Paper Cuts
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Donnie didn’t know what time it was
and Donnie didn’t know what day it was, but Donnie knew one thing – that despite
their love of flames, The Arsonists also knew a slew of additional methods of
torture. They weren’t very good at the questions though. “Where is the book?” “Where
did you hide it?” “Who did you contact?” With little to no variation, they
asked the same things over and over.
Donnie had a secret. He had found
a book. And he had hidden it. And he had also hidden it from himself.
The book was special, an ancient
lost text.
The paper it was made from was
special, hand crafted by an ancient order of Librarians.
What was written in the book was
special, lost wisdom and sacred prophecies.
Eons ago, this order had been tasked
with maintaining one and only one copy of the book. When the book had aged and
the paper cracked, it was their job to transcribe another copy. None were allowed
to see the entire book, they were instructed to each work on one section, because
to see any more would give that individual too many secrets, too much knowledge,
and Donnie knew that knowledge was power.
There was great debate as to what
had happened. Some said one generation of the Librarians failed at their task
and the transcription was flawed. Some thought a small group conspired to keep
the secrets for themselves. Others thought the book never had any real power to
begin with.
Donnie knew better. He had seen the
book. Held it. Read from it. Written on its pages. To write something on its
pages meant that thing could come true. The book might have been the most powerful
book ever conceived. And Donnie had the foresight to write a note to himself to
forget where he hid it.
Donnie didn’t know what day it was
or how long he had been here, but he was sure that some of the other Librarians
were out there, looking for him after realizing he was missing. He could only
assume Nestor was on the trail and Nestor could track paper trails across the
globe and back again. Donnie couldn’t remember where he put the book, but if
anyone could track his steps, it would be Nestor.
“Where did you hide it…” “Who did
you give it to…” the repetition began again.
“Do you know why paper cuts hurt
so badly?”
“Nerve endings would be my guess.”
“True. But they hurt so much
because the cut isn’t deep enough to trigger blood clotting or scabbing. So the
damaged nerve is left exposed.”
“So you’re saying you’re not afraid
of fire, but you’re afraid of paper cuts? I would have thought Librarians would
be pretty used to those by now.”
“This isn’t an education. It’s a
warning.”
“Warning?” laughed the Arsonist. “Are
you threatening me with death by a thousand paper cuts? You know that’s not
really possible, right?”
“I know that death by a thousand
cuts works with a knife when the cuts are deep enough. And I know a paper cut
isn’t usually deep. But that’s not all I know…”
Donnie knew a secret. He had
written in the ancient manuscript. He had told himself to forget, but that wasn’t
all he had written. The book was one of the books of true power. To write in it
would give the words strength. And in writing it down, some of the power went
into the paper. And if you wrote the right thing down, you could have power not
only over what you wrote, but over what you wrote it on. And if you wrote it
properly, it would grant you control over the very ink and paper itself.
One scrap of paper had been destroyed
when the Arsonist attacked him. But Donnie’s secret was he had a second scrap,
hidden for an emergency just like this.
Paper didn’t normally fly, thought
the Arsonist, unaware of the special abilities Donnie had granted himself.
Paper doesn’t normally--
The scrap of paper slid across his
neck. He didn’t have time to react. There was too much blood.
The Arsonist caught Donnie’s
glance and the last thing he saw was Donnie’s smirk and the last thing he heard
was “One cut is all I need.”
Related
Reading:
Daily Stories - Paper, the Lost Book, and the Dilemma of Emergency Grammar 
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