I’ve been writing for the Hornet Herald for awhile, but I have been working on my first assignment for a magazine not associated with a school. For my first story, I’m writing about NANOWRIMO, which is apt and fairly fun to write about. A lot of writers have very strong feelings about it, so it’s good fun.
While having very engaging conversations with the writers, the fire alarms went off.
“Don’t worry,” I said, shrugging, “I’ve been here before when they malfunctioned.”
But then a librarian burst into the room, waving her arms. “Get out! Get out!”
We scrambled for our laptops, unplugged them from the walls. I shuffled up my interview papers, stuffing them into my bag, bunching wires and laptop in my arms as I trucked out of the meeting room. Down the creaking stairs because the elevators automatically locked down if the fire alarm sounded. I never knew the library even had an elevator.
Standing outside, the patrons began asking questions. The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon, setting blazes across the sky. And the library looked on fire. This old building that used to be the public school house looked as it spit dragon flames from its windows.
And I thought, “That’d be so cool.”
Fortunately, I wrote a story a few months ago about a library that blew up because of a bomb. I began to worry that if I published that and if the library in my hometown were actually burned down, I might attract some blame. But it still struck me as such a cool idea.
So, last night was fairly busy. Interviews, work, and a fire that never actually was. Turns out, some kid pulled the fire alarm switch. Which makes me sad that I never pulled one when I was young, because I always wanted to. And this kid who did got into absolutely no trouble. Kids can get away with all sorts of atrocities. I never abused that opportunity.
The experience made me realize, most of all that… if a fire ever actually broke out in a library, we’d be too worried about our laptops to not crisp black.