Post by Harvey Carver on Oct 27, 2012 12:07:00 GMT -8
Because They Belong to me
Books are doors to worlds which exist only in our minds, his mother had always said when she gifted him a new book. What about histories, momma?, he had asked once when she had given him a biography of Abraham Lincoln. She had smiled at him, a sweet smile that showed she loved the innocence of his eight year old mind, Well Handsome, histories are the same. Only they make you sad because those worlds once actually existed. She was right of course, always had been on that point, histories made him sad. He had always loved the past for that reason, they were real and he was jealous that he did not get to see them played out around him, and he was sad that he would never meet Charlemagne, Napoleon or Cleopatra. He would never see the rise of the pyramids, the Eiffel Tower or the Great Wall. He could see these people, these events, so clearly in his mind and yet he would never see them himself.
But he got to see history itself being rewritten, the events of the past would be forgotten in the wake of what was happening now. "History is written by the victors", he muttered, pulling a book off the library's shelf. The government should have killed you sooner, the voice in his head, even though he heard it with his ears, was amused. ""True true", he muttered softly, opening the book to page one. Then the world wouldn't be in this terrible fix. Maybe that had a grain of truth in, but Harvey could hardly be that important. He was a nobody, a professor of history, why would the government pin those things on him? You can see the truth in their lies Harvey. The victors write the histories. And that was the point, Harvey believed the government had done so much to the citizens, and hid every minute of it. No wonder those things were out to get him, he knew the government had created the zombies.
"Well Mr. Melville, tell me about the great white whale", he said aloud, his mind flitting from subject to subject like a bee moving from flower to flower. Moby Dick, a story that would fade into history and be forgotten, a pity really, given enough time. But not today. Harvey found himself a comfortable reading chair, making himself comfortable as he turned to the first page. Reading was such a fleeting luxury these days. Never had time to just sit down and enjoy a book, he really ought to see if this library had his books here, he could sign them for the town. Free of charge of course. Look Ishmael enters, and just like that he was lost in the book.
He dressed just like any college professor might, in khakis and a sweater. They were clean, well as clean as he could get them washing them in a sink and his hair was combed neatly away from his head. He had let his beard begin to grow out, no since shaving it without hot water. Besides there was that one voice who would tell him to check for implants, see what the government had put into his body. Harvey thought it was a lie but you could never tell. So far the government had left him alone. His little truck was parked in a nearby spot, the keys in his pocket. He had to park in a handicap spot, he hated that, but it had been the only one available. Handicap people shouldn't drive anyway, they just caused wrecks, another sign of government conspiracy. Give people the ability to drive when they were dangerous, like giving a loaded gun to a kid.
Books are doors to worlds which exist only in our minds, his mother had always said when she gifted him a new book. What about histories, momma?, he had asked once when she had given him a biography of Abraham Lincoln. She had smiled at him, a sweet smile that showed she loved the innocence of his eight year old mind, Well Handsome, histories are the same. Only they make you sad because those worlds once actually existed. She was right of course, always had been on that point, histories made him sad. He had always loved the past for that reason, they were real and he was jealous that he did not get to see them played out around him, and he was sad that he would never meet Charlemagne, Napoleon or Cleopatra. He would never see the rise of the pyramids, the Eiffel Tower or the Great Wall. He could see these people, these events, so clearly in his mind and yet he would never see them himself.
But he got to see history itself being rewritten, the events of the past would be forgotten in the wake of what was happening now. "History is written by the victors", he muttered, pulling a book off the library's shelf. The government should have killed you sooner, the voice in his head, even though he heard it with his ears, was amused. ""True true", he muttered softly, opening the book to page one. Then the world wouldn't be in this terrible fix. Maybe that had a grain of truth in, but Harvey could hardly be that important. He was a nobody, a professor of history, why would the government pin those things on him? You can see the truth in their lies Harvey. The victors write the histories. And that was the point, Harvey believed the government had done so much to the citizens, and hid every minute of it. No wonder those things were out to get him, he knew the government had created the zombies.
"Well Mr. Melville, tell me about the great white whale", he said aloud, his mind flitting from subject to subject like a bee moving from flower to flower. Moby Dick, a story that would fade into history and be forgotten, a pity really, given enough time. But not today. Harvey found himself a comfortable reading chair, making himself comfortable as he turned to the first page. Reading was such a fleeting luxury these days. Never had time to just sit down and enjoy a book, he really ought to see if this library had his books here, he could sign them for the town. Free of charge of course. Look Ishmael enters, and just like that he was lost in the book.
He dressed just like any college professor might, in khakis and a sweater. They were clean, well as clean as he could get them washing them in a sink and his hair was combed neatly away from his head. He had let his beard begin to grow out, no since shaving it without hot water. Besides there was that one voice who would tell him to check for implants, see what the government had put into his body. Harvey thought it was a lie but you could never tell. So far the government had left him alone. His little truck was parked in a nearby spot, the keys in his pocket. He had to park in a handicap spot, he hated that, but it had been the only one available. Handicap people shouldn't drive anyway, they just caused wrecks, another sign of government conspiracy. Give people the ability to drive when they were dangerous, like giving a loaded gun to a kid.
