The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

The flames flickered as they devoured the visions within bindings of the books. The fire had been burning forever although just last week was the day the first actual flame of hate and intolerance leapt forth to consume the words that now were forever silent.

Book banning turned into book burning across the land so rapidly that even the politicians seemed stunned into uneasy silence at the outcome.

One last look at the community pyre and Abby turned away, as she slipped between the homes at the end of the cul-de-sac. Her plan to be silent was broken as she caught her toes on a protruding tree root and slammed into the storage shed behind what was once the library. Her outstretched hand hit, then went through, the old boards and she tumbled inside.

Instead of the expected lawnmowers and snow shovels she rolled against something much heavier; it was an iron table, no- a bench- no-a,... what was it? She pulled herself upright and her palm caught on a rough lever, opening a shallow cut in her palm that bled freely. Licking her palm, she saw in the dimness that her hand was bleeding and covered with something dark and thick.

She licked at her palm and used the light from her phone to see what she'd found. Immediately she turned off the light, frightened to be caught.

This was a problem. "There's no way this should be here," she said softly. "A printing press?"

Not just the press; she saw ink, paper, and racks upon racks of small letters and images. No electricity needed, this was the O.G. crank press. Abandoned.

Until.

Abby, soon to be known as The Pen, realized she'd found her superpower and purpose. She'd learn how, then return the words to the people.

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