The family meal we had last evening was the first of many, after what seems like an eon of being estranged; and for a reason I find perplexing enough—a huge library in our massive living room, which by no means is the larger portion of an equally large mansion-like house we inhabit. My bohemian brother and sister came home, as they got the wind of the library. I do not remember whether I have bought all these books and built this library, I probably did—yet if it was materialized one day out of thin air, that would be equally probable. I have simply no recollection of how it came to be. However, I never doubted the legitimacy of the library, it had an aura that felt right, as if it was supposed to be there from time immemorial.
Yet one day we had a knock on our door. About a dozen policemen were standing on the other side. They accused us of getting the books through unfair means. Stealing books! Me? What a farce! Maybe a couple of books were shady and that's because I borrowed them from a mafia family—however, that doesn’t make it stolen. The mafia and I have an understanding, I’m sure they wouldn’t motivate the police in any way to get those books. That’s ridiculous! I laughed at the eager faces of the blue policemen. They were persistent though in their claim and didn’t budge or move very far. They rounded the house and took up positions. I was apparently free to move about despite being heavily surveillanced . Two policemen were on top of the roof made of tin—rusty and dirty with the ages. They waved whenever I got on the bike and left home.
A few days later at night, I heard a whistle from my balcony. In the shadows, there was standing one of the mafia members. He made a sour face, complained about the police all around and reminded me of the two books I borrowed. At that moment, I couldn't remember where I put those two books after the police raided. I told them I will send those books soon and sent him on his way.
The next day it took a decisive turn. Police came barging in the door, they wanted to take the books away. They didn’t expect resistance. We made a barricade in our home, like the ones people made back in the French Revolution. My sister brought out guns, pistols, and my brother a chinese axe. I had a purposely broken hockey stick that had a sharp tip like a pencil. We went to war with the police. Meanwhile, my father got on a bicycle and went to pray in the mosque. By the time my sister was done shooting the police up, to defend the library, there were only two policemen left. And they were limping away from our house.
I don’t remember what happened after that and whether the police retaliated, or what happened to the library and whether I was able to find the two books I owe to the mafia, because I woke up right at that moment.
The cover photo was created by Midjourney AI
