This was
written for the 17 July Flash! Friday competition. The prompts for the week can be
seen here, and included the photo below.
Brothers in Arms
Books were
gathered in the town square. More were added as residents threw down volumes
that fell with pages fluttering like dying moths in the flames. Everything had
to burn. The choking smoke would wipe the slate clean. The pile grew; stories,
poetry, history, science, the word of God. All had to be destroyed. From the
ashes a new world would arise. A utopia. A world of peace. So they say.
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Riot
Police. CC2.0 photo by Thomas Hawk.
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A man tried
running away with a few volumes clutched in his arms. Guards tackled him and he
fell, his head cracking on the flagstones. Books fell to be scooped up and
thrown onto the still growing pile. The historian was dragged to his feet and
guns with live ammunition pointed at him. He put his hands in the air and
surrendered to the inevitable. He saw behind the guards a figure flitting
through the shadows. Some volumes would be saved.
The caught
man looked at each guard in turn. The face behind one of the rifles was his
brother’s. His finger was on the trigger. Doing his job just like the others.
Without question, without thought. Without knowing how many times this scene
had played itself out through time.
He closed
his eyes and waited for the bullet. He did not want to see who fired first.
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