Sometimes rules are suggestions. They can be ignored, can’t they?
It doesn’t even matter, I would still ignore them. A thirst for knowledge, and the need to quench that thirst is all too great, even when venturing to the archives.
They are not ordinary. It took humanity hundreds of years to acquire. Every meticulous little detail about our history, every war, every diplomatic discussion. It is all at our fingertips, all at our disposal. It used to be open to all, but recently chains adorn those wooden doors and locks seal them closed.
Why? I honestly don’t know. But that won’t stop me.
Nothing will.
I creep down the deserted hallways, where the silence amplifies every breath I take and every beat of my heart. The sunlight paints the hallways in rich gold. I focus on the oak door that creeps closer and closer, and before I can decide against it, I push the door open, ready to step into the darkness.
At least I’m testing myself with what I thought I would be confronted with.
I wince at the stark white light that pieces my eyes, blinding me. When my vision adjusts, I find myself facing the same towering shelves. They stretch up as high as the heavens, stacked with the same thickly bound books that I would admire in the dim light of my phone.
All that exhilaration twists and moulds itself into a sickly fear that leaves me frozen at the doorway.
That is until I hear footsteps.
The adrenaline takes a hold of me, shoving me behind one of the many shelves.
A shadow passes over me.
“We need to do this.” A gruff voice mutters.
“Why?” A man asks, stupidly. “They're just books.”
“They are not just books, don’t you see that? The knowledge inside could make or break our careers.”
Careers? I squint through the gaps in between the bookshelves. My eyes widen as I see them dressed in a familiar pure white and gold uniform. The uniform of a Knowledge keeper, the government officials in charge of schools. They both clutch onto huge bags, their faces contorted with pain as they drag them.
“Can't we just lock the door? Surely no one will come down here looking for these stupid books.”
“Yeah, but all it takes is one and I don’t want to risk it.”
“So what do we do?”
“It’s simple. We follow the President's orders and burn every last book.”
I gasp, and the sound breaks the tense silence. I slam my hand on my mouth as they scan the archives with narrowed eyes, critical and all seeing.
It only makes the fear even more untenable.
It seems like forever before one of the Knowledge Keepers hauls the bag on his shoulder. “Come on, let's get back to the truck. We will collect the rest later.”
And just as suddenly as they arrived, they left.
The fear still lingered after they left, fear that poisons your mind and leaves you as a shell of a person, fear that forces you to run.
So after waiting a considerable amount of time, I ran.
***
‘We only look forward.’ The golden text screams at me from the banner, the red embedded so deep within it that it shines like freshly drawn blood.
Maybe that's what it represents.
Blood.
But is it the blood of our enemies or the blood of our friends and family alike? If I asked anyone, they would argue the first option. There might have been a time I would have argued it too, but not now.
Not since the archives.
Ever since that fateful morning, I made the effort to stare at the banner. To stare and stare and stare, until my vision’s blurry and my eyes prick with tears. Until I start to become hyper aware of the stares that pin me.
Are you an idiot? Do you want to get caught? I always scorn myself, and would immediately straighten up with a similar uniformity as the rest of the students, before walking down the halls.
Today, however, as I complete this ritual and cope with the stares, the frustration wreaks havoc within me and destroys any part of me that could stop me.
I mean, at first, I truly thought all this talk of returning to the old days was a hoax, but I can’t say that any more.
No, I won't say it anymore.
It needs to happen now.
So this time, when I force my gaze away from the banner, I clutch onto this frustration. This anger, this rage. It’s a wild type of rage that if not properly maintained can explode out of control and demolish anything in its path.
I soldier on, the echoing of my steps forgotten and lost in the hustle and bustle of the marble halls.
I catch the easy smiles that climb on my classmates faces as they nudge their friends and exchange jokes.
It’s no surprise they wouldn’t know what is happening. Even if they do come here, to the most prestigious university within our country. But it’s honestly more than just ignorance but the fact that they don’t care. They are spineless, soulless, programmed to be ‘yes men’ for the man responsible for the banners. For all of this.
Whatever. It’s not like I need any of these fools to help me invoke my plan. They will hold me back and report on me. Nothing is truly safe any more.
Thankfully, I am easily lost in such a big school with its foreboding hallways that allow for the flow of students to course through it. It’s hard for the newly installed cameras to keep track of all of us. At least that's one perk.
I continue to follow the crowd of senseless idiots until I come across the main hall, a room with high marble arches. It’s invaded with all different types of banners that further emphasises the focus on the future, shoving the agendas of heartless men down our throats.
Yet no one seems to care, their gazes are glued only to the huge screen that sits in the middle of the room.
I could have easily brushed past it and been on my merry way but I let my eyes lock on President King.
I always used to joke about how conflicting the name was. The way it contradicted two different systems: one that preaches democracy, the other stinks of tyranny. But now, I want to laugh at how stupid I was.
President or King, they are one of the same. Both figures hoard power, who align themselves with gods.
But here we are. In a world without gods to save us, where ignorant selfish men like the President King can mount the stage and claim that he is doing what is necessary to protect us. That is, until a reporter asks him why he is recalling the books from the archives. In response, he waves his ridiculous hands around and wears a smile that drips with evil.
“I am doing no such thing. Why would I deprive our society of its history? I am not a monster!”
And his brainwashed little followers laugh in sync, as if they were perfectly programmed robots. Because that is all we are to him. It takes every urge in me not to scream at them, not to shake them by the shoulders and exclaim what I saw in the archives.
But it’s not like I can do that, so I let this monstrous and ugly hatred fuel the determination, this crazed sense of urgency bubbling within me that may come back to bite me. But after hearing that, after seeing the lack of change, I have to.
Blinded by the euphoria that wafts from the determination burning deep within me, I shove past people who continue to feed off his lies.
My vision hones on the familiar sight of the gaping doorway framed by banners and marvel columns, where the stream of students is thin and forgotten.
The cameras must be watching me now, but that is the least of my problems as I enter the hallway and savour the familiar silence.
My steps quicken, and before I know it, I am face to face with the familiar wooden door. The golden knocker glints in the faint sunlight, and the door that is slightly ajar.
Unease ripples through me.
Huh. They must have forgotten to close it when I was last here.
Yeah, that has to be it.
I rest my hand gently on the door knocker. I hesitate before I dig my shoulder into the door, and it opens with a loud and foreboding CREAK!
I find myself seeping into the darkness as if I am one with the shadows. They provide me comfort compared to the searing white lights that pierced at me last time.
Even in the darkness, I know where to go. I let my hand brush against the smooth wood of the shelves and savour them. It only pushes me forward, makes my steps even more urgent as I plunge deeper into the darkness. It seems to amplify the sound, letting me be aware of every sound that isn’t my own footsteps. I expect this silence to be broken by booming voices, men in uniform who seize my arms, a scream that will escape my lips.
No. Even if I am caught, I will not give them the satisfaction of my fear.
I would rather be killed.
I shove the unease away before I soldier on through the twists and turns in complete darkness, until I find myself in a clearing. A perfect place to set down my empty bag and get to work.
But I pause, expecting some sort of ambush now. But there's still silence. So I let victory engulf me as I drift towards the shelves. My senses are buzzing. My skin pricks with pleasure as I reach my hands towards the shelves, expecting to feel the familiar roughness of the hardback cover beneath my fingers. That is what I expect, that is what I seek.
I am already imagining filling my bag with as many books as possible, but all is forgotten when my finger reaches the crevices of the shelf…
What?
Panic sets in and turns all that excitement into some sort of joke as I once again grapple for a book, but there is nothing.
No, no! They couldn’t have already done it. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Despite the trembling in my hands, I grapple for my phone and turn the torch on, letting the light engulf the library.
A sound between a gasp and a scream escapes my lips. My heart sinks.
The shelves were once filled with hundreds of books documenting every ounce of our history, from every battle to every word spoken. Everything from the earliest battle ever recorded, the Battle of Megiddo, to Shakespeare when he wrote Hamlet. From the earliest drafts of Jekyll and Hyde, to the latest video ever recorded which was none other than the President King's inauguration speech. From then on, he stopped his speeches from ending up on these shelves.
There would have been a time where I would have wondered why, but now I don’t care.
They’re gone. Our history is gone.
The archives are bare for the first time in hundreds of years.
The trembling attacks my knees, making me sink to the floor. My phone crashes to the floor and my head goes to my hands. The darkness is now pressing against me, amplifying the image of the President King's evil smirk, of his stupid empty words of a reality I tried to stop.
But who am I kidding? One person can’t make a difference, one act doesn’t resolve anything. Why on Earth did I ever think that this act of defiance would instantly solve everything that was rotten within this world. Oh how foolish I was.
And now, because of my foolishness, the archives are bare.
The past is no more.
