ALL BOOKS ONE COULD READ

I RUSHED forward. My breath ragged and uneven, my heart pounding out of my CHEST. I HAD to GET THERE irst. THEY said it was unimportant, that I was making a big deal out of nothing but they just don’t get it. I’ll show them. I thought impatiently, the scorching sun beating down on me. My bare feet hammered the pavement, the grim grovel sinking into the souls of my feet. I have to get there I thought, now even more determined than before, I need those books!

I rounded a corner and there, beyond the troubles of the world, it stood. Although it was a short building it seemed to tower above the others, casting a long shadow on the sparkling roads, offering sanctuary from the blazing sun.

As I neared I did not dare slow, in fact I sped up, my energy renewed. I slammed my body against the door, throwing it open with a heave of effort. And there, amidst the chaos of the world, hidden in plain sight, was the answer to All my problems - Books. Thousands of books. Stacks upon stacks, each one more magnificent than THE last.

I couldn’t help gawking. I stood there a few moments staring at the unreal SIGHT. THEN, As IF AWAKENING from a dream, I stepped forward, still slightly DAZED, AND PICKED up THE irst book. I plopped down on the smooth loor AND opened my Book.

“A reader lives a thousand lives before HE DIES . . . THE man who never READS lives only one.” - George R.R. Martin