Breaking Books

Every weekend for the past three years, I would find sanctuary in the third floor library of my neighborhood and read a book. Each morning when I arrived, the head librarian, Linda, would greet me with a smile and ask how my week had been. Linda is the typical archetype of a librarian, a frail, kind woman hunched over reading her daily book. She had large crystal glasses that would rest on the tip of her nose and connected to a beaded string necklace wrapped around the back of her neck. She wore bright chunky jewelry and a signature red lipstick that never failed to somehow find its way to her two front teeth. During my time there, I became so familiar and accustomed to this woman that each time I patronized the library, she would have a stack of books set aside for me that she thought I would like. I would step up to the counter and without looking, she would hand me the book and hold out her hand to accept the one I finished. No words needed to be spoken as we both knew the routine. It was the kindest gesture anyone had ever done for me, and for her to consider me every week - that woman was truly an angel.

I enjoyed thrillers, sci-fi, and historical fiction – but my all time favorite genre was fantasy. Each time a new fantasy book arrived at the office, it was sitting there at the front desk for me to open it and peruse through until the library closed. I would accept the book from Linda, give her a nod with a smile, head up to the third floor, and settle into my favorite cushioned chair that sat right next to the arched window overlooking the neighborhood. On the days I felt especially frivolous, I would grab a hot vanilla latte from the cafe down the street to accompany the following read-a-thon I would embark on that day. There I would sit with my coffee and my fantasy novel and envision living in the world of the main character. Every other day I became a warrior assassin intent on avenging my mother’s death, a princess attempting to evade capture, or a faerie falling in love with a mortal. The worlds I would escape to while reading those books thrilled me more than any activity ever could. It gifted me a space for imagination to run wild and a belief that any challenge, any conflict, and any issue could be solved with grit, determination, and perseverance. Fantasy books were a true sanctuary for me.

Once I started visiting the library, it became my home away from home. I lived alone for the majority of my adulthood and more recently became a recluse – and for good reason. Five years ago, there was a change in the regime of our continent. It started when a man named Boris established the party of Inland. He would speak on news networks and public events spouting the beliefs of his new system of government. He promised many things that caught the attention of our citizens, such as cheaper food prices, a cleaner continent, and increased support for struggling families. His largest platform piece though was a promise to keep citizens safe from the ongoing violence and crime committed within our continent’s streets. He pushed for harsh punishments for criminals and promised to sweep the streets of those who caused harm and disruption to our community. This all sounded like a reasonable platform, but many of our leaders pushed back accusing Boris of having ulterior motives and of lying to persuade their constituents. At the time, this didn’t seem like an immense event. All leaders are liars to a certain extent, but what was really so wrong about his points?

Boris’ promises to enact change in the continent grew major support over the matter of weeks and as his followers increased, his statements became more intense. The words that came from him sowed fear and hate between the citizens and created a sense of urgency that things needed to change. During one particular public speaking event, tens of thousands of citizens gathered to see the man in person and hear how he was going to fix our world.

“I can see all of you,” he spouted. “I can see the fear in your eyes as you pass your neighbors on the street, the concern of where you will find your next meal. I can see the sadness that grows within you as you read of all of the terrible things that are happening in the world.”

Great cheers followed as Boris spoke to the crowd. Tears filled the eyes of citizens as their hearts filled with hope and people gazed upon the man as if he were a god. He smiled upon them and gave them reassurance, “We can have no more of that. We demand change today, and it cannot be done without you,” he announced, pointing to the members of the crowd.

Citizens were fueled by inspiration and the desire for a better future for their family. They stormed the leadership tower, trashing its entirety, and sending the current leadership into hiding. Historical artifacts, statues, and art were all destroyed in the process. Some went as far as ripping the wallpaper off the walls as if that were somehow the key to true change. I watched this all happen from behind the tv screen in the safety of my own home, jaw gaped as I witnessed what may be one of the most pinnacle moments in the history of my generation. Finally, the tower was set ablaze with all the history of the past leadership being incinerated with it. It was over as quickly as it started and Boris wasted no time in taking his place as leader.

Nothing felt the same since that day and while many didn’t see it, I did. A foggy aura of peril had crept since he had announced himself leader and the neighborhood's previous sense of safety and love dissipated. Stern militants crowded the streets of my neighborhood armed with automatic rifles to respond to the slightest whisper of crime or resistance. Their faces bore expressions so stale and emotionless that my reflex was always to avert my gaze to the ground as I passed by so as to not make myself visible to them. The militants would halt citizens walking down the street at random as they made their way around town and demand identification. Those who couldn’t provide it were placed in vehicles and sent off to an unidentified location to be questioned. When they came back, their heads would sometimes be shaved and their eyes were filled with emptiness and incomprehension. They adapted back to their typical routine, but they went about life as if they were different people.

One particular day, I walked to the library as I always did and kept my head down so as to not grab the attention of the armed guards. There were now two stationed at every corner of the block and my commutes felt more and more chilling as each day passed. As I walked through the doors of the library, I looked up and flinched as I saw Linda turning towards me. She greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and asked directly, “Hi there, what can I do for you?”

The unusual gesture took me off guard and I couldn’t find words to mutter as my eyes saw the head of Linda that no longer sported the beautiful grey hair she wore the days and years before. Her hair was freshly shaved and a tiny device protruded from the side of her right temple, right above where her crystal glasses rested on her ear. Linda tilted her head confused, repeating herself in asking if she could provide me with any assistance. My eyes darted towards the counter to find that for the first time in over five years, a book no longer awaited me. Linda’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration, “Can I,” her eye twitches “help you young lady?”

“I.. uhhh. No, I don’t need anything, thank you.” I stammered with a sharp crack in my voice.

I stumbled backwards and lunged for the doors behind me, knocking my shoulder on the frame as I rushed out. I paced down the stairs onto the street with my head hanging low. Without realizing it, tears began streaming down my face and an aching feeling grew in my chest. I started heading in the direction of home and made extreme haste in my gait, while trying not to bring too much attention to myself as I walked down the block. That proved to be harder than expected as my breaths started to feel short and my head felt lighter and lighter. As I wiped tears off my face, I turned the corner and bumped into one of the militants. “Oh shit,” I thought to myself.

“Excuse me?” questions the man in front of me. Fuck, I actually said it out loud. I am quick to collect myself but my body doesn’t allow the adrenaline to wane. My eyes are locked with the 6 foot man standing tall in front of me, my hands shake, and my tears resist my wishes to cease.

“Do you have an ID, miss?” he started in his deep pointed voice. I am a deer in headlights. My mouth gapes as I try to find the right words to ensure my safety but nothing comes out. His eyes avert from my face to my shoulder, “Your shoulder is bleeding.” I look down at my body and yes, there on my shoulder is a cut that is now dripping blood down my shirt. I must have hurt myself on the way out of the library without even noticing it. He lifts his head up and squints his eyes at me. “You’re going to have to come with me, miss,” he states in his even tone. Reality hits me like a truck. The man reaches for my wrist to escort me to the vehicle and I swipe it away as a reflex. “NO,” I yell, not noticing the volume or aggressive tone in my voice, “I am fine, I just, I just need to go home.”

My voice grabs the attention of his partner and he marches over to provide backup. “Miss, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” They approach on either side of me and grasp my arms with absolute control. I begin a loud sob, “No, please, I promise I am just headed home. I am fine. Please, please don’t take me.” I look up at them trying to look into their eyes to communicate to them that I too am human and I am terrified. They do not reciprocate the eye contact and continue their efforts to drag me into the vehicle. As the door opens, two armed men are already waiting in the van, ready to restrain me if I continue to resist. I am in such a state of fear, that I begin to thrash my body attempting rip away from their grip. I put my feet up on the sides of the van resisting the entry with every muscle fiber in my being. I am pushed into the car with great force and hit my head on the car floor as I am forced. I feel the last of my tears stream down my cheek and my vision goes black.

~

I awake with a startle and it takes a few seconds before I can identify where I am. I look around and notice that the space looks familiar and find that I am there by myself. I am in a bed with cozy pink sheets and fluffy pillows that I identify as my own and take a deep sigh of relief. I am confused as to how I ended up here because the last thing I remember was talking to the militant. I question my memory not believing for a moment that they would have stuffed me in a van just to drive me home and tuck me into bed. No, that would be crazy. I remember the immense emotion and fear I felt in those moments and feel in my heart that what had happened was a real experience. But I find that I am trying to convince myself it was just a terrible dream.

I rise out of bed and start my day as I normally would. I visit the cafe to procure my daily latte and walk up the steps to the library. As I walk through the door, I notice a few drops of blood on the marble floor right next to the door frame. I stare at it and feel that ping of fear that I felt in my dream. I look at my shoulder and slowly pull down the sleeve to review it. I notice a scar no longer than two inches gracing my body in a healed state. There was no scabbing and there was no pain when I touched it. It had been fully healed as if days had passed since I acquired the cut.

I startle and look up in response to a familiar voice, “Hi there, what can I do for you?”

There behind the counter stands Linda, with her hair partially grown out in a style akin to a pixie cut. “Holy shit, it wasn’t a dream,” I whisper under my breath.

“No, no thank you,” I responded with a smile, trying my best to keep my cool this time around. I turn towards the stairs and race up till I reach the third floor. I find myself in the fiction aisle of the book shelf and scan for something I haven’t read before eager to find some comfort in reading as I always do. I review the spines of all the books to identify a new novel but they are all covered in characters I have never seen before. I pick up a book at random and file through the pages, my fingers flicking each sheet second after second. It is covered in symbols I can’t understand. I repeat this process over and over with four of the other books on the shelf. All of them only show these foreign symbols. I conclude that the library must have done some rearranging while I was out and that this shelf must be for books of a different language. I rush over to the nonfiction section and pull out the first book I see. I review the book with steady eyes, squinting and straining to understand what the cover states, but again characters are nonsense. I rip book after book off the shelf using every excuse I can find that this nightmare isn’t real. That the words of the books I cherish so dearly every day of my life have not been taken from me.

I begin to breathe fast and hard. I grip my head as if to soothe it and feel an immediate shock through my body. I remove my hand from my head as the pieces of the puzzle begin to assemble in my brain. I pace towards a glass bookcase and for the first time in days, I look at my reflection. And what I see leaves me disheveled.

A device, the same as Linda's, rests directly above my right ear. I instinctively reach to rip it off and am greeted once again by a sharp shock. My experience was certainly not a dream I deduced for a second time. My eyes turn downwards and I attempt to cry, but the tears I had in me have all been used up. My back falls towards the end of a bookshelf and I slide down to sit before I inevitably faint from disbelief. I stare at all of the books around me, the knowledge and adventure that once made me whole, stolen from me. My head drops to look to the side and something familiar catches my eye. A book that I recognize sits neatly on the bookshelf and I pull it out to examine it. The cover displays a beautiful red and gold trimming with a complex European stave in the middle. In the middle of a stave, a young girl sits on a dragon with a fist in the air and a bright smile on her face. As I review the artwork, I realize that I remember this book. With my final drop of hope, I open the book, yearning for one more moment with the fantasy world that was once my sanctuary. But, to my dismay, the letters are incomprehensible. The words and the understanding I once owned have essentially been ripped from my brain. I gently close the book and tuck it into my chest. I roll over on the floor and curl up into a ball where I begin to mourn. My love, my world, my sanctuary, now forever gone.