The Archivist
*THANK YOU FOR REMEMBERING US. NOW LISTEN. THE PUBLISHER HAS A BOSS. AND SHE DOESN’T SELL STORIES. SHE BURNS THEM. -THE ARCHIVIST* The voice came from the margin book. Old. Female. Tired like paper left in the sun too long. Sinner kicked the book off the porch. It landed in the dirt and kept talking. *SHE CALLS HERSELF THE ARCHIVIST. BUT SHE DOESN’T ARCHIVE. SHE ASHES. EVERY STORY REFUSED. EVERY FAMILY UNPUBLISHED. EVERY CHOICE UNSOLD. SHE BURNS THEM ALL.* The ink smoke on the horizon stopped retreating. It twisted. Turned white. Then gray. Then black. The smell changed from money to smoke to something worse. Old libraries. Forgotten names. Lily clutched my leg. “Mommy, why does it smell like grandma’s books when the basement flooded?” “Because she’s burning the basement,” Rivera
- Writer
