Fragments

Mann tightened the cloth around his nose and mouth as he stepped into the next room. Like the others, it was covered in a thick layer of dust, stirred up into the air by footsteps for the first time in… Mann stopped. This room was different. Long alcoves had been carved into the walls, and each was filled with books. He raised a gloved hand to the nearest. It crumbled under the lightest touch. Like usual. Mann ran his hand along the shelf, the books disintegrating into yet more dust. Terrible firewood, these books; why had people bothered making them?

The prospect of trying to bag the crumbled bits of book to burn made Mann’s heart sink. But even under many layers, even though it wasn’t yet late, the air was bitterly cold, and so dry Mann could practically feel the moisture being sucked from his body through every breath. 

His hand bumped against something solid. The wall? No. Mann’s mouth dropped as he pulled from the shelf a solid book. He held it reverently. 

After taking off his thick outer gloves, Mann was able to open the book. Each page was thick and glossy, different from the fragile tinder Mann usually found. The book was filled with fantastic scenes: A man running through an impossibly lush landscape (how did all those shrubs survive, out in the open? How did the figure not die of cold, with so much skin exposed?) under a bizarre cloudless sky; a near-naked figure hung from a cross atop a stone pillar in the middle of an expanse of dusty rock; a machine of some kind, on four wheels, with a plastic tree tied on top, drove through a strange hilly landscape. Mixed in with these images were others Mann recognized: a person’s back, horribly burned, a warning about watching fires during the night; a man alone on a dark street, between rows of houses not yet covered in soot and crumbling from neglect, with a strange beast slinking by in the background, a lesson to never go out alone; two people running through a labyrinth, faces contorted in fear — well, Ja refused to go underground for that exact reason. 

Thinking of Ja snapped Mann out of his trance. The old man was probably waiting for him. Mann’s hands ached in the cold air. He scooped a few handfuls of crumbled books into his sack, stuffed the intact one inside, and hurried back to the central room where he and Ja agreed to meet.

Ja was already there, crouched before a small fire. He grunted at Mann, gestured at a pile of tinder in the corner of the room. Barely enough to last them through the night. Mann emptied his sack of debris onto the pile, then picked up the book to show Ja. He flicked through the thick pages, pausing on each scene. That impossible scene from the beginning was nothing compared to some of the places depicted in this book. People spoke of plants growing out of the ground, but this many? 

The fire crackled. Ja took the book from Mann’s hands, hefted it, then tossed it on the flames. Mann flinched. The fire lapped at the book, greedy, eager to consume the innards. It bore through the cover. Then, without warning, the orange flames flared bright green. Flickers of red, yellow, and pink flashed around the edges of the green flames. The book shrivelled, and the flames died down, green fading back into the usual shades of orange.

Mann sighed. Things never burned as long as you hoped they would. Recently, it seemed as if there was less to burn, but the nights were longer and colder than he could ever remember. He stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets. One closed around a folded sheet of paper, ripped from the book before Ja had seen it. Mann imagined the scene as he stared into the fire.