MicroHorror

They have all been burned. Not a single book remains; libraries are hollow, barren and useless. I’ve been told they are to be closed and modified to make us forget about them, about them and about the books. To make us believe they never existed. Nevertheless, once a month we all meet down in the sewers below the town square to see–or should I say hear–little Cecilia read. We call her Hope for obvious reasons, as well as to avoid being discovered. Every night she relates to us different parts of forgotten books. Perhaps what keeps me coming back, despite the rats, despite the stench, despite the danger and the fear, is her voice, clear and crystalline. I don’t know how she reads the blank pages, being blind.