sixwordstories | (no subject)

[Have a librarian a small distance away. She's not a bad woman, but she doesn't altogether trust kids. Seen too many books come back horribly mangled for that, probably. You're lucky she's working at putting some books back on the shelves and not paying too much attention to you.]

Lizzie is like a kid in a candy store. It's been years since she's been allowed in a library, and she didn't know where to begin. She browsed the books about cameras, then the fairy tales, and finally settled herself in the floor with a bunch of old newspapers form the archives. She's not paying much attention the librarian either, just reading the old old news she never had a chance to since she had to start running.

On the floor. Of course the kid's just going to put everything on the floor. And where are the parents? Nowhere to be seen, that's where. But the moment you try to teach the kid some manners, that's when a seething mother shows up and tells you to mind your own business. So for now, the librarian moves a bit further away, trying to keep from getting angry about something that hasn't even happened yet. Maybe this will be the day a child finally proves her wrong. Maybe.

It won't be. Lizzie's have a great time reading old news clippings until she gets to to the ones from the year she was eleven. July to be exact.

She coughs slightly, flipping through a book of clipping that detail the sudden and tragic explosion that killed thirty two people one hot afternoon in Kansas City. "Oh no." Liz breathes, flipping the pages more and more frantically as words jump out at her. Her mother's name. Her father's, her brother, that nice old lady that helped her pick apples. The statement from the police and finally her own picture, staring blankly at the camera with the words 'Lone Survivor' underneath.

"NO!" Liz shouts loudly enough for it to echo throughout the room as she tossed the book of clippings away, not even noticing her fingers are on fire as she touches the brittle paper.

The librarian is just succeeding in distracting herself from her own annoyance when the sudden shout pierces the air. Hurrying over, she finds flames licking at the sides of a book - the book that that accursed child was just reading.

"FIRE! FIRE!" The librarian is the very essence of hysteria until remembering to run for the fire extinguisher that's mounted just outside the little private office. Some people run off in a panic; a little boy starts crying. A couple of teenagers who manage to keep their heads cool - or simply have a sick obsession with danger - come to look at the fire, and are disappointed to find only a single volume in flames. Soon, the librarian returns with the fire extinguisher, and even that little fire is put out. The teenagers shuffle off, mumbling their disapproval as they look from the librarian to Liz.

Then, belatedly, the fire alarm goes off, making a hellish noise even though there is nothing to worry about anymore. The librarian looks down at Lizzie with an amount of disapproval and barely veiled threat that would make a grown man tremble. "You had better call your parents."

[Have a librarian a small distance away. She's not a bad woman, but she doesn't altogether trust kids. Seen too many books come back horribly mangled for that, probably. You're lucky she's working at putting some books back on the shelves and not paying too much attention to you.]

Lizzie is like a kid in a candy store. It's been years since she's been allowed in a library, and she didn't know where to begin. She browsed the books about cameras, then the fairy tales, and finally settled herself in the floor with a bunch of old newspapers form the archives. She's not paying much attention the librarian either, just reading the old old news she never had a chance to since she had to start running.

On the floor. Of course the kid's just going to put everything on the floor. And where are the parents? Nowhere to be seen, that's where. But the moment you try to teach the kid some manners, that's when a seething mother shows up and tells you to mind your own business. So for now, the librarian moves a bit further away, trying to keep from getting angry about something that hasn't even happened yet. Maybe this will be the day a child finally proves her wrong. Maybe.

It won't be. Lizzie's have a great time reading old news clippings until she gets to to the ones from the year she was eleven. July to be exact.

She coughs slightly, flipping through a book of clipping that detail the sudden and tragic explosion that killed thirty two people one hot afternoon in Kansas City. "Oh no." Liz breathes, flipping the pages more and more frantically as words jump out at her. Her mother's name. Her father's, her brother, that nice old lady that helped her pick apples. The statement from the police and finally her own picture, staring blankly at the camera with the words 'Lone Survivor' underneath.

"NO!" Liz shouts loudly enough for it to echo throughout the room as she tossed the book of clippings away, not even noticing her fingers are on fire as she touches the brittle paper.

The librarian is just succeeding in distracting herself from her own annoyance when the sudden shout pierces the air. Hurrying over, she finds flames licking at the sides of a book - the book that that accursed child was just reading.

"FIRE! FIRE!" The librarian is the very essence of hysteria until remembering to run for the fire extinguisher that's mounted just outside the little private office. Some people run off in a panic; a little boy starts crying. A couple of teenagers who manage to keep their heads cool - or simply have a sick obsession with danger - come to look at the fire, and are disappointed to find only a single volume in flames. Soon, the librarian returns with the fire extinguisher, and even that little fire is put out. The teenagers shuffle off, mumbling their disapproval as they look from the librarian to Liz.

Then, belatedly, the fire alarm goes off, making a hellish noise even though there is nothing to worry about anymore. The librarian looks down at Lizzie with an amount of disapproval and barely veiled threat that would make a grown man tremble. "You had better call your parents."