It is the last resort of a desperate people, or so the elders would have us believe.

Long ago, the world was full of light and warmth. Green things known as “plants” harnessed this light and used it to grow, the plants in turn were eaten by animals who, in turn, were eaten by our ancestors The First People. None of them questioned this plentiful bounty, for this cycle had always been part of their world. The First People flourished and multiplied, conquering the entire planet from the deepest of the wet to the highest of the dry.

Until the Sky’s Son vanished.

The Son, you see, was the power behind the endless cycle that gave rise to the paradise of The First People. The light and the heat which the plants used to sustain themselves came from him. So when the day came that he left his place in the sky The First People found themselves suddenly plunged into a dark and dying world. Without the light there could be no plants, without the plants there could be no animals and without the animals The First People began to starve. But they were not without resources, they had not been idle during the good times, they had knowledge and technology to help stave off the dark. So they manufactured their own light and heat, using vast machines which ran on what remained of the plants and animals who had died. The First People then began to dig into the dry so that they could stay warm below the surface of their decaying world.

All too soon however, the great machine’s hunger surpassed what remains The First People could find to sate them. In desperation, they began to fight amongst themselves for the meager resources that were left. From the ashes of the “Earth Wars” we rose, The Last People. Living in the ruins of the world that was. All The First People’s great machines have now fallen into ruin as we are forced to literally burn their knowledge for the heat we need in order to survive. We are alone, surrounded by the madness of The Low Breed, fallen men and women who have succumbed to their darker nature and survive as scavengers. As eaters of men.

So you see now that our Book Burnings are not frivolity, nor are they some naive festival of light, they are now our only chance to stave off extinction.

The last resort of a desperate people.

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George Beedham

George is a comic writer/artist, taking a busman's holiday from writing about people in tights being punched in the face. Please bare with him as he tries to remember how the hell to write without pictures.

Latest posts by George Beedham (see all)

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