Tale Of A Book

• Nathan Guo, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

I still remember the days in the bookshop. I was surrounded by many of my kind, some even identical to me. But every book had their different idiosyncrasies. In a way, no book was the same.

One day, a small child, bursting with exuberance, picked me up. He showed me to his father, who shook his head sternly. Disheartened, the boy plopped me down on a shelf with a bunch of DIY books. Afterwards, all I ever saw were huge, burly men with safety helmets too tightly strapped. Life doesn’t always turn out how you expected.

It was yet another day in the shop. Different people were browsing, always intrigued by every book they saw. I sighed to myself as I stared from my shelf, hidden by the other towering shelves in front of me. Suddenly, I saw a silhouette appear and anticipation bubbled in me like water boiling. My brain swarmed with questions cramped together in one, tiny space

‘Is it a child? Will he or she buy me? What will they look like?’

As the person appeared, my elation depleted, as it was yet another builder. But then, a smaller figure appeared behind him, holding a neatly dressed doll and dancing frivolously. Her eyes met my cover and she tugged on her father’s shirt while pointing in my direction. They bickered for a while as I waited, hoping her father would give a simple nod. In the end, the father gave up and the girl burst with joy that lit up even the darkest corner of my world. They took me to the counter and the shop assistant scanned me. I was officially under the ownership of the girl.

I loved her and she loved me. We were inseparable. Every night her father or mother would walk in and read a chapter of me. She read me whenever she had spare time. She took me to the beach, on camping trips and even overseas. It was a great time we had together. But every person has to move on. One night, I fell off the bedside table and tumbled under the bed. There, I lay helpless, praying that my dear owner would embrace me with her warmth.

Eventually, I gave up hoping when her room became decorated with bottles after bottles of cosmetics and posters of boy bands. She was leaving behind her past life.
Many years later, a hand grabbed my cover, waking me from my peaceful slumber.

“Look, a book!” exclaimed an excited voice.

For the first time in many years, I felt the sun’s rays touch my now brittle body. The person who was holding me was a young boy.

“That used to be mine,” another voice said.

A young woman entered through the doorway. She looked different, but there was something familiar about her. There was no doubt about it. It was my previous owner. I then realised that the young boy was my owner’s little brother.

Now I am under the ownership of the boy. Every night, it is the same ritual. The boy’s father or mother comes in and reads a chapter to him and he goes to sleep. But I am never bored. I have been brought back to life, rejuvenated and sprightly. Now I resume my duty, like all other books, to be cherished by those who immerse themselves into my world.

So next time you see a book lying somewhere, lonely and dejected, think about all the knowledge, the golden moments and the hidden worlds that lie beneath its cover.