It’s Lit…

It’s Lit…

“It’s Lit…” A man shushed me, cutting me dead. A Students’ Union type, he took piles of books from the Literary Studies section. Brecht, Hemmingway, Mann, Remarque. All quiet. “Quiet!” He left to join a crowd outside. Those of us still in the library, peered out of the shattered window. We saw smoke curl up and tiny flames grow larger. “It’s lit,” I mouthed. The mountain of books burned so perfectly, they were almost holy.

 

First published by Paragraph Planet.