“Do you think there will be any remains?”
The 18-year-old boy sucked in a shaky breath, “No.”
“There have to be some pieces left!” The youngest of the three stamped her foot for effect.
“You can see. Does it even look like there will be ashes left over, Mo?” The boy with milky eyes snapped, pointing to the blazing fire that was glowing against the night sky. The fire was a good mile away but they could still smell the burning paper and wood. Mo simply stuck out her tongue.
“We are going to go & check anyway.” The 18-year-old, Jared, growled, his back to the other two.
“Alright. Just focus on what the old man wanted you to do.” The blind boy, Ranger, said with a sad voice.
Jared set his jaw & nodded. He would go back to the dead man’s house after the mobs had finished their work. He would go & see if he could find any books, magazines, pages, or just words midst the wreckage. He would find the real remains of the old writer. The books were him. And he was the books, and it was Jared’s duty to find him.