Today, they were burning books. These were the last books on Earth, found in the house on the outskirts of the city.
They were creating and, at the same time, listening to the Symphony of Fire, in which every note was a burned paper with empty words, written once by someone.
Does it really matter?
Does it really matter what was inside these books when outside, there is so much fun glancing at dancing flames destroying a relic of the past?
For them, it was more important to find every hidden book, throw down imaginary idols from their pedestals, tear apart books with fingers impatient from adrenaline overabundance, laugh when a new book like a wounded bird falls down in a bunch of the same “birds” opens up its insides, as if exposing its stomach and dumping out its giblets. For them, it was more important to dump down everything found in one huge pile in front of the living house and amuse locals through splashing kerosene, putting a lighted match and burning everything down.
They lacked only marshmallow and cocoa to make it a perfect picnic, as the fire chief Johnson joked, staring at the dancing tongues of flame that soared into the night sky and scattered in the air with dying fireflies.
“I wish we had some fried sausage, a bottle of gin and a couple of girls,” Yens supported the idea, grinning and laughing loudly surrounded by the hell of fire in the warm summer night.
“So we go for a beer at the weekend, yep?” Yens suggested, poking Morgan in the ribs.
“The last books on Earth,” whispered Morgan with his bloodless lips, while looking with eyes wide open at the violence of the fire that was destroying with a roar blackened covers of Dickens, Hemingway and Welles as if the fire was resurrecting the ghosts of long-dead people and then immediately destroying them.
“What?” Yens laughed.
“Yes, sure, let`s have some fun, why not?” Morgan said, wincing as if he got awaken from trance, and turned his head towards his colleague.
Exactly the same flames which were devouring books were dancing in Yens` eyes.
The last books on Earth.
These were the only words that sounded like an alarm bell in his head from the moment when Morgan saw the girl, Ellie Pure, a criminal, who decided to deceive the public.
The last books on Earth.
There were the only words she said, looking into Morgan`s eyes.
Ellie was fragile like a butterfly, sickly pale in skin with dry dead eyes. They were exactly dead, Morgan thought, meeting her glance and getting started to do his regular work the very next moment.
Ellie did not resist when the firefighters were breaking her house to pieces, tearing apart ventilation grids, crashing TV panels and destroying the radio. She stood quietly, having dropped her hands and not even moving his fingers. She was staring at the work of firefighters and especially – Morgan`s.
Her eyes were following his back that was sweating under heavy canvas jacket and his hands the nervously trembled while squeezing a shining ax and a tube hose in the fingers.
Morgan wanted to scream at Ellie, fling her aside and punch her painfully, so as not to see her dead pale face and dead dry eyes. He could not bear any longer – it was so wrong! It was she who had to scream and cry! “Different” always scream and cry when firefighters come!
But Ellie was silent while following him with eyes. She did not take any look at the fire – only slightly pulled back her little thin lips and stopped when she caught Morgan`s sight. He felt also something in his heart trembled, but instantly died in the fire burning nearby.
The last books on Earth burned no worse than milliards of others before them.
That day, a strange girl living next door, Josephine Nonamee died.
Morgan never paid attention at her. When, passing by, he hears that she was stabbed to death by some teens, he just shrugged his shoulders and, at the same moment, felt a painful stab in his heart. People said that she was mentally ill – and that was the result.
That day, it was raining in the morning, but, by noon, the sun came out and the stuffiness fell upon.
That day, Morgan`s wife, Matilda, again swallowed her sleeping pills and he had to bring her to the hospital for which he missed his day shift and had to take a night one.
That day, everything went awry as if the fate itself had requested Morgan to stop, stand still, close his eyes and reflect on his behavior – like a tired of the constant vagaries teacher would ask a restless boy to think over his behavior.
That day, or rather, already in the evening of that day, a siren wailed letting the firefighter know about their last day of work.
The last books on Earth. There were no other books left in the whole world, but those in the apartment in 42, Oriel Road. They were the real gold stock of words, dressed in hard and soft covers. They were the last books on Earth, hidden in the huge basement, in the walls of the old house, in every nook, every crevice, every jar and box like a mockery of the existing law and the people.
That day, federal police arrested a group of opposition members hiding behind the river.
The radio was bursting from the very morning. Hell yes – what an event!
TVs showed the latest news – mechanical dogs rushing towards the defenseless old people steel jaws protruding needles with poison people running helter-skelter realizing that there is no recue from the cold death brought by steel dogs and the gentle touch of procaine needle people falling deafening TV helicopters blades slapping broadcasters shouting excitedly.
At night, firefighters were burning down thousands of books; in the morning, a thousand of people got killed – quickly, with the noise and clatter. Those were the last people reading the last books on Earth.
“Cleanwhite! Cleanwhite Toothpaste!”
A pneumatic train carried Morgan through a hollow tunnel in steel coolness. Sound broadcasting horns screamed directly into the brain:
“Cleanwhite! Cleanwhite Toothpaste!”
Morgan glanced at the people sitting opposite and saw nothing.
Blank faces, empty eyes, only feet beating the rhythm to the beat of the cries from the horns: one, two, Cleanwhite, Cleanwhite, one-two!
“The last books on Earth,” he whispered in a rattling haze and was surprised at how flat it sounded. It was empty and cold inside.
A drawing room melted in a blaze of multi-colored confetti and radiance of flashes.
A white clown, "relatives", the laughter, the roar, boom, bang! Brighter, faster, more juicy! A lunatic set of paints, spirals, zigzags, cartoon clowns mincing each other`s limbs, rocket cars colliding with each other at speeds of hundreds of miles per hour, devouring each other fiery-red, blue and yellow fishes, salamanders dancing in the fire.
Matilda invited guests. Everything was gorgeous, lovely, luxurious and simply wonderful. Everyone was drinking, laughing at jokes and shouted barely hearing each other. It was true happiness, wasn`t it?
It was a celebration of capture of troublemakers, it was a celebration of the burning of the last books, a celebration of the beginning and the end of the war.
One million people were drafted – the war starts, quick victory is assured! It is going to be a short war with no casualties from our side.
Morgan suddenly shivered all over, as if he touched something icy, but, a moment later, put his arm around his wife and loudly laughed at the joke of the white clown.
The approaching war was raging like a fire. Far away from the city, mines were exploding, rocket bombers floated across the sky like crazy birds, dropping their deadly feathers at the enemy, but the town lived as it used before.
“The last books on Earth”.
“What? What did you just say?”
Matilda turned her head staring at in his lips.
“A week ago, we burned the last books on Earth,” he said and sipped his morning coffee.
“I am so much pleased of that!” Matilda exclaimed. “We should establish a fourth TV panel to cover the fourth wall in the living room,” she said. “You promised this long time ago”.
“Tomorrow, I will buy it,” he smiled, breathing easily, but already feeling some anxious chill somewhere inside, wondering at the reasons of its occurrence. “Today, it is terribly hot”.
“Yes, indeed, terribly hot!” Matilda agreed. “You are going to work today, aren`t you?”
In the Fire-fighting Detachment building, the air was sticky of cigarette smoke, sweat flowed in streams forming wet tracks at completely tanned faces of men, soaking their shirts and gluing their hair. But even sweat did not interfere with their game of poker.
“They say that today the war started,” firefighter chief Johnson said and puffed with his pipe.
“The war is going to be over rather quickly,” Wallace said snobbishly. “Everyone says like that”.
“A week ago, we burned the last books on Earth,” Morgan exclaimed suddenly.
“And it was great fun!” Wallace raised a fist.
“The last books on Earth”, repeated Morgan. “The last”.
“And nothing has changed,” Johnson relaxed his shoulders. “The first or the last – what is the difference? There is absolutely no need to think about this!”
“But I thought” Morgan said. “The last books on Earth! There are no more books at all!”
“Relax, Morgan,” Johnson advised. “We won`t lose our work. There are always lawbreakers”.
“Last,” Morgan repeated again, melting from the heat and a strange ailment somewhere in the stomach. “No one will ever know what was written in them”.
“There was nothing!” Johnson stared at sweaty Morgan`s face. “A set of words, silly fantasies, strife, chaos and lies”.
Morgan slowly, as if he was in a dream, rose, feeling the salty moisture on the face – either sweat or his tears. He staggered, barely keeping balance on his weakening legs and collapsed on a chair grabbing his wildly beating heart.
“The last books on Earth,” breathing with difficulty, he whispered in a barely audible voice. “That is no longer present, can you understand this?”
“Tyler, bring some water!” Johnson commanded. “Morgan, calm down!” He ordered to the weakened man. “We all understand”.
“The war” Morgan gasped and exhaustedly fell to his hands folded on the table.
No one had time to utter a word when dazzling white flash covered the city.
Maybe somewhere in another world, Morgan would have saved at least one book, maybe, in one of those saved books, he would have found the answers to the question that was tantalizing him all week long. But, in this world, he did not get an answer to the question: “What is it like to be the last in the world?”
