"I may be in the minority here but the thought of Heartcutter in a tub of chlorinated water splashing about with some moistened tarts trying to (apparentely) gain some sort of sexual favor in order to procreate truly frightens me. Little Heartcutters....((shivers)) makes Blair witch look like disney."
-Thundercracker
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| Books | | | Author: | | | IP: | gateway.XXXX | | Date: | 02/10/01 09:02 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 8, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for Monty Pylon: 6.0390 |  | Books
When I was a small boy, I lived in a country that was captured by a tyrant. He had seized control of our country and began to change the way we lived. We were taught a new language and we were forced to practice a new religion. There was talk of rebellion, but they had weapons and they outnumbered our own men. We lived in a small village and were far from the major cities. That is where the soldiers were and we felt that if we kept quiet, the soldiers would leave us alone. For one year our village was safe from the soldiers. Then during the spring, the soldiers came. They came in their tanks and carried guns in the street. We were all terrified and we wanted to run, but where would we go. Soon the countryside was full of gray coats, as we called them, and they patrolled the river near my village. The soldiers began to run inspections in our town and soon everyone was afraid to leave there homes. those who did venture out, were stopped by patrol guards. I was only ten and I could not understand why the soldiers seemed so angry.
Our town was small and we had no televisions or radios. All we had was a small library that the whole town used. It was an old school house, but the mayor had turned into a town library. They had all sorts of books there and I would always visit with my friends. My younger brother Paul would often join us when we went. He was only five, but he could read a little. Usually our mother would read us our books just before bedtime. My brother and I both loved the same book. It was an old book of fairy tales that an old woman had donated in her will. It had the greatest stories and we were read them almost every night.
One day, my friends and I returned from school and saw that many of the soldiers had gathered outside our library. The colonel began to yell at his men and the soldiers began to take the books from the building. They piled them into a truck and moved from house to house. Each time they entered a house, they searched it for books. Furniture was broken and the wives were screaming and crying. The soldiers continued to ransack each house for books. My friends and I were not sure what was going on, but we were not about to let the soldiers have our books. We ran home and hid our favorite books under our beds. My mother told me that the soldiers were going to burn our books. I did not understand. Why did they want to burn our books? The soldiers were just up the road and my brother gathered as many books as we could. We hid them all over the house, as best we could. The last book we had was the old woman's book of fairy tales. We tried to think where we could hide it and we pulled up the carpet and hid the book under a loose floorboard. No sooner had the carpet been replaced, had the soldiers come to our house. They started yelling and five men barged into our living room. They began to search our house from top to bottom. Two went upstairs and tore through our beds. There they found a book of poems, that was my mothers, and a family cookbook. They searched the kitchen and tore our pantry down. We didn't hide any books there, but they still broken every shelf. Next they searched the furniture and broke our cabinet and a dresser. They had found a story book and our school books in the furniture.
After the search, our house was left in ruins, but they had not found the book of fairy tales. If that survived it would be worth all the pain. The soldiers began to leave but then one stepped over the floorboard. It gave a slight creak and the soldier stopped in his tracks. He stamped the floor with his boot and pull the rug from the floor. Two more soldiers lifted the boards and found the book. My heart jumped and I wanted to take it from them, but they were too big and scary to fight. My brother was crying and as the man turned he lunged for the book. His hands grasped the leather cover and looked so small compared to the large hands of the soldier. The man stopped and looked down at my brother who was trying to wrench the book from his hands. With one slap, he sent my brother back into the wall and left. My mother was screaming and she lifted my brother off the floor. He was unconscious and his nose and mouth were both bleeding. All I could do was seep in anger and watch as the soldier tossed the book in the truck.
That night, the town was ordered to come to the village square. In the center of the square was a huge pile of books. They sat like a mountains and reached far into the sky. The colonel began to address my people, but I did not listen. I was hoping I would see the old woman's book and maybe I could rescue it. The pile was so large and I worried it might be on the top of the mountain. The colonel stopped speaking and yelled to his men. The soldiers came forward and began to dose the books in gasoline. I became frantic as I tried with all my mighty to find that book before it was too late. The men stopped spreading gasoline and another came forward with a torch. It was the same man who had hit my brother. He dipped the torch into the pile several times and I knew the book was lost forever. But n the glow of the fire I saw it. It was at the bottom and I could reach it. I looked to see that the soldiers were laughing among themselves and I knew this was my chance.
I dropped my mothers hand and raced for the burning pile of books. My mother yelled for me to come back, but I could not hear her. I raced for the stack, with the leather cover getting closer and larger with each step. The flames were high but I ignored the pain and reached into the heat. When I emerged I had burnt my sleeve, but I had the book. I turned to run back to my mother and hoped that the guards did not see me. My chest was burning but I was almost back to my mother. Then I heard a loud noise and I felt a terrible pain in my leg. I cried out and stumbled to the dirt. I looked behind me and saw soldiers running towards me. I looked at my leg and saw it was covered in blood. I tried to get up but the pain was too much. A large soldier kicked me aside and grabbed the book that lay in the dirt in front of me. The soldier handed the book to the colonel and then raised his gun to me. The colonel lowered the gun with his hand and ordered the soldier away. He looked at me and smirked. I stared back, with my face covered in dirt and eyes full of tears. Not just from the pain, but from the rage and hatred I had for these soldiers. The colonel took the book and placed it back in the fire. I watched as the leather curled under the heat and hung my head in defeat.
I was helped back to a doctors office where my leg was washed and bandaged. My mother was crying and my brother held on to me for dear life. I found out later that our books were burned so we had no ties to our former language. We would no longer speak our language in our own land, but rather the language of our captors. I still think about that day and only wonder why? Why did they have to burn our books? Why?
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