The Flickering Books

• Aisha Basic, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2017

The flames hissed and spat out showers of sparks as it hungrily gnawed through the papers beneath it. Black smoke shielded the dark sky and it wounded itself around the pile of a serpent and ashes floated to the ground. A man at the bottom of the steps slowly made his way onto the stage, the scrape of leather shoes on concrete echoed loudly around the crowded square. He stood proudly with his brown uniform; his thundering voice rang out and filled the quiet, eager air. He waved his fist in the air and the flicker from the blaze reflected off his icy eyes.
“The German men and women will not walk around filled with intellectual garbage from the past but rather stand tall and proud. The flames will scorch these useless pages and from the smoke that arises, so will the new spirit of our great era.”
The entire town listened, the fire torches illuminated their sickening, wide grins and their ears excitedly swallowed every sound made by the man. As he kept talking, the claws from his words choked the breath from my lungs; sounds of protest that longed to be released remained clenched inside my tongue. I could hear the blood curling screams of the words that filled the books and the pages fluttering in the wind looked like blistered hands desperately pushing against the piles wood that imprisoned them. We were setting alight thousands of human bodies, getting rid of their existence by destroying every thought they had, every idea and reduced their voices into broken whimpers until silence enveloped the town. The black smoke from the fire swirled at the edges of my mind and caged all my thoughts.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around, Stefan, one of the leaders, stood in front of me with his eyes narrowed and a scornful look crossed his face fleetingly.
“Throw it.” He shoved a book into my hands, with the same sneering look, only this time it remained, almost like a challenge.
I looked over to Thomas, who wore an encouraging grin and nodded towards the fire.
“Do it!” ,he whispered in an excited tone.
With shaky fingers and a dry mouth, I placed the book tenderly against my chest and wrapped my fingers tightly around it. I looked around to see the faces of the townspeople I used to recognise, all morphed together like a cluster of paint and closed my ears to the monotonous chanting.

After youth meetings were set up in our town, we gradually stopped going to the field. Every meeting, I got shouted at, mostly by Stefan, because of the way my arm bent when I saluted and my lack of stamina.

“You’re no better than a Jew.” Stefan spat the words out and his face twisted into a disgusted expression.

“Filthy communist” The soldiers muttered as they roughly grabbed him by the arms and pulled him further down the street until they were no longer in sight. That evening, before Thomas went inside, he smiled and waved and I responded with a practiced smile and waved back with stiff hands.


I shook off these invasive thoughts and glanced at Thomas and Stefan, who were waiting with eager eyes. I clutched the book tighter as if it was the last ticket for a railway cart that would run past this town, freeing me from the harsh voices that always whispered words of hate and the beady eyes of the townspeople that followed me around. But I didn’t hear the rattling of the wheels on the track and the hiss of the steam. My chest felt like it was shackled with chains as I dragged myself closer to the fire. My hands loosened their grip on the book and my fingertips brushed lightly against the cover. The book joined the rest that was littered on the centre of the square and that night, darkness fell upon the town like a heavy cage, trapping everything.