Birth of the Salamander
âIt was a pleasure to burnâ confessed Beatty in his ill lit dingy prison cell. âThese books are crazy I tell you⌠they ought to be bannedâ he said between breaths.
Beatty was merely seventeen and charged with first degree homicide.He had burned down his father. Well he didnât want to burn down his dad, he was not completely mad. He just wanted to burn the library and his father happened to be there that evening. âCollateral damageâ, Beatty thought and suppressed his smile, âold timer had it comingâ. Beattyâs father was the priest at the local church and had lived his entirely by the Book, â⌠and died too, hehâ.
It was cold day in April and Beatty was sweating. He had spent the last night preparing his speech. He knew that he was not going to survive this ordeal. âBetter go out in a burst of flame⌠Just like Dadâ. The judge was particularly disinterested. This was the third arson this week and the fourth delinquent juvenile. âWhatâs the world coming to?â he thought as he ascended the highest position in court. Beatty was summoned and the Book was presented to him. He calmly put his hand over it and nodded.
The judge yawned âYou have one chance, speakâ.
âI burn books not men. Books create snobs I say. Look at that punk reciting Shakespeare mindlessly âTo be or not to be, Â A book is a loaded gun. Breach manâs mind. Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man? Me? I wonât stomach them for a minute. Books are against equality. All men should be equal I say. So I burn the books. Like the Holy Spirit I shall cleanse thee. I mean itâs not even original anymore, merely synopses, abridgements and reviews, heh, readersâ Digest. Itâs not even literature anymore. Advertisements and movies. Just clicks, snaps, flicks of the eye. Itâs disgusting. Fake stories about real men, fake stories about fake men. Fraud! These books fill your head with fantasy and hope. Itâs all crap. It make you think you can do anything. There is no hope. And these authors, people pleasers. Goddamn pansies. âLetâs write a book on cats for cat loversâ. What a joke. Itâll stop selling, the dog lovers wouldnât buy it. Heh. Itâs just money talking. Whatever sells is literature now. None of this will survive I tell you, only two cent sex magazines with raunchy photographs and sleaze is what will be left. Iâm goddamn telling you. Even that shall fizzle out against them videos.â
The judge was dumbfounded at this rant. Jesus, he thought. They get crazier every day. Life imprisonment in heavy confinement he announced, take this man away.
âYou can lock me away now but a time will come.â Beatty sniggered as he was dragged back to his cell.
âYou yourself will unleash me upon this world and shall burn in my hell. I am thy fatherâs spirit, doomâd for a certain term to walk the night, and for the day confined to fast in fires,till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away.â


