Ain't No Hiding Place

5:00 AM
I couldn't sleep in this morning. I woke up and felt...compressed. Like I'd been stuffed in a box and left in the attic. I've opened all the windows, even though it's freezing and damp outside, but my apartment still feels a little stuffy.

5:07 AM
Perhaps it is an omen of deep dark frightening things. The stuffiness, I mean. Yesterday my library was ravished by religious delinquents, today my apartment is stuffy when it's 35 degrees outside. I'm beginning to see a pattern. An ominous pattern.

5:10 AM
Never mind. It's just that my heater's decided to start working again, and of course I had it cranked up to the highest it could go when it was broken as though my turning it up would make a difference (what with it being broken and whatnot). And it has made a difference now, and it appears to keep wanting to make a difference because now it won't turn off.

5:12 AM
Perhaps this is God's way of getting back at me for laughing at the fact that he didn't strike my library with lightening. Bastard.

5:14 AM
Altan Yilmaz is on my black list. Why doesn't God punish heartless jilters as opposed to innocent librarians?

5:30 AM
Tea makes everything a little more bearable. Tea, tea, tea...Good heavens, my dentures fell in the kettle. I'll fish them out with my salad clompers.

6:00 AM
I will brace myself and go to the library in half an hour. I must view the destruction with a brave heart, like Bilbo in "The Hobbit." If ever I die--and I must assume that I will, it seems to happen to everyone else--I want to have that book with me. Perhaps I should start carrying it with me wherever I go, just in case I die suddenly and without warning. Perhaps I'll be hit by a bus on my bike on the way to the library. Or someone will poison my tea. Or Altan Yilmaz will murder me out of tortured guilt he feels every time he sees me because he realizes what a cruel person he was to leave me waiting and he can't stand it any longer and so he'll take a coffee mug to me and bludgeon me to death.

6: 05 AM
And then he'll die of shame. Because he'll have killed me. I wonder what it's like to be murdered. Uncomfortable, I expect.

6:35 AM
I cannot delay it anymore. I'm going to the library to assess the damage. Perhaps I can salvage some books from the pile that they burned. I'm heading out on my bike now.
With my copy of "The Hobbit" in my pocket. You never know, with buses.

6:50 AM
No chance of saving an entire book. There are a few pages scattered here and there, but they're a bit charred. It's all a big pile of gooey ashes that have sort of cemented from yesterday's rain. It's not raining right at the moment, but the sky looks like miso soup broth.

7:00 AM
I almost had a heart attack, coming in here to the library. The shelves are a mess--I think more than half the books were stolen. It makes me sick to look at it.
I need tea.

7:02 AM
Scratch that. The teapot's broken. Die, world.

7:06 AM
Good heavens, there's a dead man on the floor.

7:06 1/2 AM
No such luck. He's asleep, and it's the man who ordered the crazy religious whackjobs to burn my books. Perhaps I should spear him one last time with my umbrella. How dare he sleep in MY library?
"GET UP!"

7:07 AM
That perked him up. He looks affronted. Tough cookies.
"You," he's saying. Well, who else does he expect to find in this library? Besides a few regulars--and they're all weird, every last one of them, all obsessed with one thing or another--Macy and I are really the only ones who are ever here. Surprise, there's a librarian in the library!
"You have no right to be sleeping in here. Out." I'm pointing at the doors, but he doesn't seem to get the message. What is it with these people and their inability to understand simple body language?
He's drawing himself up, as though he's here for some sort of worthy cause. "Ma'am, I'm here to finish my task."
"And I'm here to foil it, you fiend!" I brandished my umbrella and I bared my dentures at him. I have no idea what sort of task he's going to finish, but judging by the disgusting pile of ashes outside, he isn't the sort of person who does any kind of acceptable tasks. Ooh, I should add that to my rules of requirement for entering my library:
#6-->Thou shalt not engage in suspicious activities that involve any kind of god and/or freakish religion.

7:15 AM
He's walloped me! In the stomach! Brute! Walloping an old woman like that! I can barely breath! No, really, I think he's dented something important, I'm heaving for air...
I've thrown up all over the floor, and of course these floors are carpeted, it'll take ages to clean it up...
"You cannot deny the word of God." The worst part is that he sounds nice. I don't like people who are not nice sounding nice. He's so calm. Like I'm not really a problem. I AM a problem, and he WILL deal with me if he thinks he's going to be doing any kind of task in here--
"I was waiting for you to return. You are an instrument of Satan, and you must be purified, along with this building of Sin."

7:19 AM
I'm trapped in here with a complete lunatic. This is why I hate religion. Look what it's DONE to him--"You think your religion justifies you being a psychopath?" I tried to scream that, but all I can do right now is squeak because I haven't quite got my breath back. But I squeaked in a very menacing way. What to do, what to do...Just because I was curious this morning about how it feels to be murdered doesn't mean I actually wanted to try it out--I think I'd best toss that out there in hope that whoever controls these sorts of events takes that into consideration. As depressing as this library looks right now, I'm not ready to die until I've fixed it up again.

7:20 AM
He's coming closer. Time to run away.

7:21 AM
Crawl.

7:21 and a bit AM
Help.

7:22 AM
He's singing again, like last night. Another hymn, I can dredge my memories of it from the church I used to attend so long ago. I'm crawling like mad, but he's got this rather ingenious advantage of being young and able to walk and still having proper use of his lungs.

And he's using them to sing what was a perfectly good Gospel song before he dirtied it with his creepy zeal.

There's no hiding place down here,
there's no hiding place down here;
Well I ran to the rocks to hide my face,
the rocks cried out "No hiding place,
there's no hiding place down here."

And he keeps coming, no matter how madly I crawl across this old carpet. I have to get to my feet, have to do something other than wriggle across the floor like a desperate fish.

7:26 AM
I've managed to get behind the front desk, moving like a soldier trying to avoid gunfire in a movie. And that twit keeps coming and singing, coming and singing...

I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
I'll pitch my tent on cold ground,
Oh I'll pitch my tent on this cold ground,
and give old Satan one more round,
There's no hiding place down here.

He's going to have to worry about a damn sight more than Satan when I'm through with him.
Plan! Oh, I have a plan! Thank heavens for the inspiration pure panic and desperation spurs into existence! I'll pull the fire alarm bell, right here on the wall, it'll wake up the whole town and I'll be rescued! It's the most annoying fire alarm ever. People are bound to rush over out of sheer fury.

7:30 AM
I've pulled it! Ha! He's covered his ears and jumped back! TAKE THAT!

7:31 AM
He's attacking! Not fair! I pulled the alarm, he should just burst into tears and await his arrest--He's setting the library on fire. "RULE NUMBER SEVEN! DO! NOT! SET MY LIBRARY ON FIRE!"
I'll skewer him with my umbrella if it's the last thing I do!

7:32 AM
It's the last thing I think I'm going to do. He's thrown me into one of the shelves, and the books and cheap flimsy shelves are piled around me--I can't see anything but smoke and all I can hear is the crackling pop of the fire--all that dry paper and wood is going to go up fast, and I am stuck. Well it's a good thing I pulled the alarm, surely they've heard it--surely...

Oh, the devil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
Yeah the devil, he wears a hypocrite's shoe,
The deavil wears a hypocrite's shoe,
If you don't watch out he'll slip it on you,
there's no hiding place down here...

My first order of business will be to rip that man's lungs out when I'm out of here. Violently. I'm having trouble breathing through this smoke, now--what is it you're supposed to do? Stay low to the ground and crawl to safety? Good, because crawling is about all I can do.

7:34 AM
No, I tell a lie--my legs are trapped under a shelf. Crawling is not an option. They better hurry up with that rescue. They do know I'm in here, don't they? I mean, I get here every morning, early. It's what I do.

7:40 AM
It's what I did. Can't breath...the cats...did I feed the cats this morning? My feet are tingling, I think they've gone asleep under the shelves, and I can't move my legs...It's hot in here, is the heater broken?

Ain't no hiding place down here...

His voice was so far away, and it really wasn't the last thing I wanted to hear.

7:42 AM
The siren blared across the cold, damp streets and woke up everyone and his dog--especially the dogs. The canines howled at the sound and the growing stench of smoke that hung stiffly in the humid air. It took a while, but people crawled out of their beds, irate and ready to shoot whoever set off the alarm.
Some people gathered at the library, which had smoke billowing out of its crevices. A man was standing outside, singing. Not very well, but it was a catchy song, for a hymn.

Over My Dead Body

12:09 AM
I have waited up all night. Mr. Yilmaz did not come to fix my heater.

12:10 AM
I fed the dosa to the cats.

7:00 AM
I got to the library at 6:30 this morning. I felt a bit restless. If Mr. Yilmaz DARES show his face on these streets with his stupid coffee and his stupid accent, then I shall set him on fire. With a flamethrower.

7:02 AM
And throw his crispy remains under a bus.

7:06 AM
There is a group of people trying to get into the library. They seem rather excitable; how odd. No one around here gets this excited about books.
"The Library is closed." They aren't paying attention to me. I guess I'll have to go and order them off the property.
"The Library is CLOSED." They can see me now--at least, they're pointing at me and shouting--but they aren't leaving. I'll just open the door and--
They've broken through the glass of the door! I'm going to be murdered. This is the end. It wasn't enough that God sentence me to a jilted, broken heart. He had to have me sliced to death by an angry mob armed with broken glass. Death by the glass of my own library. The irony is astonishing.

7:10 AM
How dare they push an old woman like myself over like that! What if I was terribly frail? What if I had osteoporosis and they had snapped my brittle bones? Do they care? Who are these maniacs? I would ask, but they aren't very approachable.

7:12 AM
They're stealing books! MY books! The books that are supposed to be in the library! It's not a case of just a gap here and there--they're running off with whole shelves of books from the World Religions and Science sections. I will not stand for this!
So I'll just stay here under this study table until they've gone away and then call the police. With any luck the police will be the sort of neanderthals that are armed with cattle prods and are willing to use them against dangerous book thieves.

7:13 AM
They're singing...hymns? Yes... Hymns. Old ones.

"What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jeeee-sus./
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus./
Oh, precious is the flow
that makes me white as snoooow./
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jeeesus..."/

That brings back memories of the Southern Baptist Church. What are they doing out there?

What can wash away my sin?

They're piling books up behind the building. The chickens are nowhere to be seen; they've probably fluttered off in fear. Silly birds are smarter than I am.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

I've seen films that have scenes like this; historical documentaries that come on in the evening on P.B.S. Books piled in huge masses; "unacceptable" books. The Nazis did book burnings; so has every other ignorant group.
Well whoever these bastards are, they're about to burn my books while they sing about their God, like it's his will to destroy knowledge.
Over my dead body. God's gonna have to tear down the whole damn library before I give up. See if his pathetic little mob of supporters can march seven times around my library.

What can make me whole again?

I'll tear them apart.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.

7:25 AM
I've got my umbrella. And an envelope opener. There's nothing else for it. CHARGE! I won't actually shout that, obviously, because I'm going to try and appeal to their better nature and howling and spearing their leader with an umbrella might make a bad impression.
"Excuse me? Excuse me, you can't burn those books. They're the property of the Public." I jabbed the man closest to me with my finger. It's taking a bit of effort not to prod him with the envelope opener.
The little prick is looking down at me like I'm sort of fungus growing on the ground. "Ma'am," he's saying, "We are the Public, and we're spreading the will of Gaw-ud. Please stay back. We're cleansing Satan from this town."
"Cleansing Satan? Are you an idiot?! They're books! Written by people!" I grabbed at one of the books off the pile--Buddha: A Journey of Haiku. "This is a bunch of poetry," I howled, but the man snatched the book back and threw it back into the pile.
"Light it!" He sounds and looks like a rabid vulture. If vultures could get rabies...
"Don't you DARE get a single candle near my--" but I was cut off as another man poured a gallon of gasoline on top and a young woman with a frighteningly benevolent smile on her face threw a lit match into the whole mess.
FWOOOM!!
More than anything else, I can feel the exothermic reaction of the hundreds, thousands, millions of pages, expelling light, heat, and sound--the skin on my face is stretched tight from the sudden influx of heat.

7:32 AM
"AIIIIIIIIIIGH!" I shall kill them all! Starting with this nitwit who ordered the burning! I swung my umbrella at him and conked him on the head.
A flash of light shot through the air, followed by a boom that rocked my arthritic bones. The mosque is on fire! It's been struck by lightening...
"HA!" I pointed up at the sky. "YOU MISSED, YOU MISSED!" God missed my library! He can have deluded minions try to burn my books, but he can't even hit the right building with his lightening! The Universe must be on my side! Perhaps this sudden pouring of rain will put out the fire!

7:35 AM
No such luck. There's too much gasoline for the fire to go out yet.
There's Macy! Macy! Oh, I'm so glad to see her--
"MACY! Macy, help! They're burning the books!" I abandoned my whalloping of the man to wave my arms at her and beckon. She's coming! And running at another of the men! I knew she cared about the library books. SHE'S TACKLED HIM! YESSS!
"Good, Macy, keep it up--" Oh dear. Her hair's on fire. "Macy, just put your head under one of the gutters--" She's not listening, the silly girl. Nevermind. Someone will sort her out. I need to finish teaching these ignoramouses that books are for being neatly lined on shelves, not burning.

7:37 AM
The prostitutes from the antique shop have gone insane. They're out here in bathrobes and little else--and by little I mean...nothing...--and they're flinging alchohol onto the flames! FEEDING THE FIRE! There are too many of them. Too many...

Oh, precious is the flow,
that makes me white as snooow.

And they won't stop singing--they've thrown a couple rocks at me, but no matter what, they won't stop... The homeless men have joined in, too. The lyrics aren't difficult. Perhaps that's why Christianity succeeded so well; easy lyrics, easy tune, something you can learn when you're drunk as a drowned pansy.

It's flashing again--lightening? No--it's camera flashes. What are those little Japanese people doing? Good heavens. They're from that tour bus by Jorri Rae's. What kind of person would come here as a tourist? I have half a mind to beat them with my umbrella for treating this like some kind of performance. Why aren't they helping?! All they can do is stand there and take flash picture after flash picture, capturing this crime forever in pouring rain. What a contrast. Roaring flames while it's raining cats and dogs.

No other fount I know...

I can't see Macy. I'm here by myself, swinging my broken umbrella for a pile of books that don't love me any more than my own daughter does. I'm soaking wet, my umbrella's spokes are all bent out of shape, and yet the fire is still burning and they're still singing.
One of the prostitutes is pouring a whole bottle of whiskey on the fire. What can I do but watch the flames dance higher, reflecting eerily off of individual raindrops, the crackle of the swiftly incinerating books blending into the violent hiss of rain smacking against the pavement? My shoulders can heave and I can sob and I can scream at them all I want, and they probably wouldn't even be able to tell in this downpour.

7:42 AM
My umbrella is useless now. It's too broken. I'll leave it in the dumpster behind the library. I'm going home.

Nothing but the blood of Jeee-sus.