The stone work was always amazing to me, as were the great wooden doors which sat together neatly within their frame. I put my face and hands against the wall, almost listening to the building’s secrets, almost hugging it for being so strong. I ran my hand gently down its rough surface and smiled a bit. I’ve always felt this was my own personal sanctuary.
I’m not like Hachi. The RGS government is wrong in many ways, but I can’t hate it like he can. I can’t resent their control because in some ways, I understand the purpose.
I entered, pushing the door closed behind me. I made my way to the front of the great room and lit a few larger candles with my lighter. I cast my eyes finally upon the city’s soul, shelves and shelves of joy and hope and knowledge.
Our last library.
At least, I was pretty sure it was our last library. Certainly, I have never seen a greater collection of books anywhere else in my life. There were encyclopedias, references of all kinds, countless stories, literary and entertaining, historical and fictitious. Of course, sections of the library contained mirror-like discs, which I knew contained unthinkable amounts of writing, images, and sounds, but which I was sure I would never enjoy in my life. It’s not that we weren’t familiar with the idea, or even that we had no remnant technology to use it with. But our grid was much too unstable to run such things on, often destroying those devices in the process.
I could spend days in here, hardly even eating or drinking, being severely exhausted at the end both mentally and physically. Sometimes I lived in these other worlds for a while. Places where there were no scourges. In worlds with Tom and Huck, Lucy and Aslan, even Dr. Frankenstein. When I read Tolkien, I wondered if I already found Mordor and Mount Doom; when I read Ray Bradbury, I cried. Poe fascinated me; Shakespeare was hard to understand. So many other books taught me their own lessons, showed me their own realities.
I brought Monk here, once. Though he appreciated what it must mean to me, it was never so important to him. He browsed for something to hold his interest, but had no attachment for it when we left. I haven’t made him come back, although sometimes I relate to him details and plots and characters that I’d read about, and he listens attentively. Seldom do I ever remove a book from this holy ground. Sometimes I don’t even read; just come here to think, to be.
I want to hate the council, the government, all of the RGS. But the library is still standing. As long as it is, I can’t help but wonder if it’s because someone else knows how important it is, how vital all of that knowledge and storytelling still is to us. So maybe they aren’t all wrong after all. I can’t say that to Hachi. He’d never understand. None of them would.
~~~