insomnia.

Abbie hadn't slept. She'd sat there, in the dark, thinking. Martini after martini until she got to the point where the liquor lost its taste and she held the Smirnoff in her lap, with the cap uncapped. She ocassionally took heavy swigs, to her it was like drinking water. She hadn't been able to sleep recently. Twelve shots and she's usually making out with the floor but last night she was on number thirteen and she was only swaying. Eventually she must've dozed off because Lauryn came in looking for a fix and there Abbie was, her head slung back over the back of her chair and an empty bottle of Smirnoff lying on the floor. Even her pin curls had gotten tired and fallen off her head. Lauryn helped her down the stairs but only after she got her fix. She propped Abbie up like a ventriloquist doll and let her stare. Lauryn felt the punch and turned on some music, she also made trips to the liquor cabinet. Abbie wasn't fully awake until 2:30. After a couple quick mimosas she's almost back to normal. The girls trail in through the back and before she knows it, it's a party. Abbie sat back, watching her finest girls dance and sway and drink and play. Renee came for her treatment and quickly announced the news. The Christians were back and Abbie was surprised she hadn't smelled them coming. Some messed up substance must've made its way into their soup because if Renee was telling the truth, they were going psycho. Abbie was slightly entertained. Especially when she heard they were burning books. Abbie had resented education from a very young age. The only thing she'd ever learned from school was how to roll a joint and spread her legs. Seeing that Madame Abbie was happy, the girls were happy and continued to drink. Very heavily. By five they were being plain rowdy. They were shouting and screaming and dancing even when there was no music playing. Even Abbie danced a little. When the rain came down the girls came out. Abbie, prepared with some Smirnoff under both arms set off into the night with her army of tweaked up girls behind her. She was leading the pack, wandering until they found a reason for the night. Eventually they were being admired. The local homeless population had fallen in love with Abbie a long time ago after she supplied them with booze and girls after one crazy night. The men followed closely behind. Before they can feel the sensation, the rain is coming down like a monsoon. There's thunder loud enough to drown out Renee's singing and bright enough to leave sparkles in their eyes. A clash, a bright light, a burn. They watch the mosque go up in flames. But they don't even care. Abbie begins to open up one of her handles and passes it back to the group of ladies behind her. The trotting up heels behind her turn into a tumbling mess once girls topple over and heels break. Abbie maintains her composure. Some what. She follows the scent of the smoke. She decides she may finally get some peace if she aids the book burning. She never really learned how to read unless she saw it in a bar. Books were foreign to her. They make it to the burning and it's a spiritual experience. Her girls immidietely surround the bonfire because they too have a grudge against books. They figured that books never taught them what they really needed to learn. So they gathered, like vultures to a carcass and turned tribal in their joy. Abbie felt powerful. She felt important and she felt redeemed. All her pent up hatred towards her teachers who failed, her parents who forgot, and her loved ones that never showed up became the fuel to Abbie's own fire. Before she knew it, another half of a handle was gone and Abbie tossed it into the fire. Chemistry should have taught her that alcohol increases the intensity of a fire but she learned that on her own that night. Watching the fire react, the girls copied Abbie. They took beer bottles and samplers and handles and fifths and threw them into the fire. As glass hit the ground a little bit of the fire spread and the girls were amazed again. The homeless had become their minions. They had broken into the closest liquor store, which was probably DD's, and gave more ammunition to the girls who were shooting more chaos at the fire. Abbie even joined in on Renee's tribal rant. The whole flock moved together as a singular wave moving around and dancing, gaining energy by the light from the fire. The Christians had mostly gone home but some troopers had stayed, continuing to throw books off of carts and into the fire. Abbie's girls amused the men who were left. Perhaps they assumed that a bump or grind from a lovely girl couldn't hurt. They should've realized that they were wrong. Abbie watched as her girls formed little mobs around the remaining Christian men who were still shoveling books from the library into the fire. Their own private dances and Abbie didn't even think to charge. She was too caught up in the wonder of it all. She still felt powerful. She still felt in control. And she still felt good. Her body hadn't passed it's alcohol limit where it's no longer fun to be drunk but more focused on how and when can she get home. It seemed that tonight there was no such barrier. Tonight it seemed that after every swig of the bottle handed to her she didn't feel worse, she only felt better. If shot 12 had been a face to floor move then now she was definitely on 20 at least and continued to feel wonderful. It was like no matter how long or hard or burning the last shot may have been, it only built up her happiness. She watched as her heathen women began to take control of the civilized men by dancing and giving sexual offerings. The fire burned and burned. As Abbie lit her cigarette by one of the pages in the Odyssey that a bum had taken out for her. She began to think again. Her throne was a large overturned dumpster from where she could perch herself and watch the town burn. From a distance she could see a wall of fire made between the mosque and the library. A city divided by fire. A kingdom. The library was only a street away from the mosque. It could be done, Abbie thought. It can be done. From some help from some homeless and the remaining Christian men Abbie conducted a line of books in order to build a connection between the mosque and the library. They began to drag alcohol - doused books down the streets and under benches and over fire hydraunts to build to the wall connecting the library to the mosque.

Abbie was waiting for the signal to come so that she could light a match for the firewall to erupt. Abbie had no patience. She took a cigarette from behind her ear, plopped it in her mouth and brought out a pair of matches. She struck one for her cigarette and it was lit. She took out a second match stick. She could'nt wait to light it. It was the light that would ignite this crappy town and expose the truths that some people were too afraid to confront. But to Abbie these things were connections. For her, this was all coming down to a point, a fire, or not? Do I sleep or do i never wake up?