Week 1, Challenge 1- A First Sentence

Week 1-Challenge 1

In every library there is a book that kills. Sometimes it is because of the length of the book. At least four bibles have caused fatal deaths in the Western world-one of the victims an 87 year old woman who had just converted to Catholic three days before. Other times it is what’s in a book that kills. It is impossible to count how many people have gone on to become homicidal maniacs after miscuing the context of a book.

In the case of Liddy Lacroft, it was both thickness and content that lead to her problem. Raised by nuns who were deeply involved in community service she had volunteered at the Locklove City (which was more an ant farm than a city) library since she had learned to read at the age of three and a half. Unable to stack books on the shelves on a ladder and being unable to see over the front desk with out 3 phone books, she was sent to order newspapers by issue, date, and number of copies. This work entertained Libby at first, her eyes absorbing the front headlines with ease, but at age 5 she began to lose interest.

Still a tiny size, Libby was assigned to shelve the bottom rows of books, but after only stocking 3 out of 18 books due to her reading the others, she was let go. This did not deter Libby from the library and she because a faithful customer. By age 12 Libby had read every book from Dr. Seuss to Stardust at least twice.

The library had no plans to expand and due to a lack of funding, could only afford a new set of books every 6 to 8 months. For Libby this wait would not do. She began to write her own books at age 14 and half. She started with simple, sloppy sentences like:

“Mr. Gentleman cried because he was very sad.”

And,

“Ms. Lady laughed because she liked to see Mr. Gentleman cry. She was very mean.”

By age 15 and quarters her writing had advanced to:

“Ms. Porter swelled with anger. She could not believe Mr. Brown would embarrass her in such a way.”

The only problem to Libby’s growing hobby was that she had neither the paper nor the space to write. She grew up with a gaggle of nuns who insisted that no one needed possession to mature right. So when Libby asked for paper she was answered back with contempt snorts, the loudest from Sister Dully.

Libby did discover that the library did have plenty of paper. It was only a matter of looking in the right place. She could not take it from the printer for a librarian always had a vulture eye on it, but there was paper in the library books. Libby had noticed that many books had at least 2 to 4 blank pages in the front and back of the book. Libby calculated how much paper she would need and agreed to 50 sheets to start. Every day she checked out 3 books, took them home and ripped out the excess paper and return the book the next day. She continued this ritual until her fifty sheets were gathered. There was a problem with some sheets being larger of smaller then each other, but Libby was not picky. She had paper, sweet, beautiful paper for her to attack with her thoughts.

Libby did just this. She wrote everyday for at least four hours and made lovely stories. But the paper did not last long and soon Libby had to snatch more paper from the library. If the nuns were to find Libby’s secret writing she surely would be in trouble for stealing so she hid the paper under her pillow. But the voice of the paper talked to her in her sleep, reminding her that it was only a matter of time before a nun would insist of washing her pillow case and discover her secret. Libby knew this would not do.

The next day she entered the library with the paper tucked under her coat. She crept to the back isles where no one went- the religious exploration section- and stuffed her writing into a copy of “The Art of Happiness”. Libby smiled and she left the building, the weight of her burden easing off her shoulders.

Libby’s writing grew to be over 356 pages of the next few years. She had to spread her work out amongst 5 different books. One day she discovered broken books in the trash behind the library and helped herself to the front and back cover of a book whose pages had long since fallen out. She snuggled her precious paper into the binding and shelved it like any other book.

By the time she was 19 Libby was on her was to fulfilling her training as a nun (not by her own selection) and her book house over 967 pages. The binding ached and moaned every time Libby forced another piece down its throat. All seemed well, until Sister Dully began her mission for “academic cleansing”. She had had her eyes opened after attending a seminar “Book Burning and You-Protecting the Young from the Wicked” her first victim-the library. Libby heard of this mission only after attending a three hour rosary reciting. Sister Dully had already embarked on her mission. Libby managed to behave as if by being a loyal library customer she rejoiced at the idea and had to rush down to help. Libby arrived just after an ambulance, housing Sister Dully, had driven away.

Libby managed to gather the story from three hysterical sisters. Sister Dully had just finished ripping a copy of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” when she set off to cover the Religious Exploration section. She had found a hand written book and read one paragraph. Sister Mona waved the copy almost knocking three sisters out. She read it out loud with caution.

“I once read that some believe we come back for a second life instead of going to heaven or hell. I find this interesting. I would like to come back instead of having to worry about whether or not I was good or bad and will have to go to hell. If I did come back I’d hope to come back not Catholic. I’d want to be something exotic. Being Catholic in this little town is like being just another pigeon among pigeons. I want, no wish, to be a peacock amongst the pigeons. I want to have wide wings with splashes of every color. I want to sing. I don’t want to believe in hell. I hate worrying about it. So if I don’t believe in hell I’ve decided not to believe in heaven either. No, instead I will believe in being a bird, a great bird that will fly out of the church, if only in my head or on paper. If I don’t believe in heaven, I suppose I don’t believe very much in God either. I will believe in being recycled instead.”

It was then that Sister Dully had frozen where she read for 30 second before seizing her left arm in pain. By doing such she dropped the book on her brittle foot and collapsing back, in to the shelf. It fell, many of the booking hailing down on her. The ambulance arrived to retrieve the body. Cause of death: Shock and accidental.

No one ever figured out who had wrote the book, but 5 intense prayer sessions were performed to “cleanse the sins of the writer” as well as to seek justice for Sister Dully’s “murder”. Libby never told anyone about the book. She continued writing but now hid her paper where no one would ever look, inside the public unabridged bible.

Libby became Sister Libby at age 21. She never prayed to be forgiven for the incident her book had caused. But she still dreamed of being a bird. She became an English elementary teacher at the Catholic school for girls. At age 51 a group of children bought her a pigeon as a birthday gift. Sister Libby did not decline gaining a possession. She named the bird Dully and left its cage door opened all the time. But Dully never once left on her cage on her own free will.